Zoe was in her room, attached to her phone, leaving Jon the bathroom and all the privacy he needed to make good on an earlier promise. Jon needed to get off badly. It was an old urge, one he had felt often, being a young man with hormones and all that, but Sandra’s version of clouded judgment was... different.
Today’s events only further proved he’d been right in his assessment that he desperately needed to get control of Sandra’s libido. He wasn’t worried about his own heterosexuality softening, still having an appropriate amount of inappropriate thoughts about women- which for a teenage boy is no small amount. But when left unattended, Sandra’s sexuality would revert to what it knows best and make him go goo-goo over a smutty romantasy novel or have his insides turn to mush around his best friend’s father.
Which is precisely why I need to do this. Get my body and mind right. Course correct. Retrain this model and put this whole experience on rails. Ugh, maybe it’d be easier to feel my own sexuality and get in the mood if I wasn’t talking about rubbing one out like it’s some sort of chatbot update. I’m going to get to play with real tits! This should be exciting.
Jon closed the door to the bathroom, eager to shower off his sweat but not so eager to see Sandra’s naked body once again. No, his naked body. If he was going to touch her, to explore her, that body needed to be his. Treating Sandra like an entirely different person helped in certain situations, gave himself permission to act like Zoe’s mom, but if he was going to do this, he needed not be slipping a finger into Sandra’s vagina, but his. Somehow, that distinction made it less creepy.
Jon removed Sandra’s jewelry, er, his jewelry; a charm bracelet, bust length moonstone necklace, and studs with sparkly gemstones, Jon figuring that if he was going to wear jewelry, he was going to wear the ones with the cool rocks over gemstones or diamonds. The irony of that statement not fully dawning on Jon quite yet.
He placed them on his inherited jewelry stands, making sure there were no kinks or tangles and setting himself up nicely for in the morning. ‘Being prepared’ was a state Jon happened into by sheer, sabotaging his future self more often than not. Sandra’s life required a bit more forethought, as Jon had learned, and things like her thimble proportioned bladder made thinking ahead a necessity. Jon patted himself on the back for remembering to make a stop at Zoe’s dance studio just in case and saving himself a possibly humiliating situation in needing to go out in the woods.
Or in front of Liam!
It was frustratingly restrictive, but planning his life like a rationing captain mapping supply hubs proved far better than the thigh clenching, stomach curling, praying-he’ll-find-a-new-muscle-that-might-actually-hold-it-in desperation.
The steam from the shower had reached a fever pitch, like a hell-torn volcano calling for its virgin sacrifice. Jon figured that’s probably a touch too hot and adjusted the knob. He hoped that wasn’t the last of the hot water as he began to undress, all too ready to be rid of the grime and sweat of today. Unbuttoning his pants sent his tummy spilling free, swearing those jeans fit better that morning, if you could call framing Sandra’s, er his, pooch-y, bubbly midsection like a pool floatie.
Fortunately, peeling off denim-lite jeans returned his silhouette to its natural soft-serve shape and ridding him of that terrible snowman figure. Top came next, bra soon after which really should have come off first-- Jon realized the moment his ta-tas were free. Actually, it should have came off step 0, right when he came in the door, finally understanding that sense of relief from strain and straps that really was as nice as advertised. Even if it meant dealing with a different, more liberated gravitational problem now.
Jon grabbed them as an effort to restore some authority, a command to restore some order, but boob prison had changed them too much, scarred and tatted from amateur underwire. Who was he to judge them for flopping around with their freedom after unfairly serving two terms in lace lock-up? Plus, pushing together their softness never got old.
Wiggling his way out of his neutral colored high-waisted tummy control briefs, Jon feeling like the extra utility made them manlier, ditched his glasses on the counter-top, and wiggled into the shower while minding the deceptively big step over the tub.
It wasn’t like he was afraid of Sandra’s vagina, er, his vagina, even though he sure acted like it. He reasoned, he just did better when he ignored it. And it was easy to ignore. It was nothing after all.
Compared to his hips bumping into everything, rounding off his gait, breasts pulling at his shoulders, that nothing was easy to ignore. Well aside from his frequent bathroom visits but those were almost becoming routine enough to be ignored too. Once those little lips were tucked away in their cotton kingdom, it was remarkably easy to pretend like it just wasn’t his problem anymore.
But it wasn’t nothing. Jon reflected while starting Sandra’s shampoo routine, today it was very much something.
You don’t really notice you’re missing something until you’re back revisiting something so familiar, so lived in, so experienced, and the thing you’re waiting on isn’t there. That’s when you notice nothing. For Jon, listening to a sex scene in a fantasy novel had happened for him more than once before. And being a teenage boy, that excitement, that rush of blood, was nothing new.
But as a woman? A mature, sexually realized woman? While the destination of the blood was the same, Jon was discombobulated from the experience, recognizing all the same familiar buttons being pressed but getting jumbled into entirely novel outputs.
Hair conditioned, loofah being lathered, Jon tried to make sense of the differences. There was just the strangeness of being wet and really coming to understand the full extent of that term. It wasn’t gross. Jon felt like he should feel gross about it but once he got over the fear of it being an ‘accident’, he rather enjoyed how warm and inviting his nethers could get.
From there, it gets even more scrambled. Boners are so direct, so objective focused, so directional. All they want to do is be released, break free, or pop out. Hell, the damn thing is basically a red arrow just waiting to be pointed at a target.
But Jon experienced none of that. He expected to but it never came. What he felt wasn’t directional but gravitational. There was no push, no thrust. Just a pull, soft and gentle, to a different type of need, warm, pulsing to a different beat between his thighs. And even though Jon felt the biological equivalent of having the rug pulled out from under him, he was still entranced by its siren’s song. He also felt its pull.
All because of a stupid book and an arrogant, head-strong cheese seller’s son getting them trapped and-
Jon felt the familiar tingle of blood rushing not to engorge or thicken but plump or ripen. He didn’t try to discourage it this time. It was new, different, but that’s why it needed to be explored. It was that, or ignore it and let it control him since nothing, it was not.
It’s my vagina. Ughhchk, I feel like I need mouthwash after that. No, but if I’m going to do this, it is my vagina. Bleaghhhh.
Jon finished rinsing out the conditioner and spraying off the last bit of suds from loofah-ing. If he hadn’t stopped for a second to stop and sniff Sandra’s cucumber body wash, getting some when I get back for sure, he may not have been jostled by a stream of icy cold water signaling the end of comfortable shower time.
Killing the water, Jon stepped out of the shower, water dripping down his body. The droplets raced, making roads of his curves, merging into streets into his softness, blossoming into boulevards under his belly, until it just ends, coming to a crashing halt as 24-car pile up of thickness comes to a crashing halt, all roads collapsing… there.
To my vagina...
He was getting the hang of ‘owning’ it.
After double, triple, quadruple checking that Zoe was still in her bedroom, and applying some lotion (it was amazing how much more desirable Jon found his body after a little TLC), Jon paced around the foot of his bed, trying to hype himself up, but ultimately just giving the neighbors a runway show of the same basic pajama outfit from BigMart.
Because while he is interested in exploring the gender gap, he wanted to learn how to please a woman, and just plain thought it’d be fun to orgasm as a woman-- all those were true-- there was a fear driving it too. A fear Jon tried to handwave away or ignore by focusing on how the book made him feel. That British narrator saying the word ‘bodice’ or ‘pressed’ got his lady parts a-flutterin’ with butterflies while Liam gave him a whole damn migration. There was a lot to be unboxed there, hence Jon’s usual strategy to ignore instead.
And once I’m satisfied, I should be set for the week and be able to keep all those distractions at bay and just focus on changing back.
Jon laughed a bit after realizing, in a way, he’d need to find his clit to save his manhood.
I guess there’s nothing left but to get to it, Jon reasoned, propping up his legs under the covers. I guess I just rub, right? I mean, rubbing it against stuff didn’t feel bad. Okay, maybe just soft circles, Jon said, beginning to really actively touch his new sex for the first time, so gently and so timidly.
Alright, that isn’t bad, as his manicured hand tracing the outer, fuzzy lips of his peach. Maybe I should have shaved down there… gah! No, begone Sandra thought, this is Jon time. I’m ennnnnhmmjoying this, enjoying getting to play with sohhmmmmmhmm big boobs and this is about loving women’s--!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jon had accidentally touched a lightening rod, that would never be accidentally touched, ever again.
This is such a good idea.
