You click on the link, and you start to read. Of course you do. You're bored right now, hoping someone's posted something entertaining enough to occupy your eyes for a moment, and this just so happened to catch your eye. So you read.
Something about it feels... Different.
More different than usual, anyway. It's a root episode on the Drafting Board, after all. When you're reading an episode on YAWYW, you know more or less what you're going to get; you'd read about the adventures of Jon and friends, characters you're familiar and comfortable with, going through the usual magical mayhaps with all the familiar themes. It's what you most associate with Fiction Branches, unlike the Drafting Board, where all bets are off and the root can be anything, really. Already you were clicking on this with some apprehension that you'd see something really off the wall, and now you're reading this and it feels weird.
It's been in second person entirely so far, which is very unusual. Not an "I" or a "he" or a "him" or a "she" anywhere in the text so far. Just "You". Only ever "You". You just double checked to make sure, and yeah, it's you. The episode is describing you, telling you who you are and what you're doing, and it's uncanny. It's weird. It makes you feel weird. The episode is telling you it makes you feel weird, and so you feel weird. Isn't that weird?
And yet you keep on reading this weird, uncanny episode, and you start to wonder... What if...?
But that's impossible, isn't it? That only ever happens in porn. It's practically a cliche, really, some sketchy link on some sketchy website that you click on and suddenly you feel all weird and different and oh my God you know what happens next and it's making you excited. Nervous, too. But you're being ridiculous and you know it. It's impossible. Isn't it?
You check. You know it's impossible but despite yourself, you stop reading for just a moment and look down. Even give yourself a little pat. You're all there. Of course you are. This is real life, isn't it? It's not as if, while your eyes are locked on the episode text, reading word after word and paragraph after paragraph, your body could somehow be changing while you aren't looking! It's not like, while your hands are busy scrolling through the episode of your mere little entertainment for the moment, they aren't feeling the way your curves are changing and reshaping, without you noticing! It's absurd! Impossible! This is just porn, it's not even proper literature, really, it can't make you into someone else! ...Right?
But you don't look down anymore. You don't pat yourself down anymore. You're too curious to know where this episode is going, and part of you, deep down somewhere in your brain, wants to believe. It's silly and impossible and you know it, but somehow you're starting to wonder, if you just keep reading, keep scrolling, don't dare to take your eyes and your hands off the episode, then maybe, just maybe, while you aren't looking and feeling anything else...
Your head itches. Just a little, but it itches.
Don't scratch! Don't do it! Keep your hands away from your scalp and let your head itch. Itchy heads are normal, right? It doesn't mean anything. It's not like the episode is somehow making your head itchy. There's nothing supernatural here. Your head itches because your head itches, and that's that! That your head just happened to start itching just a moment ago is coincidence, nothing more.
... What if... ?
You become aware of your breathing. Steady, rhythmic streams of air, one after another. Are they getting deeper? But you're getting excited, are they shallower? You can't stop yourself from becoming aware of what's happening in your chest, now, so you take a deep breath. Your diaphragm is pulling air into your lungs, pushing your ribs out, and causing your chest to inflate. Your chest...
Another deep breath. Air sucks in. Your chest gets bigger. You breathe out. Stay steady. Air sucks in. Your chest gets bigger. Exhale. You feel it. Inhale. Your chest gets bigger. Exhale. It's sensitive. Inhale. Your chest gets bigger. Out, then in. Your chest gets bigger. Out, then in. Your chest gets bigger. Out, then in. Your chest gets bigger. Out, then in. Your chest...
Don't touch. Don't touch them. They're sensitive, and fleshy, and there, but you don't dare touch them. You flush, and fidget, and try and fail to ignore that you know that you have TITS now. They're big and soft and sensitive, and you're fighting the urge to find out exactly how they feel in your hands. Your bony, slender hands, with some odd weight you feel on the nails. You bite your lip, and feel the meat. Was it always so soft...?
Oh my God. Oh my God, it's happening! Don't look down! You're in denial, you don't want to know, you don't want to see what you know is there, because you just know what you'll see: You're a GIRL! Somehow, reading this episode put you under its spell, and while you weren't paying attention it CHANGED you! Holy shit it CHANGED you! It can't have changed you, surely you would have noticed- ?
Your hair.
Itching wasn't the right word. Your hair feels different. The way it insulates your head and weighs down your scalp... It's always been there, but you haven't noticed. Until now. Now you know, without having to check, that your hair is longer. Fuller. Sexier. And you did notice. Your head felt something like itchy, didn't it? It was growing out into a wavy cascade of glorious mane, right under your very nose. And shoulders, too. You feel it on the small of your back, the dangling ends slightly tickling your skin. Your bare skin. What are you wearing...?
You're nude. You blush as you realize your bare, nude body is completely exposed to the still, warm, humid air, despite there not being anyone around to see. Where are you? You're in a whitewashed fluorescent room, small, fogged up with a little steam, and your feet feel the softness underfoot. A bathrug. You're in a bathroom. And you're nude, only slightly damp, having toweled off. You look into the mirror, but it's fogged up for now.
You aren't reading the episode anymore. You never were just reading the episode, and now you know it. Your eyes took in the spell, and they tranced you, and they changed you, and now you're somewhere else in some other body. You feel... Clean. Relaxed. Your new body just came out of a warm, toasty shower, and it's perfect. You feel perfect. Big, glorious melons hang off your ribs, over a flat, toned abdomen. You stand on thick thighs that round up over alluring glutes around wide hips, and between your legs...
... It... Somehow it feels natural. Like you've always had it and never known. But now you feel the air on your labia, clean and soft and inviting, and your clitoris tingles with just the slightest need. It isn't wet or swollen or wanting, not now, not yet; but it's part of you, as naturally and unremarkably yours as your tongue in your mouth, or your nose on your face. You're a girl. In this space, the one you entered through your mind's eye through the words of an episode far away, you are a woman, curvy and sexy, and you feel right. It feels right.
The mist is fading out and the mirror is clearing up. You see your eyes, big and green and doelike in the mirror, taking it all in with fascination. Freckles dot your cheeks and dimples flank your full, soft pink lips, and it's all framed by wavy red hair falling behind you. You know it's you, but you don't recognize yourself: you look like a supermodel. Amazing, perky teardrop breasts hang off your frame, and are made even more pronounced by just how trim and slender the rest of your upper body is. Your body flares outwards as you look down, widening until there's a gap between your muscular thighs, and there's not a trace of pubic hair to hide your pussy. You turn, and look back over your shoulder; of course you have a firm, spectacular ass.
You shudder. The feeling radiates up your skin, raising up goosebumps, hardening your nipples, making your hairs stand on end, and pleasuring you. You're getting horny. But you don't dare to masturbate. Not here. Not like this. You might be edging yourself, checking yourself out in the mirror, but you aren't playing with yourself. Not yet. Wouldn't you look even sexier in some clothes...?
Where are you, again? It's a large, clean, mostly plain white bathroom, with a big walk-in shower still steaming and fogged up from recent use, and cream colored tile wherever the fuzzy brown bathrug underfoot isn't. The toilet is furtively hidden away through an open doorframe, and in front of you, around the sink, are combs and brushes and toiletries on the marble countertop.
Finally, you see the way out: a closed door, adorned with the only pure decoration in the bathroom. It's a sign on the door that reads, in flowy bathroom script:
Add a new episode.
You're approaching the door rapidly. You realize, with a sudden sense of overwhelming freedom, that from here, you may now Choose Your Own Adventure.
