“Just hang out in the trailer?” you ask, not sure of the catch.
“Yep, but I’m not gonna lie, you’re gonna change into a big old red neck MILF like me,” Dixie explained between swigs of her beer. She shook it to find, much to her disgust, it was empty. She grumbled and crushed it against her forehead. “But on the bright side you’ll never have to go to school again, be a home owner, and have dick lining up to get to your sweet nasty pussy!”
You were astonished to hear her be so blunt about changing you into a trashy, woman, that it was almost refreshing. But did you really want to be a woman? You did want to get laid a lot, but as a beer guzzling cougar? “Will I get a big rack?” you gestured making a cupping motion roughly the size of a pair of G cups.
“And a fat ass to match!” Dixie winked as she cracked open another beer.
“I’ll do it!” you smile. “What do I have to do?”
“You need to head into that there trailer and put on the clothes that are laying out on the bed. You can’t come out of the trailer until sun up tomorrow though.”
“What if I do?” you asked wanting to know all the possible problems associated with your new adventure into MILFhood.
“You get stuck with any features you developed, and you can’t ever try again,” Dixie burped. “So you still in kid?”
“Uh, yeah,” you say sarcastically as you throw down your bike and high tail it over to the trailer. You turn the knob to the door and open it. Before entering you look over your shoulder to Dixie, and see her give you a thumbs up as she guzzles her new beer. You think about your parents, what will they say when you’re gone from their lives. “Eh. I’ll visit mom, and we’ll compare recipes,” you shrug as you take your first step inside.
You look around and see pictures of a thick and voluptuous red head, hugging her twin children, a boy and a girl, at their high school graduation. “Well I guess those are my soon to be kids, I mean, I am going to be a MILF after all.” You see a driver’s license on the counter and pick it up, “Hailey Lynn Fraser. Sweet I even get a trailer trash name!”
You head to the back and into the bedroom to find the clothes Dixie had mentioned. You stripped down and immediately put them on, wanting to waste no time with your new life. You looked over into the floor length mirror behind the door, and laughed at your appearance in the over sized clothes. Form the floor up you wore a pair of blue, white, gray, and black high-heeled Nike dunks. Obvious knock offs, but the appearance of them made you laugh. Your legs were encased in some black back seam shear nylon stockings, under a pair of gold metallic Capri spandex pants. You wore a cowl neck cheetah print sleeveless shirt that was low cut, and showed off the big black bra you wore underneath, you giggled at how it was empty now, but if what Dixie said was true you would soon be spilling out of it. Around you neck was an elaborate fake diamond and silver necklace, which fooled absolutely no one that it was real. In fact you think it may already be turning your neck green from the tarnish. You wore gold metallic spandex elbow length gloves, to complete your garish look. The only thing you had left to put on was the towering red beehive wig that sat on the bed.
You picked the wig up and looked it over, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with it. In fact none of the clothes seemed off when you put them on, and for the first time you doubted Dixie’s claims. “Well I’ve come this far,” you smirked and doffed the wig. You used the mirror to straighten it out and move the bangs to just how you wanted them. When you finally felt satisfied, you felt your scalp catch fire. You dropped to your knees in agony, moaning on a primal level in pain. When the pain started to subside you finally gathered enough of your wits to try and pull the wig off, only to find it stuck on your head. A few more painful tugs led you to the conclusion; “It’s my hair now.”
As that shock sunk in you made your way awkwardly back to your feet, teetering on your heels. And that’s when your chest surged forward into a pair of humongous G cup breasts. “A little more than G cups,” you observed as your breasts pushed together in your newly constricting bra threatening to escape at the slightest chance.
You were turning into a MILF and the only word you could think of to describe your situation was, “Sweet!”
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