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

determination and even emotional power.

But the body — therein lies the rub. A female body is so dramatically smaller and more fragile than a male's. Men fear weakness and its cousin, vulnerability. As a result, men find the whole notion of being feminine distasteful and even frightening. And with this kind of thinking it's no wonder men seek to avoid anything that associates them with womanhood.

But I could not avoid it.

That point was proven still further as I arrived home and locked myself in the bathroom. Once again, I took off my clothes. Once again, I inspected my body. Once again, I could see I was yet more female. My face was now more than androgynous, it was becoming effeminate. My nose was smaller and starting to turn up at the tip. My chin was more pointed and my eyes appeared larger. Lips were fuller, mouth wider. My short haircut could no longer prevent me from looking a bit like a girl.

It got worse as I went lower. My nipples were swollen and stood out from my chest even more than this morning. And I also had what might be called breast buds. I'd never seen a pre-adolescent girl undressed of course, but I suspected my chest looked like what a girl might have when she wore her first training bra.

As for the manly hydraulics, my scrotum seemed to press more closely against my body and my penis was (I realized with a sinking heart) — much smaller and less 'independent' — almost as if it were blending in with the scrotum.

And overall, my frame appeared more... delicate. I never had bulging muscles — a miler didn't want the extra weight — but I had filled out some in my shoulders over the last year. That was gone now — I looked like I was 14 again.

And so I started to cry — which I'd done more times in the last 24 hours than I had in the previous 24 months. Perfectly normal — for a girl. That fact unnerved me further and became a cycle. The more I cried, the more I realized how emotional I was becoming. And the more I perceived my new emotions, the more I cried — until I was weeping — soft, feminine sobs that further underscored what was happening to me.

After about 10 minutes, I managed to get some control and splashed cold water on my face. It was only noon, but I went to bed. Partly because I was exhausted, and partly because I wanted to shut out the world.

I must have been asleep for many hours before my mother woke me with a gentle shake. It was dark out, so she turned on the light. And she gasped when she saw me. I didn't have a mirror — but I could guess what she was seeing — still more progress on the road to womanhood.

"Oh, Jack — I was worried about you. They called me from school when you didn't show up for class."

I replied, "You can see why I left. Just look at me!" I sounded like a little girl about to have a fit.

Her eyes widened at the soft feminine tone of my voice. She gently ran her finger along the curve of my jaw. "It really is happening to you. I still have trouble believing it — it's so hard for me to imagine my son as my daughter. You're going to be so pretty — but I guess that's not what you want to hear right now."

"You got that right. Oh, Mom, how am I going to deal with this?"

"By knowing that I love you and I'll be by your side. The one advantage is that I know everything there is to know about being a girl. At least I'll be able to identify with much of what you are feeling."

"Not everything."

"No, not everything. I can't imagine what it would be like to turn into a man. I know I'll never fully understand all that you are going through — the very act of changing sex — but I can help you cope with a girl's body. I still have this feeling that you might get to like it.

"I can't see how, Mom. I like myself just fine now. I don't WANT to like any part of being a girl."

"Because you feel that being a girl is a step down?"

She had me there, but I didn't want to give it to her.

"Jack, if I could prevent this from happening to you, I would. Having said that, if this becomes an opportunity for just one male to learn to respect females without being condescending — then at least a little good may come from it."

There was a sharp tone to her voice. I stopped for a moment and tried to think of her perspective. "It's really hard to be a woman, isn't it?"

She looked at me kindly. "Hard, yes, sometimes. The sexism, the prejudice is daunting. But it's incredibly rewarding as well. If I were offered a chance to be accepted as truly equal to men, but at the price of surrendering my femininity, I'd turn it down. That's how much I love being a woman."

I sighed. "I don't think I'm ever going to feel the same way, Mom."

"I can see how you would think that now — you're still in transition. But once the change is complete, and the magic of girlhood is yours, you may see things in a different way."

"Let's hope so. Because I definitely don't like how I see things now."

We hugged then — and I had to admit that at least I was feeling closer to my mother than I had for a long time. I just wish the price weren't so high.

I slept fitfully for a few more hours. I awoke to a bright, sunny Saturday morning — completely at odds with my mood. Today was the day for me to head off to Girl School, excuse me, GRS. I sure as hell didn't want to go, but I knew time was running out. In the mirror, I could see my skin was getting smoother and my Adams apple was gone. It was hard for me to use the toilet now — most of the underside of my penis seemed to be fused to my scrotum — I could barely control the direction. As for my face, no one would see me as a young man anymore. At best, a pre-adolescent boy, if not outright a girl.

I got into the car with Mom and we began the long drive to Syracuse. I didn't pack any clothes — why bother? By Monday, nothing I owned would fit. We were silent for most of the trip. I felt as if I were being driven to prison, or basic training or some similar doom. After an hour winding our way through the rolling hills and farms, we arrived at a nondescript office park near the Syracuse University campus. I could see the vast bulk of the Carrier Dome — Syracuse was the only college in America to have an indoor football stadium. I looked at the huge facility with nostalgia — I'd run track meets there.

Not any more.

I was surprised at the security — there were gates, guards and brick walls — all low key, but very professional. They needed it, though. In addition to intrusions from the media, GRS facilities had been attacked by religious zealots and other assorted nuts. To many, GB victims were freaks of nature, abominations against God. And to some, GB girls needed to be confronted, contained as if they... we... were threats to humanity, straight out of the X- Files.

We were checked in and directed to a low, three story, modern building. Mom got out of the car with me and prepared to walk in. I stopped her.

"I need to do this on my own, Mom."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I didn't want to have anyone I knew witnessing what I was about to go through. Not even my mother.

She nodded, then gave me a huge hug. "I'll be back on Monday."

"Thanks, Mom. Be sure to bring me some panties." I said that with a smile on my face — a mixture of the sardonic and the fatalistic.

She looked at me intensely. "You're going to be all right, Jack Lind. I raised you to be strong, and that's what you are."

I gave her another hug then headed up the stairs. It occurred to me that I was walking into this building as a boy.

But when I walked out, I wouldn't be!

Who's That Girl?

Trembling a bit, I stepped into the lobby, where I was greeted by a smiling young woman, who took my name, then led me to a small lab. As I followed her, I noticed how her hips rounded out her white uniform dress very nicely. I found myself wondering if I would look the same. I filled out a lot of paperwork and presented more documentation from Doctors Gilroy and Wilson. Then I was given a quick physical — and they drew some blood. Everyone was very kind and patient with me.

Finally, I was taken to what appeared to be a classroom with a dozen seats and a lectern up front. About half the seats were occupied by boys? ... girls? I really couldn't tell. I took a seat for myself while checking out those around me. Some looked at me shyly; others turned their heads in embarrassment.

All of them were definitely victims of GB — they were feminized to one degree or another. In a few cases, I could see what were clearly breasts (albeit small ones) pushing out their shirts. Others were not as far along — but they also had faces that were too gentle for masculinity. None of these people could be considered truly male, even if they weren't quite girls yet. The worst part was realizing that I fit into this crowd just fine.

The boy next to me leaned over and extended a hand — when I shook it I felt as though I was almost holding Sue's hand — his was nearly that delicate.

"Todd Mackenzie," he introduced himself with a soprano voice even higher than mine.

"Jack Lind," I replied.

"The miler?" he said, seemingly impressed.

"Not so much anymore. I'm surprised you've heard of me."

"I go to Binghamton High. I ran on their cross-country team last year. All the coaches know about you — you're the most famous athlete from these parts in, like... forever."

"That's about to change. Probably for the best. The last thing any of us need right now is more attention."

"You said it," he responded. "This really sucks doesn't it?"

"Absolutely. Worst part is, I've got no idea how to be a girl — even if I wanted to."

"Well, I do know something about it. I have four sisters and I'm the only boy."

"Oh, God," I said sympathetically. "How is everyone taking it?"

"My dad's totally freaked, as you can imagine. Losing his only son and all. My sisters think it's great, of course — as if my house weren't girly enough already."

"And your Mom?"

"She's neutral — she just wants to make sure I'm okay."

"That's cool. At least your sisters can help you adjust."

"Don't be too sure that's a