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Hey everyone! I now have a patreon! Exclusive NSFW TG content with some perks awaits
www.patreon.com/user?u=3226662…

Johnson awoke. Johnson ate. Johnson worked. Johnson slept. The doctors called it depression; a complete and utter state of anhedonia. It wasn’t an unexpected diagnosis for him but he didn’t see how they could help with any of his issues; the monochrome pastiche of living between sleep had remained unchanged, only now he had pills. Little yellow pills to be taken every hour, on the hour. They wouldn’t have bothered if not for the incessant prodding from any sorry soul with a saviour complex who believed it was their duty to rescue them from their state. Through religion, through materialism, or spiritualism. Whatever their life’s mission happened to be. But the same would inevitably occur. Observing his sorry frame with unease, but a rabid ideological hunger. A few weeks of bible study, yoga, or perhaps meditation and then when his helplessness was truly observed he would cease to become useful. A failed project and a tarnish on their otherwise spotless ego. He would be left to float once more. A slave to the currents of a tumultuous, black ocean.

Night upon night this terror would recapture his mind. For weeks, the obsidian surf threatened to swallow him. Thickening to a tar. The air filled with his frightened gasps, shallow and rapid, paired with a whispering. An eldritch tone. Some sort of personification of the sea itself; it became impossible to ignore but intelligible in its speech. It told him strange things. Peculiar things that would stay with him in his waking hours, brooding thoughts behind his cozened mask.

You don’t need this body.

If you’re not remembered, then you never existed.

Rebirth is inevitable.

Birdsong. Birdsong drifted through the curtains, mixing with sunlight like milk and honey. It was… pleasant. Reminding Johnson of his childhood. A time before the emotional greyscale of his compartmentalised, adult life. But he remained confused. His doldrum routine had remained unbroken for years. The mid-morning modern din would rouse him with a chorus of car horns and overhead aircraft after which he would haul his skeleton to the mirror. But birdsong? He refrained from opening his eyes, worrying that it would somehow ruin this fantasy he had found himself in, but shifted his frame. Facing the absolving sun. But as they turned towards the sweet light they noticed another abnormality. A jiggle. A mass. Two masses in fact, moving on their chest as they readjusted themselves.
Johnson wasn’t one for adverse reaction but their hand shot as quickly as it could in his liminal state. This lead to two additional realisations. Small and dainty hands. A world from the calloused fists of what now seemed like a life ago. But more importantly, two voluptuous breasts. All it took was an accidental trace of their new perky nipples for their eyes to shoot open in surprise and arousal. This was it! Sensation. Feeling. Emotion. All these goddesses converging at once upon them. Them. Whoever they were. Wherever they were. The ceiling was as unfamiliar as the delight playing upon their full, smiling lips.

Janis’ final gift would be a mirror. The possession of the previous owner of the property and assumedly this body. But she didn’t care. Joy had finally found her. It hadn’t taken pills, potions, or obscurantist meditation methods. It could be found in affirmation, a kinship between the mind and body, and of course a pair of beautiful breasts to fondle to one’s heart’s desire.

Description

Hey everyone! I now have a patreon! Exclusive NSFW TG content with some perks awaits
www.patreon.com/user?u=3226662…

Johnson awoke. Johnson ate. Johnson worked. Johnson slept. The doctors called it depression; a complete and utter state of anhedonia. It wasn’t an unexpected diagnosis for him but he didn’t see how they could help with any of his issues; the monochrome pastiche of living between sleep had remained unchanged, only now he had pills. Little yellow pills to be taken every hour, on the hour. They wouldn’t have bothered if not for the incessant prodding from any sorry soul with a saviour complex who believed it was their duty to rescue them from their state. Through religion, through materialism, or spiritualism. Whatever their life’s mission happened to be. But the same would inevitably occur. Observing his sorry frame with unease, but a rabid ideological hunger. A few weeks of bible study, yoga, or perhaps meditation and then when his helplessness was truly observed he would cease to become useful. A failed project and a tarnish on their otherwise spotless ego. He would be left to float once more. A slave to the currents of a tumultuous, black ocean.

Night upon night this terror would recapture his mind. For weeks, the obsidian surf threatened to swallow him. Thickening to a tar. The air filled with his frightened gasps, shallow and rapid, paired with a whispering. An eldritch tone. Some sort of personification of the sea itself; it became impossible to ignore but intelligible in its speech. It told him strange things. Peculiar things that would stay with him in his waking hours, brooding thoughts behind his cozened mask.

You don’t need this body.

If you’re not remembered, then you never existed.

Rebirth is inevitable.

Birdsong. Birdsong drifted through the curtains, mixing with sunlight like milk and honey. It was… pleasant. Reminding Johnson of his childhood. A time before the emotional greyscale of his compartmentalised, adult life. But he remained confused. His doldrum routine had remained unbroken for years. The mid-morning modern din would rouse him with a chorus of car horns and overhead aircraft after which he would haul his skeleton to the mirror. But birdsong? He refrained from opening his eyes, worrying that it would somehow ruin this fantasy he had found himself in, but shifted his frame. Facing the absolving sun. But as they turned towards the sweet light they noticed another abnormality. A jiggle. A mass. Two masses in fact, moving on their chest as they readjusted themselves.
Johnson wasn’t one for adverse reaction but their hand shot as quickly as it could in his liminal state. This lead to two additional realisations. Small and dainty hands. A world from the calloused fists of what now seemed like a life ago. But more importantly, two voluptuous breasts. All it took was an accidental trace of their new perky nipples for their eyes to shoot open in surprise and arousal. This was it! Sensation. Feeling. Emotion. All these goddesses converging at once upon them. Them. Whoever they were. Wherever they were. The ceiling was as unfamiliar as the delight playing upon their full, smiling lips.

Janis’ final gift would be a mirror. The possession of the previous owner of the property and assumedly this body. But she didn’t care. Joy had finally found her. It hadn’t taken pills, potions, or obscurantist meditation methods. It could be found in affirmation, a kinship between the mind and body, and of course a pair of beautiful breasts to fondle to one’s heart’s desire.