"Alright, honey." Jon's mother said, not unkindly. In response, he got up off the bed closed his eyes and held up his arms. The movement felt so wrong. His feet hit the ground too soon when he took a step. His legs moved too close together, unobstructed by organs he no longer had. He could feel the dress brushing against him as his hips swayed, but the sensations were strange...too far apart. He could tell his legs joined his hips at a much greater distance from each other. He could swear he felt his new buttocks jiggle slightly, but no less sickeningly, when he got up too fast. And though his eyes were closed, he could feel the long hair falling in his face and tickling his shoulders.
Finally, Jon felt his mother pull the dress up over his head. It highlighted everything that was wrong with his body, the fabric stretching a bit as it went over his much larger hips, folding inward again to fall across his waist, and tickling his bra clad...breasts, ever so slightly. His...rather, his mother's hair caught in the collar of the dress as it went over his head.
"You're going to have to see this eventually." His mother cautioned as she began expertly unhooking his bra. His bra. He felt nauseous. But there was nowhere to run from the sensation. And Jon knew his mother was right. She wasn't going to dress him every day for two weeks, and eventually he'd have to bathe. He shuddered. Then shuddered again when he felt his inherited breasts sag as his mother pulled off the bra. Finally, he felt the light, airy material of the night gown slip over his body.
Jon opened his eyes, annoyedly brushing the hair away from them with a manicured hand. It was worse than the dress had been. The material was silken and clingy, he felt everything about his body where the material covered it. The strange lack of hair, the soft skin, the dramatic curves and wobbly protrusions where before there was only hard muscle, the lack of material between his legs, the slight draft from the floor. He shivered.
There was a rustling behind him. Jon turned.
And just as quickly turned back. His mother was undressing herself. Jon stood stock still, avoiding the sensations the nightgown was causing. Soon his mother was standing before him, wearing an identical nightgown. She reached over and brushed the hair out of his eyes again. "We really need to do something about your hair." She informed him, not that he needed to be told.
"Got scissors?" He asked, hopefully. She gave him a look, part pity and part frustration.
"Jon...you know we can't. You have to look like me. It's part of your punishment. There is something we can do though." She walked over to the bags in the corner of the room and pulled something out of one. "Most of these things can wait for tomorrow, but I think you'll be more comfortable if we get this one out of the way."
In her hands was a collection of hair curlers.
