Our TG Captionpage 6
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“What would that b-”
He swings the pendulum in front of you again, putting you right back into trance. You manage to keep just a bit of will, but you don’t know if you could fight any changes, although you’re sure he’ll make good ones.
“You’re Latina.”
“L-Latina?”
What? You’re Irish and German! What is he saying? And why do you suddenly remember a quinceañera?”
“You are Latina,” he repeats. “You are Latina.”
“I’m...I’m...um...” you struggle to speak. This is starting to feel weird. You’re not Latina...but you aren’t European either. As you struggle, your skin darkens to a golden tan and your hair turns black while your face’s features adjust to appear more Latina. Your boobs also get a little bigger and you get a bit curvier. Desperately, you imagine your parents but see two Mexican immigrants but that’s...that’s where your family is from. It all starts to hit you: you’ve always been that pretty Latina girl, shy and modest with a white-sounding name but proud of her heritage. You can’t believe you doubted that for even a second as your dress morphs into a more colorful, ethnic garment. You sigh, happy that the man is again repeating what is true.
“I’m Latina,” you say in a thicker, more suave voice.
“And your name is Valeria.”
But you were Valerie Sanchez...were you not? You always questioned your white name although you thought it was cute, but... now it seems like that name didn’t fit. Of course it didn’t: Valeria was your name. What other name were you just thinking about?
“I’m Valeria.”
“You have a gorgeous body.”
“I have a...gorgeous body?” You hesitate. You were pretty, but gorgeous? Maybe he’s flattering you but...you were always so curvy, so well-endowed, and so slim. Your ass was huge. Your face wasn’t bad either. You’ve always been told how beautiful you are, even though you never dared dress in an even remotely provocative way. You laugh as you imagine all of the boys you know likely jerking off to you naked. Sure, it was gross, but you were pretty gorgeous.
“You have a gor-”
“I have a gorgeous body.”
“Oh...well...very good. You’re not positive; you’re stubborn.”
“But...I’m positive...” you almost whisper. You’ve always been positive! You know it to be true.
“You’re a stubborn person, not a positive one.”
“I’m a...s-stubborn p-person...” as you say it, it seems more natural. You remember all the times where it’s been your way or the highway. You’ve always been so confident that you were right and you knew what you were doing...right? That’s why you’ve always been called sassy, as part of a stereotype or not.
“And you aren’t a positive one.”
“And I’m not...a positive one...” you find being positive...gross! It’s a good thing he shelved that idea. You couldn’t imagine him making you some optimist who just always thought things were good and went along with stuff. Plus, you could be pretty negative and you think that’s healthy.
“You’re a slut.”
Whoah. A SLUT?
“I’m...NOT...a slut...at ALL!”
You can’t believe he called you a slut! Who does he think he is? You are the total opposite!
“You are a slut. It’s who you are.”
“I’m...not...” you start to ease up. You calm down as you think about it. Slut is definitely a little much, but as your dress loses its sleeves and gets shorter, you can’t help but admit you like to strut your stuff a little. You’ve never had sex but you like your body and wear clothes that accent it. That’s all. No makeup or anything. And you aren’t a slut.
“You’re a slut.”
“I’m...but I’m not-”
“You’re a slut. Being a slut defines you. Say it.”
“Being a...slut...defines me...” you say it at last as you fail to resist, but saying it just makes it all seem...well, it was always 100% true. What were you kidding? You’re wearing your sexiest pair of jeans and a very revealing top, with a pound of makeup on. Your hair is full and long and luscious, too, as it ought to be. You have a sexy bod and if you didn’t use it...you’d be wasting it. You take the word slut as a compliment, and when anyone says that about you they know you do. The guys you sleep with are damn lucky they got you, after all. You and Hannah just love to party and shop for slutty clothes and do each other’s makeup and go wild. Being a slut (you just love the word) is why you’ve never had the will to care about school or much else because you know your gifts aren’t mental, and you won’t relent on that front. Honestly, you don’t think you’ll ever NOT be a slut.
“One more time, please.”
“I’m, like, a total slut. Being a slut defines me,” you say in a bit of a girlier voice, with full confidence that you’ve always been a slut.
“Very good,” he says, admiring your sexy, slutty Latina form like a work of art.
He swings the pendulum in front of you again, putting you right back into trance. You manage to keep just a bit of will, but you don’t know if you could fight any changes, although you’re sure he’ll make good ones.
“You’re Latina.”
“L-Latina?”
What? You’re Irish and German! What is he saying? And why do you suddenly remember a quinceañera?”
“You are Latina,” he repeats. “You are Latina.”
“I’m...I’m...um...” you struggle to speak. This is starting to feel weird. You’re not Latina...but you aren’t European either. As you struggle, your skin darkens to a golden tan and your hair turns black while your face’s features adjust to appear more Latina. Your boobs also get a little bigger and you get a bit curvier. Desperately, you imagine your parents but see two Mexican immigrants but that’s...that’s where your family is from. It all starts to hit you: you’ve always been that pretty Latina girl, shy and modest with a white-sounding name but proud of her heritage. You can’t believe you doubted that for even a second as your dress morphs into a more colorful, ethnic garment. You sigh, happy that the man is again repeating what is true.
“I’m Latina,” you say in a thicker, more suave voice.
“And your name is Valeria.”
But you were Valerie Sanchez...were you not? You always questioned your white name although you thought it was cute, but... now it seems like that name didn’t fit. Of course it didn’t: Valeria was your name. What other name were you just thinking about?
“I’m Valeria.”
“You have a gorgeous body.”
“I have a...gorgeous body?” You hesitate. You were pretty, but gorgeous? Maybe he’s flattering you but...you were always so curvy, so well-endowed, and so slim. Your ass was huge. Your face wasn’t bad either. You’ve always been told how beautiful you are, even though you never dared dress in an even remotely provocative way. You laugh as you imagine all of the boys you know likely jerking off to you naked. Sure, it was gross, but you were pretty gorgeous.
“You have a gor-”
“I have a gorgeous body.”
“Oh...well...very good. You’re not positive; you’re stubborn.”
“But...I’m positive...” you almost whisper. You’ve always been positive! You know it to be true.
“You’re a stubborn person, not a positive one.”
“I’m a...s-stubborn p-person...” as you say it, it seems more natural. You remember all the times where it’s been your way or the highway. You’ve always been so confident that you were right and you knew what you were doing...right? That’s why you’ve always been called sassy, as part of a stereotype or not.
“And you aren’t a positive one.”
“And I’m not...a positive one...” you find being positive...gross! It’s a good thing he shelved that idea. You couldn’t imagine him making you some optimist who just always thought things were good and went along with stuff. Plus, you could be pretty negative and you think that’s healthy.
“You’re a slut.”
Whoah. A SLUT?
“I’m...NOT...a slut...at ALL!”
You can’t believe he called you a slut! Who does he think he is? You are the total opposite!
“You are a slut. It’s who you are.”
“I’m...not...” you start to ease up. You calm down as you think about it. Slut is definitely a little much, but as your dress loses its sleeves and gets shorter, you can’t help but admit you like to strut your stuff a little. You’ve never had sex but you like your body and wear clothes that accent it. That’s all. No makeup or anything. And you aren’t a slut.
“You’re a slut.”
“I’m...but I’m not-”
“You’re a slut. Being a slut defines you. Say it.”
“Being a...slut...defines me...” you say it at last as you fail to resist, but saying it just makes it all seem...well, it was always 100% true. What were you kidding? You’re wearing your sexiest pair of jeans and a very revealing top, with a pound of makeup on. Your hair is full and long and luscious, too, as it ought to be. You have a sexy bod and if you didn’t use it...you’d be wasting it. You take the word slut as a compliment, and when anyone says that about you they know you do. The guys you sleep with are damn lucky they got you, after all. You and Hannah just love to party and shop for slutty clothes and do each other’s makeup and go wild. Being a slut (you just love the word) is why you’ve never had the will to care about school or much else because you know your gifts aren’t mental, and you won’t relent on that front. Honestly, you don’t think you’ll ever NOT be a slut.
“One more time, please.”
“I’m, like, a total slut. Being a slut defines me,” you say in a bit of a girlier voice, with full confidence that you’ve always been a slut.
“Very good,” he says, admiring your sexy, slutty Latina form like a work of art.
What happens next?