Frank was walking home from practice, listening to music and already dreaming of immersing himself in his computer. He was planning to play Red Dead Redemption 2, which he'd bought on sale and was downloading while he was walking home.
His eye was caught by a woman selling antique paintings... Among them were beautiful women from various eras: Renaissance, some like 90s depictions of night butterflies. One portrait of a beautiful girl, apparently a saloon worker during the Wild West, caught his attention, perfectly fitting the theme of the game he was planning to explore today. He approached the painting he was interested in, and the woman's eyes sparkled.
"Did you like the painting? It's Franziska, a free girl from the 19th century who migrated with other girls to the New World because of her profession... her parents disowned her so she wouldn't bring shame on them, so her last name is unknown."
The boy listened to this story as if it were some side quest in a game he was trying to complete. He corrected the woman, surprising himself. "Milley, her name was Francesca Milley." The woman nodded contentedly, as if confirming his knowledge of this woman's lineage.
"Yes, you got her family tree right. You know her as if you were related to her." The woman laughed slyly and continued, "She had to work from the age of 25, because her parents completely cut off her financial support for her education."
The guy corrected her... "At 18... she started working at 18, due to the bad influence of her friend, whom she loved so much... there she is, in the background behind the bar." The guy couldn't remember where he learned this, maybe he read it somewhere online, or maybe there was a similar character in the first game...
The woman confirmed, as if she was expecting him to correct her mistake, "Yes... you're right! Her friend was like a sister to her, but it was because of her that she went down this bad path." While she was telling him the story, the boy didn't notice how his sports socks began to rise higher and higher... until they turned into a pair of old-fashioned tights, the boy didn't notice it... really - after all, he remembered a lot about the life of Francesca Milley, and was definitely already used to the feeling of wearing such a piece of clothing.
The woman continued her story, "Back then, many girls migrated to the Wild West for easy money, and these two were no exception."
For some reason, the guy continued his story, "Yes, this outfit was given to her by Gloria, who had connections in the business for some time; she was the one who helped her with the arrangement." As the guy told this part of the woman's story, his shorts and T-shirt began to merge, turning red. The waist of his T-shirt began to tighten, acquiring red seams, turning into a beautiful, revealing corset for the time, and the neckline of his T-shirt began to expand, falling down, covered in ornate dark fabric against the red background. The fabric fell in such a way that his future cleavage would be visible to all the clients.
Poor Frenkn felt none of this, having already become the victim of this witch, who sought out boys—those very same ones, the ones with no experience with girls—who became her victims. She believed she was helping them in this way, because where she sent them, they would have a lot of intimacy and would not be alone.
The boy had now completely taken over the reins of the story and continued, "Her breasts had formed by the age of 16, and had grown a little by 18... they were neat, but quite beautiful. They would never sag for the rest of her life; this would be her lifeline." His bust began to fill the empty space in the bodice of his brothel dress, slowly but surely swelling under the woman's satisfied gaze.
"Oh... you know so much about this woman's life, as if you've lived it yourself." Laughing, the woman began to notice the boy's new memories...
Frank didn't even notice his new breasts, because they were truly beautiful, but neat... clients always loved their beauty. When Frank began to talk about her rich life experience, or rather, her experience in the saloon... his hair began to curl and grow a little, and a beautiful red accessory appeared on his head, matching her outfit.
The same red color, to provoke the clients to pay attention to her specifically.
Frank finished the story... unaware that his voice was beginning to take on a feminine quality, breaking with each final word.
"Francesca, having lived a rich and fulfilling life at 70, at 45 she became a mother in a saloon, caring for her girls... she also had one daughter, who didn't follow in her mother's footsteps, but loved her mother despite her choice of profession." At that moment, he already felt the last vestige of her masculinity begin to shrink. He began to frantically try to hold on to it, but it was too late... and the layers of the skirt he wore prevented him from easily reaching what was so quickly becoming his womb, his feeding trough.
"W-what have you done?!" he squeaked!
The woman, smiling and waving her hand, began enlarging the portrait. The girl was gone, her place now empty! "I'm helping you, silly girl. You seem to have gotten lost in the timeline, and I'm fixing this error."
"What error?!" Frank squeaked in his girlish voice! He noticed he was acting... somehow affected, effeminate—as if his entire experience as a man was fading from his mind every time he corrected and indulged this witch... she was changing his habits, and even some aspects of his memory!
The last thing the woman said before pushing him into the already-prepared portal created from the portrait of the woman in the saloon was, "This is for your own good... now you'll have a fulfilling sex life!"
The boy tried to cling to the portal's edges, but they were ethereal, and he fell back against the bar counter, hearing his heels and the sounds of joy and laughter all around him. Old music was playing, mostly live musicians... and he was brought out of his trance by the artist's voice, "Francesca, come to your senses and strike a pose. I paid you for this portrait, remember? Model it, please."
Frank didn't shout, arguing that he didn't belong here... he understood the time he lived in, and what they did to people like him if they behaved willfully... even the sheriff didn't bother with such things. Francesca began to stare into the frame while the artist completed the image of her face... "And it's done!"
Meanwhile, the witch, having picked up the painting from the floor, which had shrunk back to the size of a standard painting, winked contentedly at the woman who had long since ceased to live in 2025... she now lived in a completely different era.
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