TL;DR I tried on some washed out high rise mom-jeans and I’m now stuck in the body of a nineteen year old woman somewhen in the latter two decades of the twentieth century.

I’m talking pre-internet, ridiculous hairstyles, VHS tapes, walkmans, MTV, Greenpeace, yellow pages, landlines, lots of denim, pastel teal and magenta color palettes, and diminishing bushes.

For my nineteenth’s birthday my mom/ant/milf next door gifted me a pair of washed-out jeans. It wasn’t so much a gift as I just found them neatly folded on my bed. At first I didn’t think much of them because they were the baggy type, so I decided to try them on. As I pulled them up I realized they were the high-rise and clearly female type because of the button placement. It was then when I noticed something in my back pocket, a yellow legal pad note. Try them on for some cool and fun times, Diora B. it read. I shrugged it off and breathed in as I struggled to bottom them up. Maybe I could impress my girlfriend by showing her how secure of my masculinity I was by wearing them as a joke, I thought.

The moment I fastened the last button, though, I was no longer in my room. The third thing I noticed was how the jeans suddenly constricted my hips, perhaps because I was now for some reason kneeling topless on the floor. The second thing I noticed were my bare breasts as I cupped them. I had tits. No, I had jugs! And they felt as perky as my nipples felt hard. The fist and most obvious thing I noticed —and for a moment I tried to deny because of its sheer improbability— was the hard wet and pulsating cock in my mouth.

“Dioraaa, dinner’s ready!”

A motherly muffled voice knocked at my new bedroom’s door, white warm cum overflowing my lips.

“Fuck!” the owner of the manhood cursed, finally letting go of my head. Still spraying my face and bosom generously.

He also wore jeans, a white t-shirt, an unbuttoned green plaid long-sleeved shirt on top and a backwards blue baseball cap.

“Diora?” the voice asked, now shaking the door’s knob. “What have talked about locked doors, huh?”

“Uhm...” I swallowed, cum dribbling down my chin as the guy made his way out of the room —as swiftly as he came— climbing down the window. “Coming!” I managed to say out loud in my utterly unfamiliar sweet feminine voice.

Wearing nothing but my jeans I stepped barefoot and unlocked the door.

“What are you even doing?” the voice asked inquisitively.

“Nothing,” I answered instinctively, stepping back and tripping on the vanity table ottoman as the door burst open.

“Oh Lord Mighty!” The woman shut the door behind her as quickly as she opened it. “What are you doing?!” the woman asked as she frantically inspected the room.

“M-Moisturing...” I couldn’t help it but to deftly spread the liquifying gel on my chin around my cheekbones, temple, my neck, collarbone and the back of my arms like I’ve seen my girlfriend do during her skincare routine.

The woman took a deep relieved breath. “Gosh... put on a blouse and come downstairs to help me set the table, dinner’s ready.” The woman stormed out.

There you go. The idea is that I am now trapped in the body of my mom/ant/milf next door during the 80’s/90’s. Maybe I’ll be stuck here until I learn a lesson or conceive myself to keep the timeline straight. I am looking for a literate, creative and descriptive partner to play a long-term slice of life roleplay asynchronously. A couple of paragraphs once or twice a day. I am happy to start anywhere after having traveled back in time, meaning that your response doesn’t necessarily have to follow up what I just wrote above. Feel free to let me know any idea, suggestion, modification or pitch you may have. Just try to be clear and intentional about the scene and characters you have in mind. I am not a fan of listing kinks but, although I’m fairly vanilla, I am opened to most things with the exception of humiliation and non-con. Also the words pre-cum and bimbo.