Jon raced back home after finding the address on Sandra's license with all the skill of teenage boy with nary a year of driving experience under his belt, completely unwilling to tap into the Sandra skill pool for any avoidable reason. After parking, Jon removed his heels and waddled in a panic as quickly as his stout, little legs could carry him to the apartment, keeping his legs pressed tightly together as he went. Bursting through the door, flinging his bottoms off, and plopping his pillowy tush onto the porcelain throne, his plump hips spilling over the side of the seat, Jon sighed in relief at making it to his destination and besting nature's call.
Stupid tiny bladder! This is ridiculous! I don't know how Sandra puts up with this constant need to tinkle!
He had used the lady's room multiple times throughout his shift, but then he still had the subtle guiding influence of Sandra to make it feel only slightly weird, but the sputtering stream hissing from his undercarriage somewhere beneath a trimmed garden of pubic hair was downright otherworldly and undeniably gross. Folding up squares of toilet paper thick enough to keep his hand from getting damp, he wiped and cursed at the humiliation of it all.
No matter what happened at the end of this odyssey, the truth was that the first pussy he'd ever seen, the first one he'd ever touched was a 35 year old woman's, his 35 year old puffy, post pregnancy pussy that had more in common with his mom's than any woman he'd ever fascinated about. Jon shuddered at the thought.
Washing his hands, Jon caught his reflection in the mirror and jumped a little at the sight. “Oh sorry mom, I didn't know... oh yeah... that's right, that's... me,” the woman's full lips mouthing to match the dismayed words hanging in the air. The day had been a whirlwind with no real time for Jon to take in any of it, racing from the series of bad wishes, to comforting Zoe, to work, but now, quiet and alone, the gravity of everything finally settled in. That reflection with all it's flaws and motherly grace, was his for a week. At least. Jon shuddered at that too. He really needed to stop capping off uncomfortable realizations with even more horrifying thoughts.
Tentatively, he pulled off his top and made an awkward, uncoordinated effort to unhook his bra, continuing with a near morbid curiosity. Yes, it was like seeing his mother naked, but just like invading his feminine folds with toilet paper, this was an unavoidable side effect of his new reality. This was his body and unless he wanted to go the next six days without changing clothes and reeking of Dove deodorant and boob sweat, this bridge would need to be crossed.
Freeing his massive mammaries from their nylon prison, Jon immediately got why women were so eager to shed their bras. Yes, the jiggling and weight on his chest presented its own set of concerns, but the release from the binding straps was a liberation he didn't realize he needed until his breasts sagged freely on his fully naked female body.
And sag they did, his massive cup size falling victim to gravity and time as their faintly stretch-marked tissue hung down nearly to his belly button, the ends punctuated by dark areola and thick, puffy nipples that looked like they'd be more at home on top of a formula bottle than a person.
I guess technically that's what they are, fleshy milk bottles for babies, the thicker the teat, the better. I'm sure Zoe had no problem suckling from these udders... Oh, gross! Why do I keep doing that to myself.
Further down, his waist seemed to taper down, almost seemingly skinny if it wasn't for his plushy muffin top (and again more stretchmarks ugh!), but any notion of an hourglass figure was obliterated by generously broad hips that could advertise from blocks away their amazing capacity for childbearing, far outstretching the width of his shoulders, providing a picture perfect definition of a pear shape. He might have been even thicker than his mom, but her motherly pelvis was earned through three childbirths.
Er, I guess that's two now? No- one. She had one kid. I think. I don't know, I'll worry about that later, but right now I need to go back to freaking out about these!
Moving on and avoiding the fuzzy garden nestled between his touching thighs, a boy could only take so much in a day, he turned and saw the piece-de-resistance, a badonk that donked one too many badonka-donks, absolutely flush with jiggly booty that seemed to endlessly bounce with wave after wave of reverberating fat after Jon's quick lift and release and gentle smack for good measure.
Sure he had inspected himself before and throughout the day as it was impossible not to notice the massive squeezed together cleavage blocking any view of his feet and the gigantic mom ass trailing his every move, suspecting is was a magnet for eyeballs and an instant conversation starter, but this was different. The rush of the day was over. The adrenaline of the initial change had begun to fade. There was no coaxing or smoothing from some internalized 'Sandra'. It was just Jon, Mature, motherly, Jon.
But also... it was pretty damn sexy.
He had to admit, this body that found itself somewhere on the line between fertility goddess and MILF was damn appealing on a primal level. Every inch of her form seemingly designed to breed and birth at the highest level. Nothing about Sandra suggested even a meager capacity for strength or agility. He was built to fuck, to cuddle, to carry child, to nurture, and to fuck again. Every man who looked at Jon today saw just that, their biology firing wildly lust at his presence, just like Jon's mind was doing now, just like Liam had done earlier. For Jon, this realization of the lustful incitement his body could inspire came coupled with a rush of foreign sensations, a flush of warmth, a firmness and tightening in his chest as his nipples extended further, a pulsing, throbbing sensation in his loins, as his clitoris twitched with anticipation at its first chance to make itself known.
Jon was flush, his heart rate quickened, and he was unknowingly aroused. The confusing dichotomy created by his horny teenage boy brain and the voluptuous body he now inhabited being no obstacle to the growing lust he felt for himself, as horrifyingly wrong as it might be. He was only beginning to process these new feelings of arousal, a subconscious emptiness, a longing to be touched, and a sort of gravity his new sex seemed to be exerting. Acting on its own to pull a dainty hand closer and closer, nearer and nearer, letting Jon's delicate fingers linger ever so gently in the garden of his Venus Mons, patiently waiting, pleading, begging Jon for any sort of tacit permission to plunge into his wanting, waiting sex. To give Jon his first real lesson in womanhood, to show him what those same fleshy lips, that had disgusted him earlier, were truly capable of, the wonderful depths of overflowing fountains, bursting with unimaginable pleasure that they could provide when given the chance.
These thoughts were foreign and frankly quite overwhelming, lulling Jon into a hypnotic state as he watched himself, hypnotized by his own reflection. But it wasn't to last, his ministrations left only knocking on the proverbial door as they were interrupted by Zoe slamming the door and announcing her arrival.
“Jon? Jon? Where are you? Oh, please don't say you're in the bathroom! I really need to tinkle!” Seems like tiny bladders and childish euphemisms run in the family.
