For a Girl, J.T. D'Arelli [reading fiction txt] 📗

only to freeze when I saw myself undressed. More changes — my nipples were now nearly twice as large as before, the pinkish cones standing up a quarter inch or more from my chest. And the flesh underneath was fuller — still nothing like what a woman would have, but enough to mark what was happening to me.

With most of the storms of adolescence behind me, I'd finally acquired a positive image of my body. I was no hunk, but the girls told me I was nice looking — and of course, my athleticism also made me feel proud of what I had. But now I felt betrayed by my body — as if it were turning against me. To lose my shape like this — I felt as though I was losing myself.

Yet I was still determined to go to school today. At some level I knew this was my last chance to enjoy my old life as a boy. Mom had already headed into work — her job gave her very little opportunity for time off. I pulled on a T- shirt — and whipped it off again when I saw how it displayed my nipples and... chest. I refused to say the other word. I found a looser, bulkier polo and struggled to get my jeans up past hips that seemed to have widened further during the night. Worse yet was the fact that I had to roll the cuffs on my jeans a couple of times as I sadly noted I was getting shorter.

I don't want to convey the impression that I now looked like a girl in drag. I still appeared mostly male — only close observation would show that something was amiss.

'Amiss'. A macabre pun occurred to me — I was about to become 'a miss'.

On the bus, a few kids whispered as I sat down — I hoped the changes weren't that obvious yet. But I knew something was up when I got to my locker. More kids were looking at me strangely as I got out my books. I heard a heavy footstep behind me and turned to look up at the looming frame of Big Mark Williams (BMW), our track team's star discus thrower. At six-six, 265, Mark was, as you might expect, a big part of the football team as well. Yet, despite his huge size, he had a reputation as a gentle, albeit laconic, giant. He never picked on anybody — and it was for sure no one picked on him.

He put one large hand on my shoulder and said "Sorry, dude." Then he turned and walked away.

And I realized my secret was out. Milford is, as I've mentioned, a small town. And as the old joke goes, the only thing that travels faster than light is gossip. In Milford, everyone knew everyone else — there's little anonymity here. Which means if there's a juicy bit of information about, all the folks will get a bite.

Someone at the clinic must have leaked. I was certain it wasn't Doctors Gilroy and Wilson — their reputation as professionals was too solid for that. Probably a technician or receptionist — it didn't really matter who had done the talking. What did matter was that everyone at school either knew — or would soon know — the truth: I was about to become eligible for Homecoming Queen.

Suddenly I felt a touch on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw that it was Sue. She looked at me for a moment, then glanced around quickly. Tugging on my hand, she pulled me into a vacant classroom. She shut the door, then cupped my chin with one palm and studied my face carefully. There was an expression of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

She spoke. "It's true, isn't it?"

I nodded slowly, saying nothing.

"I can see it now that I know what to look for — oh, Jack..." She was in my arms then, giving me an intense hug. "How... how much longer?"

"By Monday, the doctors say."

She pulled back and gazed into my eyes. "Does it hurt, is there any pain?"

"Not physically," I replied.

"I'm so worried for you. I did some reading on-line this morning. There's a lot of material on GB. I hadn't paid much attention to it before now but I guess you're going to be a real girl — as if you were born that way."

"Kind of puts a damper on our prom, doesn't it?" I said flatly.

"Oh, Jack — there's no way I'm giving up on us. You've always been a nice guy and you've also become the sweetest boyfriend I ever had. You mean too much to me to lose that."

"Sue, we won't have a choice. We're both going to be girls - it's not like we can ever make... I mean, be together the way I... we want."

"Jack, listen to me. We'll worry about that when the time comes. We both know there's something between us more important than sex. No matter what happens, I'm going to be there for you — I'll help you in every way. No one will ever have the same place in my heart — because... I... love you."

Yesterday I would have been elated to hear her say that. Now, the moment was bittersweet — knowing that whatever love we had could not be expressed as we would have chosen. But it was still wonderful to listen to those words from her and I responded in kind.

She stepped up to me and gave me a long, lingering kiss that sent shivers across my body. Her tongue probed delicately into my mouth — once, twice. I felt the familiar rush of blood to my groin and the hardness beginning. And then I felt another response, a strange one... a tingling...

In my nipples.

Oh God — my body was already starting to react like a girl's! I broke off the kiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Tears forming in my eyes, I reached out to touch her lovely face. "I'm sorry, Sue... I..." Then, almost sobbing, I pushed past her and headed out the door.

I just couldn't be with her — knowing that my body was changing to match hers. I felt so saddened, realizing what I was losing. Dazed and confused, I wandered the halls for a while. One advantage of being a senior just a few months away from graduation was that I didn't have to worry much about detention. I wasn't up for class — I wanted some... reassurance.

But I wasn't going to find any here. As I passed girls in the corridors, I looked at them — fascinated by their femininity. Of course, I had always been intrigued by girls - but now my perspective was altered. I noticed so many differences I'd never paid attention to before. How they carried their books, the way they touched each other as they talked, the light dangling of wrists. Their body language was so complex and unique — a subtle delicacy about every gesture.

Prior to GB, I had simply seen femininity as a package — I just noticed the final results, not all the myriad of details that made girls... girlish.

And now I was supposed to be like them? Even when I became physically female, how was I ever going to learn to act like a girl? To move like one? To be feminine not only in body, but in manner and style?

It seemed a hopeless task, even if I had wanted to take it on — which, of course, I didn't. I had no desire to be like them. Yet I had no choice. I was going to look like a girl - I could feel it all the way down to my rapidly feminizing bones. I had never, ever felt a sense of doom like this.

Even more depressed, my wandering footsteps led me to Coach Bradford's office — adjacent to the gym, for he taught phys-ed during school hours. The coach was an avid researcher on training techniques and sports medicine — his desk was crowded with various journals and books. He was on the Internet as I walked in.

I sat down as he looked at me closely. "I take it you know," I said.

"The rumor mill's been very busy this morning. How long does the Doc give you?"

"Monday," I replied.

His eyes widened a bit. "That fast, eh? I'd hoped we could get a couple more meets in before..."

"Before you have to issue me a girl's uniform?" I finished.

"Something like that. I'm very sorry about this, Jack."

There was a disappointed look in his eyes. I knew why. Coach Bradford had enjoyed considerable success with his football teams over the years — but he really loved coaching track — the complex range of disciplines was a challenge that appealed to him. Between jumping, throwing, sprinting, distance and the relays, there was always something new to teach and to learn.

Of course, football was where Coach Bradford earned most of his well-deserved prestige — but in me, he had found an opportunity to guide a national-class athlete. The coach had picked me out all the way back in 8th grade, and we'd come a long way together. Each season, we'd set new goals, plotted the training and patiently worked for them. We'd made an effective team — but now, just when it was paying off for both of us, it was gone.

"Is there any chance I'll be able to keep my speed?"

He shook his head slowly and pointed to his computer. "I doubt it, Jack. I'm no expert on GB, but those who are say there's been absolutely no physiological difference detected between a boy who becomes a girl via GB verses one who was born that way. And as for the speed, I've known for years the distinction between male and female athletes. You know my philosophy on this."

I did. Coach Bradford had led a number of girl's teams for Milford and he had a good reputation as a fair and open- minded coach. He really believed that girls and sports were a good combination.

But it just wasn't the same as for the boys.

"Jack, the inescapable facts are these: girls have 25% less lung capacity than boys and are 40% behind the guys for upper body strength. Added to that is the inefficient skeletal structure caused by wider hips and you have the disparity between even the best-trained female athletes versus the men. Once your... transformation is complete, you'll have the same limitations as any other girl. I've coached track for years and I've always had to account for that in my programs."

I just sat there, staring at him. He continued:

"My record is loud and clear — I'm an ardent supporter of girl's sports — I've got two daughters myself. Title IX has been a wonderful positive for young women — in fact, it may be of benefit to you."

"How?"

"You know there have been more than 30 colleges recruiting you. Just because you're going to be a girl doesn't mean that's over. There are plenty of track scholarships for young women at all the top schools. If your speed as a girl is proportional to what you ran as a boy, then you will be in demand as much as ever."

"I appreciate what you're trying to say, Coach — but it's not the same thing, is it?"

He was silent. Although we didn't speak of it, we both knew what I meant. Before GB, I was a great miler. After GB, I could still be a great miler.

For a girl.

And that's what made this so hard. That damn phrase: 'for a girl.' No matter how good I might be as a female, I wouldn't be as good as I was before. So, assuming I remained a competitive athlete, I would still be forced to acknowledge it — I could not compete against men.

"She's really good... for a girl."

Thus, I would be forced into a separate category.

An inferior category.

To be sure, I was already in a special category as a boy. A