Entrapment within his own body. No—entrapment within an ultra-beautiful, un-masculine body, following a set of compulsions like some sort a game. It was weird, absurdly specific, and highly embarrassing; it was quite possibly Jon’s oldest fantasy. Yet... He only completed the first step. It was the next batch of wishes that would truly cement this experience into something to remember.
It would be something to remember because... there would be no other life for him. Jon's fantasy was that of "transformation masochism". He wanted to be trapped. He wanted the feeling of no escape. He knew that once the arousal worn of he'd definitely regret wishing all this, because both rationally and emotionally he had completely no desire to be a woman, not to mention being so much older. But he found the idea just. So. HOT. He simply couldn't resist, against his better judgement.
"I wish I turned into my original form of Jon Gibson."
Nothing happened.
Jon's stomach sunk. So that was it. What was wished couldn't be unwished. But there was a feeling stronger than the fear manifesting as the sinking in his tummy. Arousal.
It was difficult to describe. It was such a new sensation. There was none of the tightness in his groin he was used to. There was just soft, a little tingly, pleasant warmth low in his belly and between his legs. No desire to touch. Not yet. Just... a difficulty in focusing on anything else than the source of his arousal - the new life he'd have to live now.
Now that he knew he was stuck though, something needed to be rectified. By changing from a teen into a mid-late-thirty-year-old he's essentially shaved twenty years off his lifespan. That couldn't stand.
"I wish that for the next 10 years, both me and any partner I might be sharing my life with, would physically age only at a third of our normal rate."
He smiled to himself. He wasn't some sort of megalomaniac about to wish for immortality and eternal youth. But the idea that for the next thirty years he'll enjoy the physicality of a woman under 45 was... good.
He looked at himself in the mirror once again. The smile looked good on him.
"I wish I knew how tall I stood."
And he knew. 5'1'' Definitely shorter than he's originally envisaged for himself. But the idea that with a simple wish, just like that, he's changed his whole life into that of needing a stool to reach higher kitchen cupboards... It was way hotter than he expected. There it was again. The desire for "transformation masochism". Getting off the idea of transformations making him struggle in particular ways.
He scanned his silhouette. His shapely hips - wondering if "accidentally" wishing them to be wider would have the same effect as accidentally permanently making himself a shorty earlier. The presence of generous breasts. Breasts you could only kinda tell were there because of his boyish hoody, but breasts he could nevertheless clearly feel as two completely inert, soft, warm growths, whose weight was sitting on his front, pulling on skin and various tendons in ways he was not used to. He wondered how long it would take to get used to them. He wondered if they would get in the way much - when he went down the stairs or tried sleeping on his stomach - cause apparently that was a thing. He wondered whether he might be tempted later to make them hefty enough to make sure they get in the way. He suspected he might but he hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want a lifetime of discomfort and lower back pain. But the idea of the extra struggle, forcing him to live a life even more... "womanly" was arousing. There was no denying that.
But all that would come later. First things first - his new life.
"I wish my original mother was now my sister and that a version of Jon Gibson, now my nephew, existed with no recollection of the stone."
