Waking up didn’t normally feel this good. Two points of sensitivity on Jon’s chest pushed into soft sheets stimulating the thunderingly wet pleasure between his legs. A slim hand slid between his legs into that nexus of pleasure.
A female gasp. Jon’s eyes shot open. He looked down through hair that wasn’t his. The soft skin, the two massive orbs that tented the overlarge t-shirt he slept in. He was a woman and yet he wasn’t concerned.
He eyed the room around him. His room, yet not. It seemed to twist and distort as the sheets on his bed. Near him, soft pink silk sheets returned to their normal blue linen sheets at the outskirts. His finger twitched and he gasped, swiftly reminded of where his right hand was.
It must be a dream. And if he knew it was a dream he could alter it. He reached up and gently grasped one of the tits through the shirt. A hitched feminine gasp slipped through his lips. It took a moment for his thoughts to return and then he remembered.
Right. A girl with tits like these wouldn’t sleep in an old ratty Star Wars t-shirt. He watched in wonder as his body tensed and with a wave of pleasure that emanated in his core, the shirt transformed before his eyes. The shirt reformed, becoming a risque red silken nightie. He could feel his underwear getting lacyier on the back of his hand.
The changes didn’t stop there, they propagated throughout the room. The distorted shelves with video games shifted. A massive collection of makeup supplies. The books became romances and fantasy. His bed grew, the pink sheets overtaking it as it became a king bed.
His computer desk became a vanity. He couldn’t make out the details but the clothing in his closet had definitely changed. He stopped masturbating. Pulled his hands off himself and slipped out of bed. He stumbled for a moment. The weight on his chest unexpectedly shifted his center of balance.
He eyed the floor-length mirror in the corner that he didn’t have before. The dream felt so real. Did he make a wish last night? No, he didn’t. He would have remembered. This must be a dream.
He moved in front of the mirror and holy shit. The woman in the mirror vaguely resembled his male self. She still had that scar on her nose. But that's where the similarities ended.
She looked like sex. That one girl you saw at a football game and blew you away and you never saw again. Because there was no way there was more than one girl this effortlessly hot in the whole city.
Plump, soft lips and smooth skin. Silky, wavy, shoulder-length hair that looked like the Hollywood ideal of what a hot woman looked like when she woke up. Tustled but sexy. He smiled and she grinned. An expression that spoke of sex.
The nightie barely covered her tits, one of the shoulder straps had slipped invitingly down her shoulder. She had generous curves and a lacy pair of panties that covered the unmentionables. She was a bit shorter than Jon had been.
Looking in the mirror and the room around him Jon couldn’t help but think that something was out of place.
