An Original Transformation 

Part 8

Fleur still seemed concerned, even as I gave her a big hug. She clung to me as I looked back in the mirror with the subtle redness of tears around my eyes. Only when my smile endured past my tears did Fleur partake in a smile of her own.

Malina dashed around to give me a pat on the back and a smile of her own as she offered, “It is! So cool! Awww… It’s really something to look in the mirror and see a different face. Honestly, that’s about all I use this mirror for. Along with sexy posing.” I giggled with Malina and posed a little bit too.

Eventually, Malina put the mirror back. The euphoria of the moment slipped into the realization I would be mostly a girl for the rest of the evening (with breasts and groin reverting last). It was a rough guess but Fleur’s “transformation calculator” app indexed the times of everything we’d used so far and declared that I had a little over four hours of girl time.

Dusk was quickly slipping away into night. I had no real sense of where to go next except I wanted Fleur with me along the way. I held her hand in mine, though hers was slightly bigger.

Her fear had shifted to radiant calm. After trading emails, we bid farewell to Malina and left with a bell chime through the front door.

Outside, my eyes latched onto every passerby. Most didn’t notice me. The gaze of…other…women actually lingered the most. I reminded myself that they weren’t seeing me the same way as when this evening started.

I walked along with Fleur, one step at a time. There was so much to take in, so many words. I could’ve added so much to Fleur’s journal myself.

Walking, mere walking alone was different. But it wasn’t enormously different to the point I had to relearn it. It also wasn’t a detriment, like if your leg is sore or stiff. No, it wasn’t hindered. It was just shifted slightly, like through a pair of lenses. And that was just one difference.

Walking rippled out to every other part of my body. I just picked up on little slivers of experience. The whole seemed so much to comprehend that I felt woozy to even try.

But I loved it! I loved it so much. It was beautiful. That was the only way to translate it. I knew it wasn’t the same feeling as when Fleur changed. That was joy too but a different kind of joy. Relief, realization, and release. This was incredible but like a discovery which reflected back on me.

I was still myself and I was different too. It was so hard to put together. I stammered it out in little bits as we walked. Fleur listened but she also quietly pointed out teen guys who looked my way. I re-adjusted my top to little effect.

It was a surprise to see others looking. It was strange. But then looks were always strange. Fleur had pointed out girls at school who gave me long looks. I always figured they were just puzzling over the two of us or maybe something on my hat.

I adjusted my hat. Now we were a punk rocker and…a what? How did I look to their eyes? An average blond, teenage girl in a hat? Maybe we looked like part of a band. Fleur smirked at that as I mimed my role as a lead singer and Fleur played air guitar.  

We were on the other side of the busy street when Fleur announced her final plans for the evening, “I think we should at least stop at Newid’s Wares. I saved a note about these really cool t-shirts they have and some of the best root beer in town.”

As I suspected, the t-shirts were Transformers-related and I knew Fleur’s dad loved root beer. Still, I raised an eyebrow. We were done, I assumed. Unless…did Fleur intend to transform too?

She clutched her hand behind her and cast a look over her shoulder. “I’ve been gathering the courage. I mean…you…shouldn’t be alone. And maybe…I dunno. Maybe knowing it’s a change on my terms won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll be a pretty boy...like you usually are.”

I assured her that she didn’t need to feel obligated, but Fleur tickled at my shoulder and said, “It’s not that. It really is something I should face. I’ve heard it from my therapist a few times. Dealing with old wounds and stuff.” She stroked her wrist through her gloves in slow, circular motions. I reached for her hand with a sympathetic smile.

The wind kicked up along the way, as it always did, but not strong enough to tug at my hat. It was still a harsh wind which flicked bitter grains of sand at us. The night had added a cold scrape to the air. I leaned against Fleur and she leaned back. I wished for a longer-sleeved shirt and, hopefully, I’d be able to get one at our next destination.

I remembered the store which used to occupy the unassuming box building of Newid’s. It was a defunct chain which sold us three TVs when I was young, none of which lasted more than a year before suddenly refusing to turn on.

I noticed a little warning by the sliding doors which mentioned a “stray nanite cleansing” around the entrance/exit way. I’d read about it, but I’d never seen one before. But then our area didn’t even have a store with an escalator, so that wasn’t saying much. Fringes of the internet I’d ventured to once or twice spouted that such cleansing methods actually tampered with nanites, causing them to last permanently.

Such conspiracy theories usually revolved around Nuhaizi Conglomerate and a supposed “fasco-commu-feminazi secret agenda which seeks to wipe men from the planet”. No surprise, the stuff my parents watched on TV often repeated the same lines. I’d been told so many times by them to avoid Newid’s explicitly because they bought more Nuhaizi products than anyone else around. To stand at the front of their store put a rebellious grin on my soft face.

I noticed a little area off to the left marked “Returns and Complaints” before Fleur tugged on my arm and led me down a nearby aisle. I’d wanted to browse and dream before but my opt-out didn’t even let me approach the door. Fleur had visited and given me fantastical, mythic accounts. As with other things from this evening, I was a little disappointed that it was a nice but normal-looking store. Still, I felt a warm thrill that I was a girl sailing through the aisles.

We had some fun in the clothing section as Fleur pointed out fashions and held them up to me. My giggles turned to a nervous, downward gaze when she held a two-piece bikini against me. I had to take a breath. I could barely imagine wearing it. So much of me revealed. I’d seen a little bit of myself, felt more, but imagined all sorts of things. Whether it was right for me to look was a topic the two of us had debated back and forth in the lead-up to this evening.

Fleur often made faces when I brought it up. “It’s your body. Go streaking, if you like.”

I was ready with factoids and news snippets about how certain things done with a transformed body were still being debated because it was a transitory state. Nanites were legally-required to inhibit pregnancy, which didn’t really solve the kind of complaints my parents had. More “no consequence sex”, they’d point out. No way to win.

I knew a lot of my issues came from my parents, even if I didn’t sound or act like them. Being this girl we’d cobbled together from more than a half dozen things was a revelation of joy. At the same time, I didn’t envy the next time I had to go to the bathroom before the four hours were up and I wasn’t sure about the outfits Fleur nudged me to try on, mentioning, “They’re inactive till you buy them, so no worries.”

Part of me wanted to just get the clothes on sale, the root beer, and leave. But I didn’t have any good reason to hurry. We still had two hours till the last bus on this side of town. Even then, Fleur’s mom was willing to pick us up if we needed a ride.

Fleur’s nudges of clothing diminished as she sighed. I looked away. She tried a different tactic and offered me coats and jackets in colors that flattered my top. These I didn’t mind, I especially latched onto a pale-gray hoodie which flowed over my changed body. That was only the beginning.

I was inundated with layers and different hats and jewelry and little add-ons here and there. For every combination Fleur considered good, she snapped a picture with her phone. While I didn’t budge about the clothes underneath, I looked at the bikinis with less fear by the end of our dress-up time.

Ultimately, we settled on one of the hoodies. It was warm enough to block the wind and cheaper than the special shirts. Fleur bought two of them so we could have matching clothes. She rubbed the material of hers with a focused gaze.

The root beer was along a wall on the far side with domestic and foreign drinks of all varieties. I noticed many had Chinese symbols. When it came time to pay, waiting had begun to catch up with my altered bladder. I clenched my lips and stared at the actually-gendered women's restroom over by the Returns and Complaints area.

Fleur used the store bag to consolidate the items we’d bought which weren’t attached to me along with their instructions and receipts into one place. She noticed my expression and nudged me again. “Let’s go together.”

I felt the same sort of heady nervousness which had come in waves the whole evening, but I held off the associated, squirming sensations which threatened to leak out of me. The restroom itself was quite nice but simple. A redheaded older woman finished up washing her hands and exited beside us.

I expected more. Perhaps some dramatic music? Any film which involved this trope in transformation cinema exaggerated nervousness. I could’ve asked Fleur for help but, to be honest, I knew more about how to deal with this sort of situation from blogs and videos than she could offer me. I picked the stall on the end and moved quickly.

My knowledge really helped because I framed it like a carefully-cut instructional video. Still, the paradoxical icy chill of warm liquid leaving my body, through a path it had never taken before, took it beyond that realm.

I stepped out, washed my hands, and gave Fleur a sudden hug.

“I never realized what you go through…”

She giggled to that, remarking, “We take the benefits and the challenges with our girl stuff.”

Walking out, I found myself drawn again to the Returns and Complaints section of the store. Despite my interest, Fleur acted first, leading me over for a look. The hallway winded around until it came to the typical sort of returns area any store had. Boxes and miscellaneous piled up here and there with mops and leftovers of other areas.

Behind a long, white desk sat two girls.

No.

The one with hair closer to my natural color was definitely a guy. He sat there with a serene expression as he leafed through a heavy manual of some sort. The girl next to him, whose hair was closer to the hair I currently possessed, bent over the counter with the same enthusiasm I could muster for early afternoon classes before the bell rang. Both were dressed in the same radiant-blue, collared tops as everyone else who worked here. The brown-haired guy’s nametag read “Dee” and the blond girl’s read “Korri”.

Our presence seemed to rouse them from their quiet moment. Korri sat up, brushed at her eyes, and folded her hands in front of her. I tried not to focus on the fact she matched up well with Malina in the bust department but with fewer layers to hide that fact. She had a nice ponytail which settled over her shoulder. The guy, whose hair framed his head like a helmet, slipped on a wide pair of glasses and asked simply, in a soft voice, “Receipt?”