“How can you drink this crap?” I asked Stu after choking down the first swallow of the beer he had brought with him. “Blotz is nasty stuff!”

“Hey, it's cheap, and after the first one you don't notice.” My friend answered almost defensively. Besides they're running this cool contest and if you win you're guaranteed a contract to star in their commercials.”

I looked at him and shook my head. Stu looked like he was smarter than that, but couldn't resist anything that offered a prize. “Girl in a can?”

“Yeah.” He enthusiastically told me. “Find the girl in your beer and you could be making it with all the hot babes they use in their commercials, billboards, and posters!”

“Yeah, right.” I shrugged. Blotz was famous, or infamous for cheesy ads but I did have to admit that the girls they had modeling or doing the TV spots were all hot. “Like that's going to happen.”

“You never know.” He gave me a hurt look and downed the rest of the rotgut in his can then peered inside it. “Besides, you aren't paying for it, so why complain? The prize is printed on the bottom of the inside, don't forget to check yours when you finish it.”

“Okay.” I sighed, closed my eyes and prepared myself for the assault on my taste buds, and drained the can. Hey, like he said, I hadn't paid for it and most college students I knew wouldn't turn down free beer, at least I wouldn't.

“Look inside it, Mike.” He reminded me once I'd gotten it emptied.

“Sure, sure.” I grimaced and peered into the hole the pop top had left. “Heaven forbid I throw out the contest winner.”

What I saw on the bottom of the can was a shock. There was a picture of a shapely, very shapely girl with long dark hair, large brown eyes, and a face like a doll's it was so perfect. Along with the legend, 'Congratulations! You're the winner! Call the number on the can and start your new career!”

The others in the room, Stu included, were watching me and my friend asked, “Did you find it?”

Since I kept staring into the can, he decided I had and crowed, “Mike found the prize!”

“I guess, I did.” I responded and then things went — well, fuzzy. And numb. I had trouble seeing anything as other than a blur and I couldn't feel anything. Talk about a bad beer. Sheesh.

When things came back into focus I knew something was very wrong. I mean really off kilter. “Did you guys undress me or something?”

My legs were bare, when I had been wearing jeans, my feet didn't feel the comfortable runners I generally wore but felt as if there were straps across my arches and my toes were poking out of holes in the shoes. My shoulders felt exposed and worse, I felt something heavy and silky covering parts of them. And my voice was all wrong. Higher pitched and softer.

Sitting up was worse. Something, some things, on my chest moved when I did that, and it felt like I was sitting on a big pillow or something. “What the...”

“Mike?” Stu questioned once I'd done that and was shaking my head, which had the heavy, silky stuff around my shoulders slithering along my front and back and incidentally caused those annoying weights to move on my chest again.

“Yeah, who else would I be?” I questioned in annoyance, but again, my voice sounded all wrong.

“Ummm,” Clarice, Stu's girlfriend answered when he didn't respond. “You're a girl.”

“What?” I screamed and was embarrassed at the high pitch and hysterics in my voice.”

“And you're really hot.” Carl, another friend added while he stared at me.

“I am not!” I shouted, okay screamed. Screaming seemed like the thing to do at the time. I was still disoriented and the messages my frantic body was sending to my dazed brain were getting sidetracked to somewhere just then.

“Come with me.” Clarice, a really nice looking blonde with a body I'd lusted after many times, held out her hand and pulled me to my feet. “I'll show you.”

“No way!” I gasped once she'd taken me into the bedroom and pointed me at her full length mirror.

“I don't believe it either.” She said but firmly held my head so I had no choice but to look at what it was showing me. “But all of us can't be that drunk, or hallucinating this. You. Are. A. GIRL.”

She was right, much as wanted to deny it. The mirror showed me a very well put together girl, with a heart shaped face, large brown eyes, tiny little nose, high cheek bones, and lips so pouty they would give a guy fantasies just looking at them. Long, wavy black hair teased at her —my — breasts, and went on to play with that fantastic ass the girl had. She — me — was wearing a pair of really short, short cutoffs, and a skimpy royal blue halter top. And stiletto heeled sandals.

With the brown eyes, glossy black hair and the light olive complexion I was looking at, the girl staring back at looked Hispanic. And she was hot little tamale.

It was the girl who had been shown inside the can.

“That's not me.” I whispered as the girl in the mirror kept staring back at me in wide eyed shock.

“Well,” Clarice shrugged as she came to stand beside me, “all of us saw you change. This is you now.”

“I can't, can't be a girl!”

“Maybe it will go away when we all wake up in the morning.” She soothed then ran a hand gently over the breasts of the girl in the mirror. “For now it looks like you are, and you sure feel like you are.”

I felt that, and it felt good. Nipples I'd never noticed before told me they were there, and stiffened, while an uncomfortable moist feeling at my crotch made me aware that things were different down there, too.

“This can't be happening.” I grumbled. “I'm going insane, that's it. “I'm just imagining all this.”

“Pretty good imagination there.” Clarice smirked. “Because every one else seeing you is seeing what the mirror shows you.”

“Crud.” I shook my head. “What are my parents going to say when they find out? How can I go to class like this? I don't have an identity any more.”

“Check your purse.” She told me and I gaped like an idiot for a few seconds before noticing the strap hanging from one shoulder. Sure enough, it was a royal blue, leather lady's handbag. Gingerly putting my hands on it, as if it was going to bite me, I opened it and started rooting through what was inside it.

The usual stuff, I guess, for a girl's purse. Lipstick, powder, blush, tissues, and much to my humiliation, a tampon. There was also a long red wallet that opened up to reveal money, a credit card, and a driver's license.

The picture on the license, not all that good, but you know the people who are trained to do those pics are deliberately shown how to make really bad pictures, but it was the girl I saw in the mirror. Her — my name — was Isobel Consuela Maria Hernandez. I shook my head.

“Pretty name.” Clarice told me.

“I'm not a girl.” I tried to ignore the sensations from my body and sat on the bed while lowering my head into my delicate, long nailed hands. “I'm NOT a girl!”

“Well, you look like one, you move like one, and you smell like one.” Clarice shrugged. “If it walks like a duck, sounds like a duck, it's a duck.”

“But I can't be a girl!” I leaped to my feet and grabbed her shoulders. “I'm a guy! I lusted after you, for crying out loud!”

“Now you can see what it feels like to have guys doing that when they see you.” She chuckled then pulled me into a hug. “This is weird, but I feel as if you'd always been the girl I'm looking at now, and let me tell you, girl, you're a wet dream come to life.”

“Like I needed to hear that right now.” I grumbled.

“You are gorgeous.” She shot back. “Go with it for the night. Maybe things will go back to what they were in the morning. Just don't freak and try to enjoy it tonight — Isobel.”

“But I'm a girl!”

“Like you haven't been?” She asked with a look that plainly told me she thought I'd gone nuts. “Now come on, let's go back out to the party. I have some nice wine so we don't have to drink that horrible beer Stu brought.”

For some reason, a nice glass of wine sounded really good just then, and despite part of my mind screaming that things weren't right, I nodded and said. “Okay.”

“You girls take care of business?” Stu questioned as we left the bedroom and Clarice grinned as she moved to accept his arm around her.

“Yeah, love.” She answered, but I didn't have time to argue the point before an arm snaked around my own shoulders and pulled me close to a hard male body.

“You okay, Isobel?” Dennis, a big, well muscled football player — he was a halfback, asked.

“Yeah,” I told the guy before my scrambled up mind could protest about his arm around me, and much as it weirded me out, that felt good. I knew the guy was my boyfriend and the biggest part of me loved the idea. “Just some girl problems and talk.”

“Okay.” He turned me to face him and kissed me. I was being kissed by a guy! But it felt right, and I returned the kiss in spite of a tiny corner of my mind screaming that wasn't right at all.

“I can't wait to see the posters they do of you.” He nuzzled my neck and moved his mouth to my ear. Between nibbles he whispered. “A hot poster girl who is my girlfriend, and everyone will know that your with me.”

I gave up. The feelings I was getting from my still not quite right body told me it was a losing battle.

Looking up at him I smiled, put my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. When that was done, I winked. “Let them have their fantasies. You know who I'm coming home to.”

Oh, hi. Isoble here. Just a few words to end this story. For those of you who think I forgot who I was, or that my friends did? Nah. I remember Mike, they remember Mike, and we all remember what happened when he/I looked into the bottom of that beer can.