deviantnabu
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Wholesome - Target Audience
🕑 Added 2022-08-18 21:19:27 +0000 UTC
As the theme music played, John jerked awake, his half snoozing eyes barely making out the credits rolling across the screen. Taking a second to look around the living room, John could only sigh, brushing popcorn from his tired body onto the cluttered floor below. It had been another day of nothing, another waste of so many hours spent staring at a screen, binging on shows and films that he knew he wasn’t paying attention to anyway. With more effort than he expected to need, he forced himself to sit upright on the sofa.
He wasn’t even sure what show he had been watching. It was some sort of crime or action series, he thought, barely watched as he lazed on his phone or drifted in and out of sleep. He had watched it in fragments, a chase scene jumping to a fight scene with nothing connecting the two. John used to scoff at the thought of binge watching, but now that he was out of a job, he had gradually understood the appeal. It was easy to just zone out and not focus on anything, somehow forgetting about your life. One episode leads into another which leads into a whole series, and soon the hours have flown by with nothing to show for it but a stomach full of stale popcorn and eyes stinging from the glare of the screen. He took off his glasses, rubbing them on the front of his grimy shirt. He knew deep down that something had to change before he fell into this rut permanently. He told himself that things needed to change soon, but as usual never could find the motivation to actually do anything about his life.
‘Next Up: My Perfect Home’ came the overlaid text on the screen, a brief preview picture appearing of a happy couple walking awestruck around their home. John rolled his eyes. Clearly the algorithm was running out of things to recommend him and was trying to do anything it could to keep him watching. He reached around for the remote but was unable to find it amongst the detritus that was scattered around the odd nest he had formed through the previous hours of watching. Eventually, the bright, cheerful intro music began, and the show started. John rolled his eyes, letting it happen.
The show was some sort of interior design programme, with a designer interviewing couples about the decisions they had made. Everything about the show was at odds with what he had just finished watching – the colour palette was soft, the background music gentle and playful. John knew he should take the sudden shift in tone as a sign to actually do something with his day, but he felt like he couldn’t muster up the energy to make a proper search for the remote control. This episode of the programme had a lesbian couple, describing how they had designed their home with a ‘feminine mindset’. John stifled a laugh. He had seen shows like this a hundred times before and knew that it was doing anything it could to remain relevant.
As the minutes rolled by, John found himself settling into the show. The positivity and love that the two women were showing each other, emphasised by their home, was oddly heart-warming for John. Initially, he wasn’t sure of their choice of décor, scoffing at the watercolour paintings and vintage furniture that in his mind were haphazardly strewn about their property, but the more he watched the more he was coming around to their aesthetic. Their home was full of light and peace, a relaxing refuge from the workday. John looked around his own home, with its dim, flickering lights and scuffed floors. He couldn’t find a place within it that didn’t have evidence of his laziness – an odd sock left abandoned on the floor in one corner, a pile of days old cereal festering in a bowl in the other. Even though he knew the women on the screen weren’t able to see him, he felt a wave of shame wash over him. He knew he should do better. Seeing their home in splendour suddenly made his seem all the worse.
Leaving the programme playing, he stood up, determined to this time finally make a change. He began sweeping up the popcorn that was littered around the sofa, soon finding the remote control buried underneath of the mound. Earlier, he would have been glad to find it and change to a different, more appropriate show, but his eyes were weirdly glued to the screen as he worked. Clothes that had long since been draped over the backs of chairs were neatly folded and put away. The plates for washing up that had piled up mockingly in the sink were loaded into the dishwasher, the cycle starting with a reassuring beep. As John worked, a broad smile grew on his face. Keeping a tidy home was usually just a reluctant necessity to him, but now he was taking great satisfaction, grinning at the women’s mantra of ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’. Once the room was looking far better than earlier, he sat down once more to watch the programme properly, with a new appreciation for cleanliness.
He found himself nodding thoughtfully at the tasteful furniture the women had selected, artwork complementing the tone of each room in their perfect home. As he watched, John’s house began to change. Tattered furniture in dire need of upholstery transformed, seamlessly changing into modern, comfortable chairs and functional tables. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to a sudden burst of light into the room – the blinds that were once stubbornly drawn across the windows were pulled up, flooding the room with crisp, natural light. Healthy, vibrant plants sprung up across the now clean floor, each with a matching, characterful pot. Even the sofa that John was sitting on changed, the groove that his rear had worked into the cushion fading, the whole piece replaced with trendy, grey fabric. John was too engrossed in the perfect home of the women on the screen to notice his own home changing.
Eventually, the programme finished, and John grabbed the remote, navigating back to the main menu. As much as he enjoyed the programme, he was frustrated at how watching it seemed to have ruined the recommendations that he so frequently relied on to keep the constant stream of media coming. The detective thrillers, the crime documentaries, the old action films – all were gone. In their place was now a barrage of makeover shows, dating shows, and romantic comedies. He even did a double take at his name at the top of the page, almost believing that he had somehow logged into his sister’s account he was leeching off of by mistake. The secrets of the service’s algorithm were a complete mystery to him, but he was still surprised that watching one show was enough to completely change the recommendations. He leant back into the sofa, finding it strangely more comfortable than usual, and once again began the process of scrolling until he found something that interested him. His cursor eventually hovered over one of many dating shows, ‘The Suitor’, the preview image with a handsome, smiling man surrounded by a whole gang of women. John thinned his lips. As much as he had enjoyed the last show, he wasn’t completely sold on diving into the deep end of brainless media so as to watch a dating show. Still, he thought as his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button, it wasn’t like he was really watching any of these programmes, they were just background noise. He pressed the button and sank back into the sofa, smiling gently.
The show had a premise John had seen a hundred times before. A young man is presented with a group of women whom he dates over the course of the episodes, gradually eliminating them one by one until the winner is crowned, and the couple supposedly live happily ever after. In the first episode, the women each gave a short introduction, all dressed to impress the suitor. Usually, John would have been gawping at their provocative, eye-catching outfits, but found himself instead engrossed in the women’s stories and descriptions of themselves. Perhaps it was just clever editing, but something about the women in the episode seemed less sexual to him. They weren’t just soulless women, desperate for attention like he usually expected to see on shows like this, but actual people. As the episode continued, he even thought that some of them seemed normal, like he could see himself being friends with them. He leant back, scratching his head unthinkingly, slowly enjoying the show more and more.
As the episode continued, John’s hair gradually grew. What once had been closely cropped dark brown hair now was growing out, tickling at his ear. John barely noticed, instinctively tucking the hair behind it as if he had done so a thousand times before. The hair continued growing until it was brushing at his neck. Soon, there was a bright shining lustre to it as though it had seen frequent trips to the hairdresser and a regime of expensive conditioners. He watched, engrossed, laughing along at the jokes the women were making, slowly curling his hair around a finger. His body hair was gradually fading, his five o’clock shadow receding as if he had made an effort to delicately maintain the smooth hairlessness of his lower face over the years. Across his chest, the hair faded, vanishing beneath his shirt. On his arms and legs, the dark hair disappeared, leaving his skin soft and sensitive. The room felt suddenly colder to John, and he rolled the sleeves of his striped shirt down to cover his newly chilly forearms.
The episode finished, and John watched the timer count down to the next one with a smile, nodding along to the catchy theme music. He had only seen these women for one short episode, but he knew he was hooked. As John watched each woman go on dates, he delicately nibbled on a handful of popcorn while examining the eponymous suitor. He found his eyes drawn to the man’s light stubble, accentuating his strong jaw and his broad, powerful shoulders. John had never paid much attention to the features of another man before, but the more he looked the more he found that he couldn’t look away. He was slowly starting to see what the women were fighting over. With a long yawn that betrayed his tiredness, John felt his shoulders painlessly crack. They had shifted, growing thinner, and with a cough his ribcage adjusted with similar effect. His newly clean shirt now looked loose across his smaller torso, not that John noticed. For a moment, he felt uncomfortable on the new sofa, and adjusted in his seat. His pelvis altered to give a slight broadening of his hips, the seat of his jeans now stretching to accommodate his body. By the time the credits were rolling, and John was picking up the remote to skip through them, his arms had slimmed down, the few muscles he had once tried to build there vanishing. His slight gut was gone, leaving his abs smooth and toned. The bulk and clumsiness of his legs had faded. His hands and feet changed with a satisfying, pressure releasing click, now far smaller than they had been. John suddenly found it easier to pick up individual tasty bites of popcorn with his newly dexterous fingers and put it into his grinning mouth as the next episode began.
Some of the women in this episode had come together, saying that they needed to come up with a plan if they were going to avoid the dreaded elimination. Typically, John would have rolled his eyes at this, knowing that it was probably just the producers doing something to creating meaningless tension. Now, he was engaged by the plan, feeling a sense of solidarity with the women that he had never felt before. His body continued its rapid changes as he listened intently. His face adjusted, his cheekbones rising to give his jaw a more feminine oval. Long eyelashes sprouted from his eyelids and John blinked rapidly, unknowingly adjusting his glasses so that they would not rub on the lenses. His lips grew thicker, softer, and his face was now clear of blemishes and old acne scars. A small smattering of make-up adorned his features, bright red lipstick perfectly matching his shirt. The once clearly masculine John was now undeniably androgynous.
As the episode rounded to a close, another recommendation popped up, ‘The Bride Abides’. Instead of the hesitation that he had felt earlier, now John was completely onboard. He smashed the button, throwing himself into a world of dresses, silks, and difficult decisions that seemed all the more pressing for John with each moment. The show was like many other bridal programmes – a bride is looking for the perfect dress, and her friends and experts try to help her find it. It was good, wholesome fun, and John was loving it. Despite the fact that he had barely moved that day, tiredness slowly began to take hold of him. As each episode led to another, his eyes slowly closed, desperately trying to keep them open to see the latest dress the delighted bride was about to try on.
John found that he was dreaming of his own wedding. He was about as single as it got, but he had often imagined how it would feel to wait at the altar in a smart suit, his beautiful bride walking down the aisle. In his dream, John was in a room surrounded by women, all telling him how good he looked and trying their best to settle his nerves. Oddly, he felt completely at peace. He had once dreamt of hearty words of encouragement from his male friends on the big day, but being surrounded by women that he somehow instinctively knew were bridesmaids was calming in ways he had never imagined. A full-length mirror was at the side of the room, almost calling out to him. John moved over to it, his body feeling strangely weighed down with each step. When he arrived, his reflection in the dream opened its mouth in shock. John wasn’t wearing the suit he had imagined, but instead a resplendent wedding dress, layers of lace and silk perfectly accentuating his curving figure. Strangest of all was the person wearing it – it wasn’t at all how John had expected to look at his wedding. Staring back at him was a young, beautiful woman.
As John dreamt, his body continued changing back on the sofa, ‘The Bride Abides’ continuing uninterrupted. Stirring in his sleep, a bra formed over his shoulders, two silken cups covering his chest and fastened tightly across his shrunken back. John’s underwear shifted to match, soft and delicate over his new body. Gradually, the cups on his chest began to fill with fat, his nipples pressing against the comfy bra. Two soft breasts had formed, stretching his striped shirt until it now sat far more naturally.
More fat began to bubble in his rear. Still snoozing, John moved to accommodate the changes, lying on his side, his legs together. The skin beneath his jeans was stretching and changing, the fabric taking on a more elastic quality to cling closely to his new behind. His panties shifted as a pert, round behind formed, soft and comfortable for long days spent lounging on the sofa.
In the dream, John stared at the woman looking back at him in the mirror. While this all felt odd, somehow, something deep within him was telling him that it felt right. This was how his wedding was meant to be – not waiting at the altar, but preparing to walk up to it, their heart full of love and a proud look on their face. Looking down, he could see the dress clinging tight across his breasts and flaring out at the waist, highlighting his beautiful, perfectly feminine body. He spun around, delighted, feeling the weight of the wide skirt almost moving independently of himself. As he spun, he couldn’t help but laugh, a pure, unfiltered joy that he hadn’t felt in as long as he could remember. His voice was high, a rich soprano, but he knew it was truly his own.
“Slowly down, Joan!” said one of the bridesmaids with a laugh. “You’re going to bump into something if you keep twirling like that!”
The name lodged into John’s mind, and something seemed to click. In his dream, new memories were forming. He had a job, a career, and a circle of friends that adored him. His home was peaceful, perfect, and no longer the den of laziness that it once was. The boredom and ennui that had plagued him his whole life vanished in an instant. He was now driven, determined, but always ready to cut loose and relax.
On the sofa, beneath the panties, the last of John’s masculinity was fading. His shaft shrank rapidly, vanishing inside his groin, soon followed by the rest of his genitalia. All of it burst and blossomed within him, developing into new organs that were to feel far more familiar than his old ones ever did. A slit formed across his groin, painlessly splitting open into a vagina.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes, quickly adjusting her glasses. Joan reached down for the remote, a smile forming on her lips.
“That’s enough TV for today, I think!” she said, hitting the power button with a satisfying click.
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A lovely story commissioned by Username93845! I hope you enjoy reading it.
I'd also like to say a big thank you to you all for supporting me on here. I know as much as anyone that these are really financially difficult times, so it means a lot that you're spending your hard earned money supporting me as an artist. Thank you!
