"My students...are in danger..." he thought, his head a buzz with worry. How will I help them? What could have happened to them? What will I wear to show them I love them?
Mesmero's mental trap filled his mind with images of gaudy, outlandish imagery that revolved around his female students making catty comments about his frumpy wardrobe, bald head and 'old man' look. Far from being hurt, he took these comments as honest criticism meant to help him. He imagined himself trying to educate his male students, only to have them ignore his words and instead focus on the appearance of his beautiful female students. Worried about his inability to communicate effectively with them, he began to imitate his female students, only to realise that THAT wouldn't do any good. After all, a young girl lacks the gravitas and dignity necessary to really lead. What he needed to do was...
He imagined himself now dressed as a mature, full figured woman. First, he'd need to gain some womanly curves. A certain thickness about the bottom and top would help him created the effect he dreamed of. A delightful roundness of face and chin would help too, filling out his hollow cheeks and softening his sharp angles with soft, plump flesh. A waist cincher and corset would be needed to scoop all that extra flesh up, out and on display, like it should be. He imagined himself as a positively Mae Westian figure. He imagined a gaudy dress - tight, flashy and glittering with rhinestones - and shuddered in delight. A saucy wink...a swaying strut...a smile that promised an 'education' to remember.
Sitting alone in his office, Professor X smiled and reached up to pat hair he didn't have, saying "Oh, darlin'...come up an' see me sometime" to no one. He ran his hands down his body, imagining a Turn-of-the-Century style gown that was full and covering, yet oh so tight. He imagined Mae West in 'Every Day's a Holiday' and it was easy to imagine himself as a...
(Latin)
...well...that would be unique. He pictured himself with caramel colored skin and yet black hair, and thought it would look wonderful. Charles Xavier? No, he'd never answer to that name again! Instead he imagined a zaftig, full figured Latina bombshell, saying "Hola, Senior! You are liking what you are seeing, jes? I yam Charlotta Xavier, thee..." he imagined himself smiling suggestively at this "...Headmistress of thees colegio."
His loins felt hot and sensitive. He wanted to do this. To make his dreams come true. To be the one his students lusted after. To be the naughty Headmistress...
But who could help him?