Johnny was nineteen, pale-skinned and freckled, sprawled across his bed in the dark with the laptop balanced on his stomach. The screen glowed with the scene he’d queued up for the third time that night: Jasmine, all long legs and attitude, getting dragged into some greasy old diner that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the seventies. Emily stood behind the counter looking severe in her tight waitress uniform, while Monique, Jesus, those tits, loomed in the kitchen doorway like a walking wet dream. The description under the thumbnail had promised “messy, aggressive, raunchy discipline,” and Johnny’s cock was already leaking against his palm as he stroked.

He barely noticed the shooting star that cut across the night sky outside his open window. One second he was muttering “fuck yeah, slap those black tits together,” the next his eyes were rolling back and the world went soft and warm and far away.

He woke up dizzy.

The first thing that hit him was the weight on his chest. Heavy. Soft. Moving when he breathed. He tried to sit up and the whole world tilted, something thick and soft slid across his ribs and settled with a liquid bounce. His hands flew up on instinct and sank into warm, dense flesh. Big. Really big. Nipples like fat gumdrops under his palms.

“What the fuck...”

The voice that came out wasn’t his. It was deeper, richer, with a Southern roll that made every syllable sound like it was dripping honey. Johnny’s eyes snapped open. Brown skin. Smooth, deep-brown skin stretching over the backs of his hands, the insides of his wrists, the heavy curves filling his grip. He jerked those hands away like he’d been burned and stared down at himself.

A pair of full, heavy black tits stared back.

He was sitting on a cracked vinyl stool in a diner that smelled like burnt coffee and old fryer grease. The clothes stretched across his new body was tight enough to cut circulation, short black skirt, white blouse straining at every button. Between his legs, under the skirt, there was nothing but soft, warm folds and a slick little seam that pulsed when he clenched.

“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.” The accent rolled out again, thicker this time. He clapped both hands over his mouth. Even his teeth felt different. “I’m Black. I’m a chick. I’m… I’m Jasmine?”

Across …