|
You are only seeing a fraction of my work. If you want to see it all join my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/itsmetoo If you are already a supporter, go to the Table Of Contents on my Patreon and click the proper link to get the new password. |
Captioned Images Series: The P’tron Building
Created: 05/28/2025
When I first walked up to the Dr. Zaaijer's P’tron Building, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. The gleaming silver sign above the entrance bore no slogan, no welcoming tagline—just the name, etched in sleek, modern font. But what caught my eye were the two doors beneath it.
To the left, the Premium Door—ornate, gilded edges with a pinkish glow emanating from within. Through its glass panel, I could see flashes of dazzling light and movement: people laughing, music playing, mirrors, sparkles. The men entering this door were dressed in lovely, well-coordinated outfits—lace blouses, tulle skirts, satin bows, heels clicking confidently on the marble floor.
To the right, the Free Door—plain, a dull gray with a small wooden sign that read *"Entry Open. No Cost."* Through the frosted glass I could barely make out what lay inside: a soft blue carpet, bean bags, pastel blocks, plush toys. The men going through this door wore jeans, sweatshirts, cargo shorts—comfortable, unremarkable.
Curious, I chose the Free Door. There was no line. A sensor beeped softly as I stepped inside. My apparel quickly transformed. I looked down to see I was wearing a fluffy white diaper, pink top with puffy sleeves, white tights, and no shoes.
The room was small and very quiet. It smelled faintly of powder and crayons. Soothing lullabies played from speakers in the corners. A few grown men sat cross-legged on play mats, stacking large foam shapes or sipping juice boxes through tiny straws. One man was being read to from a picture book by a woman in a nurse's outfit. He giggled and clapped his hands.
There was a kind of peace here. No pressure. No expectation. But... no excitement either. I stayed for a while, fiddling with a plastic xylophone. It was pleasant, in a mindless sort of way.
I felt like I had to go. I asked someone where the restrooms were. He told me, they don't do that here, but I could get changed after I was done.
But I couldn't stop glancing back at the Premium Door. Even from here, I could still see flashes through the glass: the shimmer of chiffon, bursts of color, snippets of laughter, the rhythmic pulse of music. The men who entered there didn’t just look prettier—they looked like they belonged to something grand.
I stood up and walked back to the front. A man in a soft pink dress with a rhinestone belt caught my eye through the Premium glass. He twirled slowly, smiled, and beckoned.
A sign by the Premium Door read:
"Entry by choice. Change required. Confidence encouraged."
I hesitated. I wasn’t dressed for it. But something inside me stirred. The Free side was safe, yes. But the Premium side…
The Premium side called to me. Once inside, my apparel transformed again. I was wearing a daring, form-fitting scarlet sequin dress with a plunging back and a thigh-high slit, accentuated by shimmering stilettos, a clutch bag, and statement chandelier earrings, creating an alluring and glamorous ensemble perfect for dancing the night away.
I knew this was where I belonged.
End.
Made with Freepik AI Image Generator