“New Game”
With a few well timed clicks, my digital avatar finished off the final boss “Diablo” with a flurry of attacks. A cutscene later, I was watching the credits roll. The first time I beat a game or watch a movie, I always like to watch the credits in their entirety. This time, they rolled for what seemed like an eternity.
There’s only so long you can stare at a moving mass of names without beginning to wonder who they are. I know from my own life that you don’t always know all that much about someone from a name. One glance at my name – or my physique, height, and race – and I’m sure most would assume I was a basketball player.
They wouldn’t be far off there – I worked in the marketing department of a company that manufactures basketballs. But neither they nor my coworkers would guess that or understand why I played the occasional video game, something perceived by many as geeky. Despite the fact that I was good at my job, I always felt a bit disconnected from everyone else at the office, with their back-slapping machismo, aggressive anti-intellectualism, and over the top bragging about picking up loose women. And, like I said, nobody ever expected me to be any different than anyone else. That was probably the most disconcerting part – how I constantly upended everyone else’s expectations by not quite fitting my mold, and in more ways than one. Did everyone who worked at the game company fit into their mold as well as their coworkers? I didn’t know, and sadly, I realized that there was no way I’d ever know for sure.
When the credits finally ended, I glanced down at my watch and realized it was well past 2am. I decided to get my sleep, as I had work tomorrow. I turned out my lights, thrusting into darkness the many posters of buzzer-beating shots with my company’s basketballs that hung all over the walls. Perhaps I didn’t fit in completely, but nobody could accuse me of not trying my best to get into the spirit. My room was a testament to my futile attempts to become the kind of person I was expected to be.
Unless someone turned on my desktop and saw my “Diablo” computer background, nobody might ever guess there was anything unusual about me at all.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I felt unusually warm, though not in a bad way. I assumed that I must have overslept and so I struggled to get to my feet and turn on the lights. My body felt surprisingly sluggish as I did so. Perhaps that and the warm feeling I felt meant I was sick? Even my mouth felt a little funny, like I was holding something inside it. I swirled my tongue around and felt an unfamiliar, plastic like hardness with a metallic tinge to it.
My blind groping in the dark was finally rewarded with the light switch, which seemed to be slightly further away than I remembered. When flicked the switch, things suddenly got much stranger.
All of the basketball photos on my walls had vanished. In their place hung promo posters for “Diablo,” “World of Warcraft,” and many other computer games. In addition, there were books about science fiction TV shows and chess strategy guides littering the floor and the bookcase.
Was I dreaming? I didn’t feel like a dream, but nothing else made sense. I started breathing heavily. That’s when I noticed that the arm that was still touching the light switch was rounded, milky white, ending with petite, stubby looking fingers.
I checked the other arm, and it looked the same. I didn’t dare look down, even though my walking felt increasingly odd with every step. Instead I made my way to what I assumed was the bathroom, and flicked on that light switch. Before I looked straight ahead, I cast a cautious glance downwards and noticed a pair of heavy looking pendulous breasts hanging from my torso.
I saw a stranger staring back at me in the mirror, as brown eyed, white woman looked back at me. Long, frizzy, unstyled light brown hair radiated from my head. My face had chubby little chipmunk cheeks, decorated with a smattering of very light freckles. My lips looked a little swollen, and when I parted them I discovered why: I had a mouth full of braces. Not a single, discrete, translucent plastic strip either, but instead prominent wires that were spread out like spider webs across nearly every tooth, connected by little studs.
My body was just as stunningly pale as the ghostlike arms I had first noticed, and quite soft looking. The arms that had flicked the light switches and exposed my switch in reality were very beefy, seemingly without a hint of muscle tone. Each time I moved them, they responded with a slight jiggle. My breasts were quite large, with big areolas and substantial looking nipples. I gave one of them a little pinch out of curiosity and was rewarded with a pleasant tingle and the sight of it growing even larger.
Below my new, big, slightly sagging boobs was a substantial belly. It jutted out a bit, and for a moment I suspected that this new body might be in the early stages of pregnancy. That theory was dispelled as soon as I touched my tummy. It was very soft and full of fat, and I could squeeze and shake it very easily. I slapped the side of it and my stomach fat sloshed back and forth for a few moments. It was too soft and squishy to be pregnancy – I was just chubby. The big tummy was large enough that it obscured a direct view of my genitals – but I knew I’d have fun examining what was between my legs later. This entire experience was terrifying but also supremely thrilling.
I turned around and glanced behind me to see a soft looking, bubble butt, which fit nicely with my wide hips and big thighs that flared up as they met my waist. I took a step or two backwards and forwards in front of the mirror to see how much my walk had changed. It looked more like a waddle now, and each part of my chunky body shook just a little with each step.
One thing I didn’t see in the bathroom, though, was a large supply of makeup – I certainly wasn’t a girly girl. I cast my eyes around for a wallet. I found it once I realized I would find it by looking for a purse: my purse, which had a “Star Trek” logo. Inside it was an employee ID card for “Blizzard,” a video game company, with the word ‘designer’ on it. I was a game designer! Perhaps I even had a hand in creating the game I played last night. Was my name one of the ones that drifted by during the credits? Was this switcheroo some cosmic way to answer my questions?
I figured that I’d find out what this woman’s life was like as soon as I got to work. Working in a game company! It seemed so exciting. As I struggled to fit my fat ass into a pair of jeans, I barely could be bothered to feel bad that my gender or my race had been changed. I was sure that I’d fit in great with my new co-workers.
I tried to squeeze my torso into a green, frumpy looking top I found hanging on my closet door, but soon realized how exposed my breasts were without a bra. I admit I had to look up a video on how to put the silly thing on! Despite the impressive size of the thing in my hands, I found that it barely managed to hold in my breasts. Each step seemed to be another chance that they’d bounce free. I’d have to learn to walk carefully.
I thought about how much I’d have in common with all the intellectual game makers at the office. And nobody would think less of me for not being a macho womanizer. The more I thought about it, the more I felt comfortable with and even enthusiastic about being exactly who everyone expect me to be as a chubby, nerdy white girl.
With a few well timed clicks, my digital avatar finished off the final boss “Diablo” with a flurry of attacks. A cutscene later, I was watching the credits roll. The first time I beat a game or watch a movie, I always like to watch the credits in their entirety. This time, they rolled for what seemed like an eternity.
There’s only so long you can stare at a moving mass of names without beginning to wonder who they are. I know from my own life that you don’t always know all that much about someone from a name. One glance at my name – or my physique, height, and race – and I’m sure most would assume I was a basketball player.
They wouldn’t be far off there – I worked in the marketing department of a company that manufactures basketballs. But neither they nor my coworkers would guess that or understand why I played the occasional video game, something perceived by many as geeky. Despite the fact that I was good at my job, I always felt a bit disconnected from everyone else at the office, with their back-slapping machismo, aggressive anti-intellectualism, and over the top bragging about picking up loose women. And, like I said, nobody ever expected me to be any different than anyone else. That was probably the most disconcerting part – how I constantly upended everyone else’s expectations by not quite fitting my mold, and in more ways than one. Did everyone who worked at the game company fit into their mold as well as their coworkers? I didn’t know, and sadly, I realized that there was no way I’d ever know for sure.
When the credits finally ended, I glanced down at my watch and realized it was well past 2am. I decided to get my sleep, as I had work tomorrow. I turned out my lights, thrusting into darkness the many posters of buzzer-beating shots with my company’s basketballs that hung all over the walls. Perhaps I didn’t fit in completely, but nobody could accuse me of not trying my best to get into the spirit. My room was a testament to my futile attempts to become the kind of person I was expected to be.
Unless someone turned on my desktop and saw my “Diablo” computer background, nobody might ever guess there was anything unusual about me at all.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I felt unusually warm, though not in a bad way. I assumed that I must have overslept and so I struggled to get to my feet and turn on the lights. My body felt surprisingly sluggish as I did so. Perhaps that and the warm feeling I felt meant I was sick? Even my mouth felt a little funny, like I was holding something inside it. I swirled my tongue around and felt an unfamiliar, plastic like hardness with a metallic tinge to it.
My blind groping in the dark was finally rewarded with the light switch, which seemed to be slightly further away than I remembered. When flicked the switch, things suddenly got much stranger.
All of the basketball photos on my walls had vanished. In their place hung promo posters for “Diablo,” “World of Warcraft,” and many other computer games. In addition, there were books about science fiction TV shows and chess strategy guides littering the floor and the bookcase.
Was I dreaming? I didn’t feel like a dream, but nothing else made sense. I started breathing heavily. That’s when I noticed that the arm that was still touching the light switch was rounded, milky white, ending with petite, stubby looking fingers.
I checked the other arm, and it looked the same. I didn’t dare look down, even though my walking felt increasingly odd with every step. Instead I made my way to what I assumed was the bathroom, and flicked on that light switch. Before I looked straight ahead, I cast a cautious glance downwards and noticed a pair of heavy looking pendulous breasts hanging from my torso.
I saw a stranger staring back at me in the mirror, as brown eyed, white woman looked back at me. Long, frizzy, unstyled light brown hair radiated from my head. My face had chubby little chipmunk cheeks, decorated with a smattering of very light freckles. My lips looked a little swollen, and when I parted them I discovered why: I had a mouth full of braces. Not a single, discrete, translucent plastic strip either, but instead prominent wires that were spread out like spider webs across nearly every tooth, connected by little studs.
My body was just as stunningly pale as the ghostlike arms I had first noticed, and quite soft looking. The arms that had flicked the light switches and exposed my switch in reality were very beefy, seemingly without a hint of muscle tone. Each time I moved them, they responded with a slight jiggle. My breasts were quite large, with big areolas and substantial looking nipples. I gave one of them a little pinch out of curiosity and was rewarded with a pleasant tingle and the sight of it growing even larger.
Below my new, big, slightly sagging boobs was a substantial belly. It jutted out a bit, and for a moment I suspected that this new body might be in the early stages of pregnancy. That theory was dispelled as soon as I touched my tummy. It was very soft and full of fat, and I could squeeze and shake it very easily. I slapped the side of it and my stomach fat sloshed back and forth for a few moments. It was too soft and squishy to be pregnancy – I was just chubby. The big tummy was large enough that it obscured a direct view of my genitals – but I knew I’d have fun examining what was between my legs later. This entire experience was terrifying but also supremely thrilling.
I turned around and glanced behind me to see a soft looking, bubble butt, which fit nicely with my wide hips and big thighs that flared up as they met my waist. I took a step or two backwards and forwards in front of the mirror to see how much my walk had changed. It looked more like a waddle now, and each part of my chunky body shook just a little with each step.
One thing I didn’t see in the bathroom, though, was a large supply of makeup – I certainly wasn’t a girly girl. I cast my eyes around for a wallet. I found it once I realized I would find it by looking for a purse: my purse, which had a “Star Trek” logo. Inside it was an employee ID card for “Blizzard,” a video game company, with the word ‘designer’ on it. I was a game designer! Perhaps I even had a hand in creating the game I played last night. Was my name one of the ones that drifted by during the credits? Was this switcheroo some cosmic way to answer my questions?
I figured that I’d find out what this woman’s life was like as soon as I got to work. Working in a game company! It seemed so exciting. As I struggled to fit my fat ass into a pair of jeans, I barely could be bothered to feel bad that my gender or my race had been changed. I was sure that I’d fit in great with my new co-workers.
I tried to squeeze my torso into a green, frumpy looking top I found hanging on my closet door, but soon realized how exposed my breasts were without a bra. I admit I had to look up a video on how to put the silly thing on! Despite the impressive size of the thing in my hands, I found that it barely managed to hold in my breasts. Each step seemed to be another chance that they’d bounce free. I’d have to learn to walk carefully.
I thought about how much I’d have in common with all the intellectual game makers at the office. And nobody would think less of me for not being a macho womanizer. The more I thought about it, the more I felt comfortable with and even enthusiastic about being exactly who everyone expect me to be as a chubby, nerdy white girl.