Chapter 5: The Bouquet Toss Swap
The wedding reception thrummed with music and laughter, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the dance floor as the emcee’s voice boomed: “Ladies, it’s time for the bouquet toss!” The crowd buzzed with excitement, single women weaving through the guests to cluster near the center, their giggles and eager chatter electrifying the air. I stood at the edge, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. The moment was perfect for some magical meddling, and my eyes landed on three men slouched at a table, completely disconnected from the wedding’s romantic fervor.
Mark, a lanky 30-something in a gray suit, was glued to his phone, his knobby fingers scrolling with a bored scowl. Tom, broad-shouldered and rugged, sipped a beer, his square jaw twitching with a private chuckle. Greg, tie loosened and chair tipped back, watched the dance floor with a lazy smirk, his stubbled face betraying mild amusement. The groom’s cousins, they were here out of obligation, not enthusiasm. Ideal targets for a bit of fun.
“Why should the women hog all the excitement?” I thought, my fingers tingling as I summoned my power with a subtle wave. I focused on Mark, Tom, and Greg, then shifted my gaze to three women jostling for prime spots in the bouquet toss: Sarah, a bubbly brunette in a teal dress, her ponytail bouncing; Emily, a poised redhead in a gold gown, her elegant posture commanding; and Rachel, a lively blonde in a pink chiffon dress, her animated chatter drawing smiles. With a spark of magic, I swapped their clothes, mannerisms, enthusiasm for the wedding and toss, and tweaked their physiques—giving the men smoother skin, longer hair, softer features, and slightly curvier builds to complement the dresses, though their male genitalia remained unchanged.
In an instant, Mark’s gray suit vanished, replaced by Sarah’s teal dress, its flared skirt and spaghetti straps hugging his now slimmer, rounded frame. His short hair cascaded into glossy brunette waves past his shoulders, framing a face with softened cheekbones and a peachy glow. His lanky limbs curved delicately, and his hands, once bony, were slender, nails faintly shimmering. He stood straighter, giggling with Sarah’s bubbly glee, clapping his hands, the dress swishing as he adjusted to his new curves. Tom’s navy suit became Emily’s gold gown, the shimmering fabric draping over a lithe, gently curved body. His cropped hair grew into auburn locks swept behind his ears, his weathered skin smoothed to a luminous sheen, and his square jaw softened into a graceful oval. He smoothed the gown’s train with Emily’s poise, his movements fluid, as if he’d always worn dresses. Greg’s rumpled suit morphed into Rachel’s pink chiffon dress, layers floating around a slimmer, softly rounded figure. His buzz cut sprouted golden curls that bounced with every move, his stubbled face now silky smooth with a delicate flush, and his broad shoulders tapered to match the dress’s dainty silhouette. He tossed his curls with Rachel’s flair, gesturing wildly, the skirt flaring as he shifted his hips.
Conversely, Sarah, Emily, and Rachel took on the men’s forms. Sarah, in Mark’s gray suit, had a lanky build, short tousled hair, and a freckled complexion, slouching as she scrolled through her phone. Emily, in Tom’s navy suit, sported a broad-shouldered frame, cropped hair, and a rugged jawline, leaning back with a beer. Rachel, in Greg’s rumpled jacket, had a stockier build, a stubbled chin, and close-cropped hair, sprawling with disinterest.
No one blinked. The guests chattered, and the emcee urged the single ladies forward. Mark, Tom, and Greg—radiant with the women’s enthusiasm and suited to their dresses—hurried to the dance floor, their long hair bouncing and skirts rustling. Mark, twirling a brunette wave, squealed in Sarah’s bubbly tone, “I need that bouquet!” He smoothed his teal skirt over his curved hips, his smooth legs stepping lightly as he bounced on his toes. Tom, brushing his auburn locks, stood with Emily’s elegance, murmuring, “The roses are divine—perfect for the toss.” He lifted his gold gown’s train, his softened features glowing, his curvier frame moving naturally. Greg, tossing his golden curls, chattered, “Those lilies? I’m getting married next!” He fluffed his pink chiffon skirt, shifting his weight to one hip, his smooth skin catching the lights.
On the sidelines, Sarah yawned, barely glancing up, her lanky frame slouched in Mark’s suit. Emily sipped her beer, smirking in Tom’s jacket. Rachel adjusted Greg’s tie, muttering, “Can’t we skip this?” Guests smiled at the men’s fervor and nodded at the women’s apathy, as if it were perfectly normal.
Before the toss, Greg excused himself, clutching his pink chiffon skirt with a Rachel-like giggle. “Be right back—gotta pee!” he chirped, navigating the crowd with ease despite his new curves. In the restroom, he faced the challenge of his dress. The chiffon layers were voluminous, and he gathered them with both hands, his golden curls falling into his face as he entered a stall. Hiking up the skirt, he balanced on his smoother legs, but sitting down proved awkward. His unaltered male genitalia made the ladylike posture feel strange, and he shifted uncomfortably, muttering, “How do women do this in these things?” He adjusted the skirt to avoid tangling it, his smooth cheeks flushing as he managed the task, his curls bouncing as he stood. Emerging, he checked his reflection, fluffing his dress and tossing his hair with a satisfied nod, unfazed by the ordeal.
Back at the toss, Mark faced his own adjustment. As he waited for the bride, he tried sitting on a nearby chair to chat with a guest, instinctively crossing his legs in Sarah’s ladylike manner. The teal dress’s tight fit around his curvier hips felt odd against his unchanged anatomy, and he winced slightly, shifting to a less prim posture. “This is… different,” he mumbled, smoothing his brunette waves, but his bubbly enthusiasm returned as he stood, the discomfort forgotten. Guests complimented his “radiant energy,” and he giggled, twirling his skirt.
The bride turned, bouquet raised, and the crowd counted down: “Three, two, one!” She launched the bouquet, roses and lilies arcing high. Mark leaped with startling grace, his teal dress fluttering, brunette waves flying as he reached with slender arms. Tom, gliding in his gold gown, stretched a delicate hand with Emily’s elegance, auburn locks swaying. Greg, back from the restroom, shoved forward with Rachel’s zeal, pink chiffon billowing, shouting, “It’s mine!” His curls bounced as he jumped, his softer frame nimble. Mark caught the bouquet, clutching it to his chest and squealing, “I did it! I’m next!” His smooth face glowed, and he twirled, the teal skirt flaring around his curved hips.
The crowd roared, guests swarming Mark, gushing over his “stunning catch.” Women admired his brunette waves, one saying, “You’re a natural!” Tom clapped, smoothing his gold gown, his auburn hair framing a poised smile, murmuring, “I was so close.” Greg pouted, fluffing his curls. “Next toss, I’m winning,” he huffed, his pink dress swishing. The trio posed for photos, Mark holding the bouquet, his smooth skin radiant; Tom striking a regal pose, auburn locks gleaming; and Greg twirling his skirt, golden curls bouncing. The photographer called, “Gorgeous, winners!” and no one blinked.
Sarah, Emily, and Rachel stayed seated. Sarah muttered, “Cool, I guess,” returning to her phone. Emily raised her beer in a lazy toast. Rachel shrugged, saying, “Rather hit the bar.” Guests called the women “hilariously chill,” as if their disinterest was charming.
The absurdity escalated. Mark, bouquet in hand, was cornered by aunts demanding his “wedding plans.” With Sarah’s flair, he described a beachside ceremony, gesturing with slender hands, his brunettewaves bouncing as he balanced on smoother legs, the teal dress swaying. An aunt patted his smooth cheek, saying, “You’ll be a radiant bride!” Mark giggled, twirling a lock of hair, his curves settling into the role.
Greg, with Rachel’s social butterfly nature, joined women discussing florals, gushing about peonies, his pink dress flaring as he gestured, his softer hips shifting. When a champagne glass spilled, he grabbed a napkin, bending carefully to avoid tangling his skirt, his smooth legs steady despite his anatomy’s awkwardness. “These dresses are a workout!” he laughed, his smooth face flushed, and the women nodded, as if he belonged.
Another absurd moment came when Tom, mid-dance, tried sitting to rest, adopting Emily’s ladylike posture. The gold gown’s tight fit pressed uncomfortably against his unaltered genitalia, and he grimaced, shifting to a wider stance. “This is… not what I expected,” he muttered, brushing his auburn locks, but his poised demeanor returned as he stood, joining the dance again. A guest, noticing his brief discomfort, said, “Gowns take getting used to!” and Tom nodded, his smooth skin glowing.
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