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There you will find exclusive galleries and uncensored versions of some of my captions!
Jackson had been a struggling artist for some time. It was tough trying to make a name for yourself in a world full of so many great artists. Even once you had established yourself, finding people who would actually pay you money for your art was challenging. Jackson spent hours and hours slaving over every detail of every piece he produced, but nobody seemed interested. He was about to throw in the towel and go back to living with his parents until he could find some menial job to pay rent with, when a strange offer showed up in his mailbox.
It’s easy to get an artist's attention with an offer. Especially one that involves said artist getting paid literally any amount of money. The letter he received read: “Art not paying how it should? Struggling to make ends meet? You’re not alone! Why settle for producing art when you can be part of the art yourself? Art gallery hosts needed! Just call 555-531-8008!”
Art gallery hosting. That wasn’t something that Jackson had ever thought of doing. If he got to know the gallery organizers well enough, maybe they would even let him put some of his own artwork on display. Without wasting a moment, Jackson called the number on the note. A chipper-sounding young woman answered right away.
“Uh hi, I was calling about a gallery hosting job you were advertising for…”
“Yes, that’s correct! Are you interested in hosting?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Excellent, I’ll have everything you need sent right over!”
Then the phone hung up abruptly. Sent right over? How did she even know where to send anything, let alone who called in the first place? Jackson tried to call back, but only got a message from the operator saying that the line had been disconnected. Before Jackson had time to question the strange scenario any further, there was a knock on his studio door. He walked over to the door and discovered there was a small package that had been left just outside the entrance.
Jackson turned his head from side to side, looking for whoever had left it, but the street was utterly empty. He took the package inside and opened it up. Inside was a small bottle of pink liquid and a note with an address and a time. The bottle said in simple letters along the side, “Drink me!” This had to be one of the weirdest things that had ever happened to me, Jackson thought to himself. It was either this or head back to live with his parents though, so he decided to play along. Jackson took the bottle, opened it up, and downed the contents. It tasted slightly sweet and citrusy.
There was no date on the card, so Jackson assumed the time was for tonight. He had only a couple of hours before he was supposed to be at the event. He took a shower and dressed in some of his nicest clothing. Then he headed towards the address. Jackson began to feel oddly bloated on his way to the gallery. Maybe it was just his nerves.
When Jackson arrived, the chipper-sounding woman from the phone was there to greet him. She explained the gallery would be open in another hour and that he could wait in the back in the meantime. He was then led to a nice-enough-looking room with a couple of plush chairs. He sat down in one, and the lady left to go tend to some other matters. He wondered what his actual job was supposed to be here. He hadn’t really been given any instructions. Jackson didn’t have to wonder for long though.
Suddenly, an intense cramp gripped his whole body. He wasn’t sure if he should try to find a bathroom or what, but he felt sick. The feeling of bloating he had felt earlier returned tenfold. He felt like he was going to burst. Then he watched as his skin appeared to stretch and grow outward. This stretching seemed to alleviate the bloated feeling some and he would have felt relief if he wasn’t so terrified of what was happening. His flesh began to press tightly against his nice suit. The buttons strained with the pressure being applied against them. This was especially true in the region of his chest.
Eventually, the suit could take no more, and the button exploded in a shower of plastic while the tight-fitting pants he was wearing split down the sides, revealing jiggling soft skin. Jackson removed what was left of the suit carefully as the changes seemed to slow. Upon taking off the tattered and ruined pants, Jackson noticed that there was something very critical missing from that region. Jackson’s cock was gone and had been replaced by a doughy-looking vagina. Removal of the button-up shirt was not necessary to reveal the large breasts that hung like pendulums from Jackson’s new, larger frame. What had been in that drink?
Moments later, the woman from before returned to the room. She beamed at Jackson as soon as she saw her.
“Well, you’ve turned out just perfect! Let’s get you put on display!”
The woman led Jackson into the showroom and placed her in front of a couple of the paintings.
“The artist want’s you to stand here and pose to show the juxtaposition of feminine beauty standards in paintings versus reality. I think the artist will be quite pleased!”
At that moment, the doors to the gallery swung open, and the first round of art critics began to make their way through the gallery. Jackson thought she would be embarrassed being put on display like this, but deep down, she kind of liked it. She wondered how often this gallery had showings. She hoped there were many.