Marty (Commission)

A commission from ask-fickleaura. The transformation of an old man into a young woman.

Marty loved his walks in the park. Even now, in his 90s, he still went out there every Saturday and hobbled around with his cane, taking in the sights. Sure, his back cracked and popped continually while he was out there, and he’d have to lie down until the evening as soon as he got home, but it was worth it.

Today, as he strolled alongside the running path, next to one of the oldest groves of trees in the entire state, a group of young woman jogged past, each one wearing neon spandex. Even at his advanced age, Marty could appreciate that view through his trifocals. He watched them run by, and as they turned the corner and vanished from view, he said, “I wish I were that young again.”

The wind blew through the trees, which seemed to dance and sway as if they were alive.

Marty’s cane slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground. “Damn,” he said, beginning the long process of getting down on one knee to pick it up. He did not notice that as he started to bend over, his back was straightening out, decades of wear and tear melting away. He did notice, however, that his knees were feeling better than they had in a long time.

“I knew all this walking would pay off,” he muttered, groping around for the cane. “Hmm?” The cane was missing. Instead, he found a silvery phone with headphones lying on the ground instead. “Oh, one of those women must have dropped this!” He picked it up and stood back up, the cane forgotten.

Marty’s face was softening, the wrinkles fading, his stubble receding. He reached up and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Gosh, I need a haircut again soon,” he said, then stopped to look at his hand. Instead of the walnut joints of his old, arthritic hands, it seems smooth and supple.

Marty stood up straight. “Christ!” he yelled, as he rose to his full height. No longer stooped over, Marty looked like a man just past the prime of his life – he was tall again, and his heart was pulse was strong and steady, with just a little extra weight on his gut from one too many Sundays drinking beer on his couch and watching football.

His shirt began to shrink as his body continued to change. A weird pain shot through his hips, and he reached down and grabbed at his crotch, all sense of propriety lost. Empty — where his dick had been, there was now a void. Marty made to call out but was stopped as another pain ran through his torso, and he now knew that he was a woman. His trousers’ transformation into a pair of spandex running shorts confirmed it, and they showed off his new wide hips perfectly.

That change revealed a great set of legs, smooth, hairless, and with strong muscles. His arms were similarly impressive-looking, fit and toned, and he could feel muscles that he hadn’t had since he was in his twenties flexing in his abdominals.

His wire-frame glasses melted off his face and settled as a thin golden chain around his neck, ending in a small teardrop-shaped piece of glass resting against his chest.

His shirt was now finished with its own transformation. Instead of a baggy button-down dress shirt, a running top stretched tight across his chest, and as Marty watched it began to fill with a new pair of breasts. They grew rapidly, bypassing his late wife’s pair of C-cups and growing into the larger regions of the alphabet. F-cups, he knew instinctively, as they settled down beneath her tight top and industrial-strength sports bra. They made running tough, but she loved it—

—she? Mary shook her head, sending her long blonde ponytail whipping around her face. No, she was a woman, not a woman. Wait. OK. What?

Mary rubbed her temple and stuck her headphones back in her ears. She must have been more tired than she thought – just bending down to pick up her phone when she’d dropped it had made her go faint, and now her running buddies were probably way out ahead.

She got back on the running path and took off, her increased pace making her huge breasts jiggle obscenely, which she secretly loved. Once she was done here, she’d run all the way back to her apartment, peel off her spandex, jump into the shower, and masturbate wildly at the thought of all the people in the park unable to look away from her impossible-to-ignore boobs. That evening, she was planning on hitting the bars nearby, looking for someone to go home with who would appreciate her fantastic body, then conveniently “lose” their number afterward.

After all, she was young and beautiful. Why waste it?