Jon rustled awake before Zoe, hair a mess, feeling increasingly miserable with every bit of gained consciousness. The stacks of throw pillows that were cobbled together as makeshift neck support through the night miserably failed at their job. Jon craned his neck but nothing would pop or crack back into place. How could his body feel so stiff from sleeping slightly upright? Lesson learned- sleeping in my bed on my side with my pillow configuration was now a non-negotiable.
Another peculiarity assaulting a different sense was the smell. He was sweaty and un-showered, and stinky, but it wasn’t his usual stank. Starting his way towards the bathroom, he took another whiff from his pit to confirm. Weirdly different, like old perfume or musty rose petals. Different body, different body odor, I guess. Just another thing that I didn’t realize had changed, Jon pondered whether not smelling like one of his gym bags was an upgrade while wiggling out of his pajama bottoms and panties to sit on the toilet and experience a more obvious downgrade.
Finishing his business while doing his best to ignore the sputtering, hissing sounds of the job, Jon figures it’s as good as time as any and strips to shower. After fiddling with the faucet to get the heat just right, Jon plunged his head into the stream, closing his eyes and letting the water flow over him and trying to find some mental center away from the act he was committing. But it was impossible. He could put Sandra’s body, all 36 years of it, out of sight, but its sensations, the space it occupied, could never truly be out of mind.
Each bit of water that made the journey from tap to toe, that flowed over his supple skin, highlighted and traced over every line and soft feature of Sandra’s womanhood as it trickled downward. His curves and rolls of finely aged feminine body fat became canals as beads flowewd from the space between his breasts, down the soft lines of his hanging tummy, flaring outward to visit the gentle indents and ice cream cone like scoops of his hips, before making their final run down the gentle traces of the v shape at the crest of his pelvis that most loudly proclaimed his femininity. Jon could only sigh and scold himself for being so childish in his previous strategy. Hiding his head under the blanket wouldn’t work. He needed to stop playing pretend and face the full figured facts that had were so obviously being outlined for him, that the world would not stop reminding him of.
Instead of building up an illusion of being a man again or wearing a disguise, only to have it shattered time and time again, it was time to fully inure himself to the situation. Which meant no more avoiding glances in the mirror or looking elsewhere when changing in some feeble hope he’d see something different. Jon needed to become accustomed to the mother in the mirror who reminded him of his mother. She was her own person but not a person at all, just a role created by the stone for Jon to temporarily inhabit and would vanish when he was gone. His looking or seeing Sandra’s mature, heavy, lined breasts wasn’t an invasion or deflowering anyone or making him a pervert. Him doing the bare minimum to exist as an adult woman wouldn't make him any less of a man. There was no Sandra to consent or return to scold him, there was only Jon and his boobs that he needed to come to terms with constantly being there.
It was still awkward, but Jon looking downward and really taking in all those fertile valleys- were his first steps to sitting in that awkwardness and accepting Sandra's physical being. He was a teenage boy, of course he was going to over-fixate on Sandra’s massive boobs, butt, and hp, but it was still the beginning of something new. By squeezing, washing, rubbing, carressing and pinching, learning what hurt and what actually felt kinda good, Jon was turning a page and moving past some old hang-ups.
He began his first session of immersive therapy by cleaning every inch of Sandra’s body, wanting to explore every inch of Sandra’s skin with a foamy sponge so he’d stop being surprised by her inventory all the time. He even found the tattoo Linda mentioned on his ankle- a little flock of birds that might almost be cute.
How did I not notice that before? Was I really just so focused on ignoring my boobs that I couldn’t be bothered to look over them? I swore this wasn’t here yesterday. Jeez, okay, I know I’ve been completely awkward before but there’s a real chance to work something good from this. Playing at being a mom is way easier than expected, honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’ve barely been at this and I already got my daughter out of a tight jam with ease. Hell, the way I had that office spinning, it’s like I’m a natural at it...
Jon paused, abruptly cutting his train of thought off before it could reach any sort of conclusion or accidentally pat himself on the back for this unwanted 'talent'.
Scratch that, not processing that, just focusing on the good. This is a real opportunity, and not just to play with some really huge boobs. Like, I can learn things. Things no other guy has ever had the chance to explore. It’s not like I have to get crazy with it either to learn a ton. Nothing has to go inside me to figure things out. And then one day, when all this is an old memory, and Karyn and I get close, I’ll astonish her with how much of a prodigy I am at making her feel good. This is like, my opportunity to become a sex genius when you think about it. Some real hands on training most guys might actually be jealous of. And yeah, by the end of it, Jon Gibson will be Lakepoint High’s resident sex genius.
As Jon's eyes traced up the gentle softness of Sandra's form, an innocent little warmth began to stir in his belly. He grinned, like he was a kid again, waiting in line for his first roller coaster, as an unfamiliar sensation tingled and pulsed and encouraged Jon to rub his plump thighs together as his hands wandered back to his breasts..
So maybe later, while Zoe’s at dance practice, since I’ve done so well and hopping into this routine, maybe I take a second to look in the mirror and familiarize myself with, well, were babies come from. No, ew. Okay, maybe step one is finding something to call Sandra’s lady parts that sounds sexy and doesn’t make me cringe out of my skin. But awkward or not, you and I, miss two-lips, will be on a first name basis very soon.
Quick point of order, Jon is absolutely correct that Sandra isn’t a real person. Not totally, anyhow. While the stone works near instantly in its short geographic radius, it takes a bit more time to make it’s way through, well, time. So while Jon was living through the present as Sandra, the stone's power was still working on building out and creating who Sandra is out past the initial inspiration given from Zoe’s expectations and imagination of who her mom would be at the time of wishing.
The stone was still wiring Sandra into the universe, so to speak, and any piece of data Jon gave it, like annoyance at a ‘Live Laugh Love’ sign and spending the night, cuddled next to Zoe watching movies, gave it plenty of inspiration to write histories and graft Sandra into reality. The sign now had a history, a tacky gift from her sister, and the house’s décor had changed, becoming more bohemian and comfortable to Jon’s tastes since he always seemed to prefer cozy things. Those extra throw pillows and blankets weren’t there the night before. Instead, they were conjured, like the extra snacks in the cupboard, from the movie night tradition Jon and Zoe had accidentally created. His closet was now stuffed after spending the last few days worrying and thinking about clothes, his attitude in small doses being used as the basis as the stone paints with a very broad brush, Sandra, the fully realized woman.
One can only speculate what this means for Jon, getting stuck in a positive feedback loop being a huge posibility, but at the moment, he is a mess of data points helping a very busy magical rock create the person and persona of Sandra.
The soothing shower was just the re-charge Jon needed, falling in love with all the delicate scents and smells lingering in the shower from Sandra’s products. He felt calmer, more at ease than usual; completely unwise that this feeling wasn’t from his newfound commitment to embrace his womanhood but more from Sandra’s Pavlovian response to the concoctions of lavender, essential oils, body creams, and shower bomb that were designed to evoke a deep relaxation in the recipient. It was chemical warfare disguised as aroma therapy. Toweling off, yes, even down there, he was actually considering shaving and about to try one of Sandra’s moisturizers before Zoe barged in and sent him scrambling for a robe to cover up with.
“Zoe! Can you please knock?!” Jon scolded, a hand resting, as it had more frequently and easily done, on the extra flesh of his cocked out hip.
“Can you not take an hour long shower when we have only one bathroom? Are you seriously going to do this every morning? We've got places to be mom. Now hurry up, I need to shower too.”
