CW for dysphoria, trauma, and bad parenting

Sam’s bedroom was cozy: purple fairy lights hung in small chains around the walls, bathing everything in a soft glow. The curtains were thin and let in an awareness of sunlight. Her bed sat in a corner away from the window, messy, adorned with stuffed animals, and large enough for two. Her closet was opposite the bed, and as Sam stripped off her shirt she threw it onto the mattress. Overall, the room looked soft. And, I noticed, blushing, it smelled like her.

I sat on a corner of the bed, hands on my knees. Sam turned away from me, and pulled down both her pants and underwear in several forceful motions, leaving her stark naked. The immediate lewdness of the situation caused me to panic, holding my hands up to block my face. I understood why, of course. When a girl is getting naked in front of a guy, there’s nothing that can be except concupiscent. What I didn’t get was why she was so comfortable with getting undressed in front of me, as if it were a girls’ locker room. 

Sam fished some items out of her wardrobe, a set of bra and panties having apparently already been in her possession. Of course she has those, you dolt, I reminded myself, she felt better in those clothes. I mentally kicked myself for thinking differently. Sam stood staring at the closet for a moment, before retrieving two outfits and turning around.

“It’s nice that the potion got my preferred sizes right, so the bra works. But it looks like I’ll be needing a mostly new wardrobe after this,” she lamented, “and out of all my outfits it looks like only these two could possibly fit.” In one hand she held up a dark outfit with a short leather jacket and pre-ripped jeans. In the other she held up a pink hoodie with a pleated blue skirt and white thigh-length socks.

I paused. Sam got to wear outfits like these? Well of course she does, a voice inside my head reminded me, she’s a girl. I must’ve looked stricken with indecision, because barely any time had passed before Sam spoke again.

“You’re right, there’s just no way to know which one looks better without testing. Here, go put this on,” she said, thrusting out the hoodie and skirt. For some reason, this caused me to flush even harder than her being nearly naked. I couldn’t do something like that, could I? But if it was to help Sam… maybe I could?

I gingerly accepted the outfit and stared at it in my hands. This was just because my friend asked. There was no way she would’ve put on a fashion show just to pick an outfit, so really this was the most efficient method. “Th-thank you,” I murmured, unsure why I acted like this was a gift.

Sam smiled, already halfway into putting on her pants. “No worries. Put it on and show me how you look, you big dork.” I turned around and obliged, peeling off my shirt and instinctively covering my chest as it exposed itself. Tugging off my pants, I exchanged my underwear with that hidden within the folds of the outfit. It was feminine, but that was no problem, just another part of the ensemble, right? It wasn’t a problem. Couldn’t be. No, some part of me said, this is a problem. Not just that, it’s A Problem. Hesitantly, I pulled the hoodie over my head then reached for the skirt.

No, the voice inside me repeated. No, you don’t do this. Not as a favor, not as a dare, not even if you want to. Skirts are for girls, Casey, the matronly voice whispered. Now put it down. You look ridiculous.

I pulled back a shaking hand. 

That’s better. I’m glad that you listened to Mommy, Casey. It’s time you grew up and did away with these childish fantasies. Became a real man. Don’t you want that, Casey? Wouldn’t you like that?

Feeling a wetness behind my eyes, I preemptively reached up to wipe away the tears.

Crying, Casey? Really now. You never could hold in your emotions, the voice inside me chided, just another example of your failure to be a man. Seriously, what were you thinking with this? That you could just put on a skirt and act like everything’s fine? The voice sighed. Where did I go wrong in raising you… 

Nowhere! I wanted to say. I’ll be good! I’ll listen! I’m going to be the best son you could ever want, just you wait! I lowered my hand. Slowly. Placed it on my bare knee, felt the hair on it coming back already. I just shaved last night, and it was already here again.

You see? You can’t reject your birthright, Casey. There’s nothing for you to be except you. I imagined the voice reaching down, kissing my forehead, ruffling my hair. Hmm. Hair’s a bit long, we’ll have to get it cut soon… Don’t worry, Casey. If you listen to Mommy, you’ll grow up to be the muscular, tough man that you want to be. You’ll be mister tall, dark, and handsome, so don’t go screwing around with skirts, okay?

I balled up my hands and folded them where they belonged, close by me, hidden in the folds of the oversized hoodie. It was illogical, but I felt so large and bulky. My hands were rough, my figure intimidating, even my voice came out sounding like murder. I was lumbering. I was a giant. Every inch of my skin, covered in hair. I wanted this. I wanted this. 

The tears were really flowing now. I surrendered any pretense of stoic manliness and pressed my face against a hoodie sleeve. At least it was big. And soft. And felt like Sam was pressed against me—

Wait. Sam was actually pressed against me. She was hugging me from the side, pulling my head to lean against her neck. “I’m so sorry,” she started. Why was she apologizing? “I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was mean, and I should’ve just let you choose an outfit and be done with it. I can’t believe I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”

I looked up from my sleeve. Right. I’m not a giant. How could I be, when I was smaller than her? “It’s not your fault that I suck at keeping my emotions in check.”

But you’ve convinced her otherwise, haven’t you? That’s just who you are, you manipulate everyone around you, including yourself, take advantage of their kindness, even your own sweet mother—

Sam grunted disapprovingly, a technique pulled off mainly through the aesthetic of her clothing. “Boys get to cry, y’know. And,” she continued, “they get to wear skirts too, in case you were wondering.”

I hesitated, unsure how to take in this information.

“Sorry, you were whispering to yourself again, and I wasn’t just going to not listen,” Sam offered, mistaking the source of my hesitation.

“So, if I put this on—”

“It won’t mean anything you don’t want it to mean.”

“I’ll just be a boy in a skirt?” I asked, more than a hint of disappointment seeping into my words.

Sam took a moment before responding. “No one can determine your gender except you. You could be a boy, a girl, both, neither, or something else entirely, and only you could ever know for sure. Everyone else just has to take your word for it.”

Well, I wasn’t sure what that had to do with my current predicament, but I was pretty sure I was a boy. I’d been one my whole life, after all. I didn’t always want to be, but that didn’t mean much, and the feeling didn’t happen often. Twice a week, tops. Sam had wanted to be a girl for a lot of her life, as her telling of it went. And, therefore, she was a girl. I felt a wave of shame at the thought of ever denying her identity. I’d never make that mistake again, that’s for sure.

“So,” Sam began, gently, “you want to try it on or nah? I am actually curious how you’d look, but your desires come first here.”

I tore myself free of my thoughts and stared down at the blue piece of fabric on the floor. Lying there, its threatening aura was diminished. Especially with a charming woman wrapped around me, burying me deeper within my hoodie. I looked at the skirt. I wanted to do it. No harm in trying it on, right? Reluctantly, I wriggled out of Sam’s grasp and picked up the skirt off the ground. I found the zipper, pulled it down, stepped in, and zipped it up. It sat at just around waist height: if I didn’t know better, I would’ve said that this was picked out just for me. 

Standing there, I felt a mighty impulse. Almost automatically, I twirled around, hands stretched out to keep balance. The skirt flew up, and I felt a rush of exhilaration at the sensation. Sam clapped her hands together at the sight.

“I-I’m wearing a skirt. Oh my god, I’m actually doing it,” I muttered, almost in disbelief. “I’m wearing a skirt!” I shouted, proving myself to no one in particular and breaking down giggling on the bed. I’d done it. So much anxiety, so many hours lost lying awake in bed. And over what? A little bit of pleated cloth? I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This felt nice. Here I was, a boy in a skirt. Yup… something about that didn’t sit well. Looks like I still wasn’t over that skirt thing.

“Be back in a moment,” Sam whispered soothingly, stroking my head as she did so. It felt so nice to be in her presence, like a mother almost. But not my mother, I suppose. Someone else’s.

I got up again and examined the socks. They looked long enough to reach up mid-thigh. Well, why not? I balled them up and rolled them up each leg. Mistake.

My leg hairs all poked through, standing out against the white cotton. Nononono. This was wrong, this was all wrong. What? What was wrong? Me. It was me. It was always me. Dammit, I couldn’t even wear clothes properly. Of course I couldn’t; my body didn’t fit. I was poking holes in the socks, stretching out the underwear, I’d probably even put the skirt on sideways. I curled up in the fetal position, tucking my head in and wrapping my hands around myself. I got like this sometimes, I just had to wait until it was over.

A few moments later, the door opened and Sam rushed over to the bed. “What? What’s wrong?” She placed a hand on my back and I heard a thump as she collapsed on the bed next to me. Squeezing a hand underneath me, she pulled me into a warm embrace, tucking me in between her chin and her thighs. I felt my heart flutter at the contact.

“I-I don’t look right.”

Sam continued rubbing my back. “Yeah, I was wondering when you’d figure that out.”

I swallowed. So even Sam thought I looked awful. Well, that was to be expected. “Sorry for looking so horrible. Sorry for ruining your clothes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I blubbered, barely able to squeeze out the last few words.

Sam paused. I felt her body stiffen. “Oh-oh my god, that’s not what I meant at all. No, darling, you look wonderful. I just thought… look, even if your body isn’t what you wish it were, you’re absolutely adorable. Especially in that outfit.” 

Wait. “You don’t think my body is what I wish it were?”

“Well, clearly it isn’t, if you’re having breakdowns over it.”

I hadn’t considered that before. “What should it be instead?”

Sam got up, and reached behind her. Pulling out the half-full potion flask, she grinned. “Let’s find out,” she whispered, reaching out and presenting me with the bottle.