Our TG Captionpage 7
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Although enamored, the man shakes his head and starts giving new suggestions.
“Hmmm...you dress provocatively,” he says slowly.
“I...I dress how?” You ask, almost unsure if you head him. You dress in a “conservative yet cute way” as you always put it, modest to the core. Did he dare say the word you thought he did...?
“You dress provocatively, Valerie.”
“Um...pr-pr-pr-provocative...ly?” You ask timidly. That’s not right at all! You are MODEST. But why do you suddenly feel like your dress is a bit too long and too...cutesy? Wasn’t that why you wore it? Oh, your head is starting to hurt.
“You dress provocatively.”
“I dress...provocatively...” you say quietly, the hem of your dress shortening substantially and the floral pattern fading to reveal a standard red color. You were someone who liked to show off a little skin. Your looks didn’t mean anything; you were just...confident...that’s all.
“You dress like this because you aren’t really that modest.”
“I’m really not...that modest...” you repeat, the reasoning echoing soundly in your brains. You knew that while you liked the idea of modesty, it wasn’t you. You showed your stuff and that’s what made you so popular and the envy of the girls and the dream of the boys in high school. Your looks weren’t everything but they were SOMETHING to you. You weren’t a bad girl by any means, just one who valued her appearance. As you reflect on this, your dress gets even shorter and your hair becomes straight.
“You aren’t that modest overall, really. You are a little slutty.”
“I’m... well, I am a little slutty,” you chuckle, the words making sense only as you say them. You think back (at the memories that were just created) of you being very flamboyant and rambunctious all the time and that behavior getting all of the guys in your bed. You loved playing games with them, acting like a trophy they have to win just to screw their friend next week. You weren’t a bad girl by any means: you just loved sex and adored your body.
“And...you crave attention.”
“I...crave...attention?” You ask, the word “crave” tripping you up. You liked attention, loved it actually, but craved? It wasn’t something you needed...but wow was it good.
“Yes. You crave it. Crave it.”
“I...I...I crave attention!” You exclaim, your hair getting blonder, a tattoo appearing on your leg, and your clothes shifting to a slutty two-piece ensemble as you do so. You needed to literally stop traffic with your looks, and you made sure you did so as much as possible wherever you went. If you weren’t getting attention, you weren’t living. You got dress coded all the time in high school, but that meant your strategy was working.
The man seems satisfied now.
“Hmmm...you dress provocatively,” he says slowly.
“I...I dress how?” You ask, almost unsure if you head him. You dress in a “conservative yet cute way” as you always put it, modest to the core. Did he dare say the word you thought he did...?
“You dress provocatively, Valerie.”
“Um...pr-pr-pr-provocative...ly?” You ask timidly. That’s not right at all! You are MODEST. But why do you suddenly feel like your dress is a bit too long and too...cutesy? Wasn’t that why you wore it? Oh, your head is starting to hurt.
“You dress provocatively.”
“I dress...provocatively...” you say quietly, the hem of your dress shortening substantially and the floral pattern fading to reveal a standard red color. You were someone who liked to show off a little skin. Your looks didn’t mean anything; you were just...confident...that’s all.
“You dress like this because you aren’t really that modest.”
“I’m really not...that modest...” you repeat, the reasoning echoing soundly in your brains. You knew that while you liked the idea of modesty, it wasn’t you. You showed your stuff and that’s what made you so popular and the envy of the girls and the dream of the boys in high school. Your looks weren’t everything but they were SOMETHING to you. You weren’t a bad girl by any means, just one who valued her appearance. As you reflect on this, your dress gets even shorter and your hair becomes straight.
“You aren’t that modest overall, really. You are a little slutty.”
“I’m... well, I am a little slutty,” you chuckle, the words making sense only as you say them. You think back (at the memories that were just created) of you being very flamboyant and rambunctious all the time and that behavior getting all of the guys in your bed. You loved playing games with them, acting like a trophy they have to win just to screw their friend next week. You weren’t a bad girl by any means: you just loved sex and adored your body.
“And...you crave attention.”
“I...crave...attention?” You ask, the word “crave” tripping you up. You liked attention, loved it actually, but craved? It wasn’t something you needed...but wow was it good.
“Yes. You crave it. Crave it.”
“I...I...I crave attention!” You exclaim, your hair getting blonder, a tattoo appearing on your leg, and your clothes shifting to a slutty two-piece ensemble as you do so. You needed to literally stop traffic with your looks, and you made sure you did so as much as possible wherever you went. If you weren’t getting attention, you weren’t living. You got dress coded all the time in high school, but that meant your strategy was working.
The man seems satisfied now.
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