Our TG Caption

My life was a spreadsheet. Rows and columns of tasks, deadlines, and profit margins. Fun? A foreign concept. Relationships? Distractions. Sex? A biological function I systematically ignored. My apartment was a sterile box, my existence a testament to pure, unadulterated work. Until that Tuesday. I was clearing out a forgotten corner of the old office building, a grimy, dust-choked storage room no one had touched in decades. Among the rusted filing cabinets and moth-eaten ledgers, I found it ?" an oil lamp, caked in grime, looking more like a forgotten relic of a bygone era than anything of value. Out of sheer, uncharacteristic curiosity, I rubbed away some of the dirt. A jolt, a flash of sickly green light, and then, looming before me, a swirling mass of shadow and smoke solidified into a figure. A genie. Cliché, I know, but there it was. Three wishes. My logical brain immediately took over. "My first wish," I said, my voice steady despite the absurdity, "is for unimaginable wealth, in assets not easily traceable, accessible immediately." A nod, a shimmer, and my phone buzzed with notifications of bank transfers, offshore accounts, and stock dividends that dwarfed the GDP of small nations. Satisfied, I continued. "My second wish is for long-lasting, unshakeable success in all my endeavors, ensuring my empire never falters nor declines." Another nod, another flash, and I felt an inexplicable surge of confidence, a knowing certainty that every decision I made, every project I touched, would prosper indefinitely. Now, only one wish remained. I looked at the shimmering genie, an unblinking eye in the swirling smoke. Wealth and success were secured. What more could I, Brandon, possibly need? I sat on a stack of forgotten crates, the dust motes dancing in the dim light filtering through the grimy window. My life was complete, on paper. Yet, a void, cold and cavernous, stretched within me. It wasn't about more money. It wasn't about power. It was... a primal hum, deep beneath the layers of carefully constructed indifference. A yearning I’d systematically suppressed. My body, a mere vessel for my work, suddenly felt heavy, charged. A heat bloomed in my core, unfamiliar, almost frightening. Sexual desire. A hunger I’d denied for so long that I’d almost forgotten it existed. But now, with everything else achieved, it clawed its way to the surface, raw and insatiable. "My third wish," I finally said, the words catching in my throat, a whisper of desperation in a life built on control, "I wish... to have my sexual desires fulfilled. To finally know, and crave, that aspect of human experience." The genie smiled, a slow, knowing arc of light. "As you wish." The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensation. My bones softened, my skin tightened. A searing heat coursed through my veins, reshaping, remaking. My clothes felt alien, constricting. My vision blurred, then sharpened, taking in the room from a subtly different angle. My sturdy, masculine hands, once calloused from keystrokes, elongated, slimmed. My chest tightened, then swelled. A profound, aching emptiness in my core transformed into a pulsing, desperate ache, a yearning so intense it consumed thought. I tried to speak, but the sound that emerged was a gasp, high-pitched, feminine. My heart hammered, but it wasn't fear ?" it was a primal thrum of want. My mind, once a fortress of logic, was melting, dissolving into pure, unadulterated sensation. The gritty atmosphere of the storage room, the dust, the stale air, none of it mattered. All that remained was an overwhelming, terrifying, glorious craving. I was no longer Brandon, the man of work. I was a woman, and all I craved was sex. My body was singing, demanding, and I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that I would never be the same. The spreadsheet was forgotten. Only desire remained.