The Blonde Curse

Carlos never thought a curse could feel so humiliating… and yet, somehow, so alive.

“I know this sounds insane, Peter… but hear me out,” he said, crossing his arms—well, trying to. The tiny bra and his newly voluptuous body made even that simple gesture oddly provocative. “My wife lost it. Every single week, it was the same thing.”

Peter blinked, trying not to stare.

That woman standing in front of him—gorgeous, curvy, with long blonde hair and bedroom eyes—was Carlos. Somehow.

“We’d hang out, play games, drink beer, and yeah… say some pretty dumb stuff about women. And she? She was always there. Serving drinks. Cleaning up. Listening to every joke, every comment.”

Carlos let out a dramatic sigh, then gestured at himself. “So she did this. Turned me into the fantasy we always talked about—the ‘hot blonde’ who turns heads wherever she goes.”

Peter cleared his throat and looked away.

“Okay, but… seriously, man, didn’t you think of wearing something a bit more… decent?”

Carlos rolled his eyes, and the effect was oddly hypnotic with those long lashes and glossy lipstick.

"Of course I thought about it. But that’s the cruelest part—any clothes I put on turn into this. Literally. I put on an oversized t-shirt? Boom—this bra. Sweatpants? Poof—these 'naughty girl' thigh-highs. My jacket? Turned into a sexy robe. I can’t even wear boxers anymore without them turning into lacy panties. She really thought of everything."

Peter scratched the back of his neck, unsure if he should laugh or run.

“So… why didn’t you just text me and cancel today?”

Carlos hesitated. His voice dropped, softer now.

“I don’t know. I just… I wanted you to come. Maybe that’s the curse talking. Or maybe it’s something else…”

Peter froze. The silence between them felt charged, electric.

Carlos stepped closer.

“Now we’re here. Just the two of us…”

He smiled playfully, almost a whisper:

“What else do you think this curse has in store for us?”

Peter took a step back, nervous.

“I— I shouldn’t stay. If I do, something stupid’s gonna happen.”

Carlos’ smile widened, more real this time. Gentle. Confident.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

They stood there, unmoving. The TV was still on, frozen on the game menu—but neither of them noticed.

Peter slowly sat on the couch. His heart thumped like a drum.

Carlos joined him, pulling the robe tighter around his shoulders—not that it helped much.

“You know what’s crazy?” Carlos asked softly. “For the first time in a long while… I feel seen. You’re looking at me differently. Really looking at me.”

Peter smiled faintly.

“And you’re talking differently. More… you.”

They fell into silence again. This time, it wasn’t awkward. It was warm.

When Peter gently reached out and touched Carlos’s hand, fingers brushing, Carlos didn’t pull away.

The curse may have started as punishment—but on that couch, with the TV forgotten and the world on pause, it felt more like the beginning of something unexpected.

---

The door slammed open.

“Carlos?!”

His wife’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. Both of them turned, startled, guilt washing over their faces.

She stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at them—Carlos, in full fantasy form, holding Peter’s hand, their eyes locked in something unspoken and undeniable.

“I left a curse. A lesson,” she snapped. “You were supposed to learn. To feel what it’s like to be stared at, objectified, diminished.”

Carlos tried to speak, but she raised her hand, silencing him.

“But no. You… you liked it. You adapted way too fast. And now you brought Peter into this?”

Peter stood up quickly, unsure what to say, but she didn’t even glance at him.

“You know what’s worse?” she continued, bitterly. “I thought I was being clever. But no. You managed to turn your punishment into a damn fantasy. So fine—stay like this. Forever.”

Carlos’s heart skipped.

“Wait—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s no spell to undo it anymore. This is you now. The blonde bombshell you always drooled over. If that’s what you want… congratulations.”

She turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her, her footsteps fading into the night.

Carlos stared at the closed door. Then down at his hand, still intertwined with Peter’s.

He should’ve felt broken. Lost. Terrified.

But instead… he felt something else.

Freedom?

He turned to Peter. No tears in his eyes—only a soft, complicated smile.

“Well… looks like there’s no turning back.”

Peter’s gaze softened.

“And… are you okay with that?”

Carlos paused. Then, with quiet honesty:

“I don’t know if I’m okay. But I think… I want to find out.”