5. Cut to the Feeling
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Hey! Sorry this chapter took so long to put out. No real excuses, haha. I hope you're all doing well in the hellworld that is 2020.

This chapter is a lot of self-reflection and angst so, enjoy~

 

It was 3 o’clock in the morning and I just absolutely couldn’t sleep. It’s not that the couch wasn’t comfortable. There is always something alluring about a couch that has been so absolutely broken in by its owners that you sink right in. It’s like a hug, except with stains from long spilled beers and Chinese food.

Everyone always acts like you should be put off from being asked to sleep on a couch. They always come to you like “are you sure you’re cool with this? Are you sure you’re sure you’re cool with this?” I feel like it’s an uphill battle to try to convince people that couch sleeping is magnificent. Back when I was living at home I’d intentionally take naps right out in the living room because why not? It’s not like I had anything else to do.

Couch sleeping for me was just so casual. So normal. If I closed my eyes and tried hard enough, I could pretend it was a regular average night. That I was just crashing with my friend and everything was just fine. 

Tucked in under my covers where I couldn’t see it, I had Schrodinger’s body. Is it male, female, nonbinary, a gender identity that I didn’t know of because I wasn’t aware enough? Who knows! What we do know is that the blanket is pretty soft which is rad. And if I focused very hard, I could try just to think about the blanket and not how it felt on my skin. Ignore the slight tingles that went up my spine when I brushed the fluffy cover over my bare arms. And that was if I didn’t really shift my weight and put the alien sensations that my body was dealing with into overdrive. 

Since my transformation I hadn’t really noticed how I felt physically. I was in a state of shock, just existing from my apartment to clothes to dinner to home. Now that I was all alone, I could really drink in the changes if I wanted to. Did I want to? My mind existed in this perpetual state of chicken where I would try to psych myself up to touch myself, and would immediately decide not to. It was wrong right? This is what every asshole said they would do if they found themselves in a woman’s body. They’d squeeze their tits and treat it like some kind of joke and not this question. I didn’t want to be like that. I couldn’t be that guy. Zoey and Elle would both think that I was some kind of sicko and they’d kick me out for sure. 

Getting a comfortable position with all of these feelings was tough. I managed to settle into sleeping on my side facing the couch. It’s a good thing I didn’t sleep face down anyway, because I heard it was pretty uncomfortable with breasts. A lot of friends on discord said that when they were transitioning they found out the hard way that they couldn’t sleep like they had a flat chest. And y’know, I’d take their word for it I wasn’t going to be trying it out. Not now anyway. Too risky.

The trick was just shutting my eyes and not thinking about my life and where I was. That’s what I told myself at 12 o’clock. And then at 1. And then 2. Now it was late in the night, and I still couldn’t get to sleep. My mind was jumping from idea to idea. Topic to topic. Like a frantic cat, zooming from place to place I just couldn’t center myself.

I even pulled out the big guns. ASMR usually knocked me right out, but it proved to be absolutely futile. I would start a video, and then get antsy. Not able to focus on the weirdly detailed scratching and whispering. So then I’d pull up youtube again, search for something else, and start this cycle all over again without any sign that my mind was getting sleepy. 

I couldn’t stop pouring over the events of the evening. Usually when I was in a stressful situation my mind distanced itself enough from the issue for me to try to categorize it into an easily compiled numbered lists. Like I was a youtuber easily farming content. But the list function was broken. I guess that’s what happens when it’s in the middle of the night. Smart brain broke, instead my thoughts were a flood of jumbled together nonsense.

Yes, I had the body of a girl. But did that mean I was actually a girl now. The spell shifted the physical body that I was in but did it change my identity? This wasn’t some schlocky fiction where I could no longer say my old name or that I was born and raised as a male. Obviously I stopped  the spell before it went too far. 

But was I actually a woman? Because I now had the characteristics associated with women, did that necessarily mean I was one? That one gender studies class I took Sophomore year was pretty adamant about the fact that our destinies weren’t controlled by the bodies that we were born in. But I also remember that there are now expectations that come from now having breasts and a vagina. Societal pressures on how I should act and behave. I feel like I’ve been dropped into the sequel to a movie with expectations of my character that now I don’t know how to live up to. Hell even if I’m stuck with this body do I even WANT to be seen as a woman?

At the restaurant, it didn’t feel great being referred to as a “lady” or even some of those sweet ol’ southern pet names. I know they have to refer to people that way because welcome to capitalism, have to make the customer happy with these weird honorifics. But it felt like nails on the chalkboard for me, just uncomfortable and jarring. Was I just not used to being recognized as a woman? Would this be something that feels more natural over time? Was this something that I even wanted to get better over time? Did I even have to get used to it?

Or maybe it’s because I didn’t earn it? There were people who worked so hard to get gendered correctly and like, I was just experiencing that for the low low price of other traumatic experiences. I didn’t deserve to be interacted with like a woman because I’m a guy. I’m faking it. If the server really knew that she was actually talking to a guy… well I knew what happened. I’d be laughed out of there.

It was easy when I was with other people to not have to dive deep into my own personal feelings regarding. . . well everything. Eating with Zoey and Elle had been stressful, but at the same time it was a nice distraction from a different kind of feelings bubbling up beneath my surface. If I could worry about not being a complete disaster in public, I could push aside the more existential thoughts. Now that I’m lying here, it’s a little bit harder to shut everything out.

I’m convinced that ultimately I’m going to need therapy. Its funny, therapy has always been like an “other people” thing for me. Really isn’t just coasting through life and trying to put forth the minimum amount of effort as possible the ultimate dream for white dudes everywhere? I was pretty positive it was normal to not have the energy to get out of bed some days to go to class, but now that I’m looking back and thinking about it I’m kind of questioning if that’s true. Typically, my normal schedule throughout most of college was “wake up. Go to class. Eat on days that I deserved food. Have a drink. Go to bed.” Oh and add video games in there. If I play video games enough maybe that will be seen as a personality trait.

To top it all off, my mind kept going back to Zoey’s suggestion. We find the customer that claims to know about magic, meet with them, and. . . then what. Would we go to them, get them to chant a quick spell and then poof I’m back to a male body. I feel like I should be shouting “yes god yes change me back.” But what really is there to go back to? My life as Andy was just as tumultuous as my life as Andi, but at least then I was happy with myself? But was I really? Was I happy or just complacent? And honestly that scares me the most.

I feel like if you asked other men who suddenly were put in my situation, they’d beg to get put back. I feel broken for not spending every waking moment pouring over that spell book. After the initial shock though I just felt like me. And I keep coming back to this and my brain keeps cycling around and around like “shouldn’t I be experiencing intense discomfort?” Like, from what I’ve heard about trans people there’s a disconnect between body and identity and that’s supposed to be this uncomfortable dissonance. And yet. Here we are. No dysphoria. Just Andi. Andy! Just Andy.

I shifted again, trying to get comfy. Every time I move the couch makes a little squeaky sound, and God I really don’t want to wake up Elle or Zoey. They’ve done enough by simply being here for me. I don’t want to keep them up as well. I can just see the conversation now “look suddenly hosting another roommate because they were turned into a girl is one thing, but keeping us up in the middle of the night with your constant couch noises, that’s too far!” And then they’ll kick me out of the house and I’ll be alone and a woman and disconnected from everyone that I know and there’s no way I’m letting my parents see my like this right now but I’d have to crash at their place an-

Oh.

Oh shit my parents.

How was I going to even begin to explain this situation to mom and dad. Today has been such a blur that that thought hasn’t even broached my mind. I guess my little brother’s going to have to find out too. Surprise! Your brother has been doing some extreme redecorating to his body!

I mean we’ve never been too stereotypical. My mom has talked about how she was basically a tomgirl growing up and we’ve always talked about feminism and equality. So I highly doubt there’s going to be a situation where I’m treated differently just because I’m a girl. . . I hope. But I can certainly be wrong. I didn’t think my roommate was some sort of “nice guy” magical sex slave enchanter but I guess today has been absolutely full of surprises.

For about ten minutes I fiddled around with the phone to try to figure out the right way to contact my brother Josh. He was a senior in high school so I figured there basically was a 50/50 chance of him being awake. 

After writing, deleting, deleting again, editing, writing one more time, and then deleting once more I finally had a text that I was comfortable with. “Hey bro, can I talk with you sometime. Something big has been happening at school. No worries, y’know. Just whenever you can.” My thumb hovered over the send button. Was I really ready for this? It’s not like I can postpone it forever. Unless I get very good at magic in a short span of time which I’m not necessarily feeling is exactly possible. So I’m going to have to come out to them soon.

Or maybe not. Y’know. Maybe I can become a magical girl. Drive around from town to town in an old beat up van and solve local mysteries. Maybe Zoey and Elle would like to join me and we could pull rubber masks off old men for a living. How would we pay for gas? I don’t know, maybe we can hex people for a living. Yes this is a very rational fantasy for an individual to have. I am stable.

With a quick sigh I shot off the text and put down the phone as fast as possible. No taking that back I guess, but progress is good. Maybe I can meet him in person somewhere in public and explain everything to him and we can come up with a game plan on how to broach the situation with my family.

Now that that struggle has been settled, my mind once again returns to rehashing over and over my current predicament. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve sent the text but my mind keeps settling on one thing. This is my body. I need to see what it’s like. I close my eyes and resolve to just lightly touch myself. I brush my hands against my skin again, repeating the light touches to try to gently explore the softer angles of my limbs.

It feels. . . pleasant. Like a slight undercurrent of electricity is connected to my skin. Nothing overwhelming and mind breaking but comfortable and sweet. I trace small circles on my skin, stopping and returning to spots that feel especially pleasant. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. But I’m doing something and it’s keeping the anxiety away, so y’know whatever works.

My body lets out a light shiver and I can see the pores of my arms pricking up into goosebumps. My throat, the traitor that it is, lets out a soft sigh. Immediately I clap my hands over my lips, looking to both of the bedrooms to see if that was loud enough to wake someone up. No. Oh thank God. I don’t think I would have been able to stand the teasing if Elle was shaken from her slumber by me moaning. Once my heartbeat goes back to normal, I go back to gently drawing my fingernails up my tummy.

This is nice. This is good. This is calming. When my courage really peaks, I lightly trace my fingertips lazily across one of my breasts. Just to get used to the shape, at least that’s what I tell myself. At this point with lack of sleep going on in full force I’m primarily running on instinct. The fuzzy comfort is building around my whole body. My stomach feels this empty pressure. Like I’m hungry for more. I lose focus of myself, gently teasing my body until I feel my eyes slowly dragging closed.

 

~~~

 

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. But I certainly remember waking up with a jolt. If I had dreams, a nightmare, they fortunately didn’t stick around when it was light. I looked around at the same old apartment as last night, except thick beams of light pierced through the window enveloping the whole room in morning.

“GOOD MORNING SLEEPYHEAD!” Again I jolted up in bed. Elle was standing behind the couch with a plate of eggs and some veggie bacon. “Wow you slept way longer than I thought you would. It’s like 11 o’clock. I guess you just needed your beauty rest.” She snickered like it was the single most creative joke in the world. What else could I do but roll my eyes and accept the tray mumbling something like “didn’t sleep much.” Although I couldn’t even understand what I said so I doubt that she did as well.

I propped myself up into what could pass as close to a seating position while still laying down as much as possible and began shoveling eggs into my mouth. One of my legs was sprawled over the arm of the couch while the other was tangled up in piles of blanket. Not necessarily ladylike, but I always liked sitting in weird positions on furniture. Even if it wasn’t he most ergonomic. After the first mouthful of eggs I realized something was missing. “Uh do you have any hot sauce?” Elle nodded and went back off to the kitchen to go grab some. Hopefully it wasn’t just like, Texas Pete. That always made me think of my school cafeterias and the less I have to compare the tasty eggs that she whipped up for me and the cardboard food served to me as a kid the better.

While she was up I did a quick check of my phone and noticed that Josh had texted me back.

“Sure bro. We can meet for dinner or something if you want? Wanna pick a place? I’m working today so we can do it after that.” Oh yeah fuck. I’m never able to keep up with when he’s working. God I’m such a bad brother. Sister? Sibling? Sure sibling let’s stick with that. I shot him a quick text asking if he wanted to grab some Pho from a place near the grocery store where he worked and figured I could freak out about this around 8 when he got off the job.

Elle plopped back down on the couch next to me and handed me a bottle with a dude in a sombrero on it. I gratefully accepted and slopped a little bit on my eggs and made a little pile to dip the bacon into it.

She has an exceptionally bad habit of reading things over my shoulder and I can tell that she got a general gist of the conversation just from a quick peek while passing me the sauce. Which of course means she was going to ask me about it. “So. . . Breaking the news to your family so soon?”

“It’s not my family. Well not my whole family. Just Josh. I can handle Josh. He’s a good kid.” Don’t think about it. Don’t contemplate it. Eat spicy eggs. They’re good spicy eggs. They’re your friends. Your friends that you’re eating. Traitor to the eggs, how dare you. 

She paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I know he’s your brother and he seems like a sweet guy. But like, do you think he’s going to be able to trust you. I know that was something you seemed to be really worried about. And he’s a high school boy. They don’t exactly have the best reputation for open mindedness.”

It was way too early in the morning for a conversation like this. It was beginning to grate on my nerves a bit. “Well I’m going to have to do it sooner or later so better now than never.”

She nodded. “And game nights going to be here soon right? And you talk about everything with Nathan, so I don’t even know how you’ve been able to keep it from him for this long. So I guess you’d better get used to coming out to people. I just want you to be careful. And not reach out to people who might not give you the positive support you deserve.”

“I prefer the term, reintroduction. Coming out makes it seem like I’ve been planning this for a long time and have now gotten around to it. Like it’s premeditated and not necessarily pushed upon me by necessity.” I punctuated that last point waving my piece of bacon around.

She laughed “okay fine have it your way. Reintroduction. But one way or another you’re going to have to let people see the new girl you. And honestly I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Our friend group seems to be pretty progressive about LGBT issues. Like Thurston is bi or something like that. And there’s…” She paused for a moment like she was going to go further, but instead just shook her head and said “I know we don’t normally talk about stuff like that but I feel like everyone is going to accept you for who you are. You know we all love you.” 

The entire time I knew she was trying to be reassuring but it just caused my guts to go through even more gymnastics. Nothing stresses me out more than people telling me that it probably will be fine. You know what else was probably going to go well? The titanic. That’s what. And we all know how that went.

Elle seemed to notice the shift in my body language as she was talking and shuffled a little closer to me on the couch. She leaned in close and almost whispered “this seems like it’s a little rough for you today Andi. Do you need a hug?” Part of me screamed that it didn’t want to be touched, hell that I didn’t deserve that contact. At that moment I wanted to find myself at the bottom of a sinkhole in some forgotten rural town, far away from any potential human interaction. 

But another louder part of me told me that I needed this. That this wasn’t the time to push people away, and instead accept help from others. Hey, I wanted to say to that voice, you’re full of shit. I don’t need to bother other people. Because that’s what I was. A bother. A continual and perpetual bad vibes machine. 

I knew it deep in my core that I was a broken human being. Elle had already been so amazing, so helpful. I didn’t need to push her away. She liked me because she was my friend, not because she thinks I’m pathetic or a real dingus. But eventually I’m going to be such a burden that it’s not going to be worth sticking around me anymore. I could feel my breathing become ragged as it became harder to focus and catch my breath. All I could think about was how Elle would eventually have to realize that I was nothing but a drag. A freak who was going to make things worse for her eventually. Someone who would draw her into all my soap opera troubles and not give her any rest. But while she’s here… one hug wouldn’t hurt.I mean, I already was taking up her mental energy, might as well get a hug while I’m here.That’s what I do. I’m a taker and a faker and things that also rhyme but I don’t have any energy to come up with.

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around me. I can’t believe it took me this long to notice, but she was now a few solid inches taller than me. She had to literally lean in on the couch to wrap me up, something that was completely new to our friendship. I blushed thinking about how I used to be a solid inch taller than her, yet here we are on the couch with her looking down at me. But she was warm and getting wrapped up in her arms brought back that fluttering feeling that I had before passing out into sleep. 

A slight scent of vanilla wafted over me and for a moment I forgot the meeting with my brother. I wrapped my arms around her waist, burying my head into the crook of her neck. Even though I just woke up I still felt so tired. I allowed myself to close my eyes and just focus on the sound of her breathing. Occasionally she would run her fingers through my hair, making me shiver and cuddle in even closer to her. I didn’t realize how touch starved I really was until I was wrapped in contact. A tightness wrapped around my chest as all I could think of was how much of an asshole I was for taking advantage of her friendship. My breath was coming in in shuddering waves now. I could hear my heart pounding and tried to focus on her fingers. Tried to focus on anything that was being me.

“Shhh it’s okay. It’s going to all be okay” How long had Elle been whispering that? “Andi it’s going to be okay. You’re having a panic attack. Just focus on your breathing and it’s going to be okay.” How was it going to be okay? There was no okay. Everything was too loud. Too much. I needed to get out of here. I needed to stop being me. I needed to fix this. Why didn’t I really want to fix this? What was wrong with me? Why am I such a fagg-

“Andi!” Mustering up my strength I turned my head to look my friend as much in the eyes as I could possibly muster. “I’m here for you bud, but you need to breathe with me. C’mon. Take a deep breath and on exhale tell me 5  things in this room that you see.” I couldn’t. I can’t. My breathing is just this is fine this is normal this is okay I’m doing just fantastic. “C’mon Andi. Breath with me.” Against the screaming of my brain I took what felt like the deepest I had breathed in years. “Alright. Good job. Now exhale and tell me five things that you see. You can do this.”

I felt the air sputter out of me as I did a quick look around, “white board, egg plate, uh, sombrero hot sauce guy, the lamp that you got at a, a, a, yard sale, um. My blanket, uhhh you?”

She laughed, and I slowly felt myself calm down a little “that’s six you overachiever. That’s good. Okay. How about four things that you feel right now.” I repeated the process of taking a deep breath and started again. Focusing on the soft and subtle scratch of the blanket. The gentle sink of the couch. The way her hand slowly ran through my soft strands of hair. The rise and fall of my chest as my breathing slowed down, step by step. I wasn’t relaxed, but I was better. She had me repeat the process a few more times to keep me focused on things that were happening and slowly, emotionally spent, I drifted off again into uncomfortable sleep in her arms. 

All I could think of as I drifted off was “God I am pathetic.”

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