At the very least, Dylan seemed to be giving me some space. Or, rather, some mental space, some head space? Some space in my head? He had shut up and let me think for a bit. Though, to be honest, it kind of would have been nice to have him say something, just to have a distraction from the cacophony of red alerts that were blaring in my head. My spacious head. Wait, fuck, not like that. I wrangled my focus back to the matter at hand. Which was the fact that: at the end of the day, I wanted to be a girl. And for whatever reason I’d just been denying that as even a possibility. 

Which meant that, when faced with the problem of a queer girlfriend, I’d decided to just jump head first into changing my body instead of either communicating with her or communicating with myself on why those feelings were there to begin with. And fuck, now I had a whole additional thing to talk to Olivia about beyond this whole thing with her being into girls. Was I even ready for that? To come out to her as trans? To even fully accept and present myself as trans? 

Was I actually really even trans? Wait, no, that last one was at least a probably. I still maybe should take some time to actually like, read about being trans and even talk with another trans person. But it seemed like if I wasn’t a trans woman there was at least something going on there beyond “feminine guy.” It was at that point I realized Dylan was still kind of just staring at me patiently, but expectantly, and I decided to break our shared silence.

“Hey, um, Dylan?”

“Yeah?” 

“I uh, shit.” Why was this so hard all of a sudden? “I think uh, I think I might be trans?” I squeaked, hanging my head in embarrassment, hoping he wasn’t going to be weird about the whole thing.

“Uh, yeah. I know. I just told you that I thought you were trans. We kinda had like a breakthrough? Did you miss that?” The look on Dylan’s face was nearly identical to the one he gave me when he was asking me if this was all some kind of prank.

“Well, no, I didn’t miss it, I just -- This is hard, okay? It’s a lot to take in at once. It’s like, I dunno, imagine trying to flip that big of a switch in your head on how you see yourself? Even if logically I get how all that stuff would make me trans, it’s still hard to like, actually internalize that and think of myself as a girl, you know?” For the first time in a while, Dylan gave me an appreciative, understanding nod.

“Sure, I get that. I mean, not literally, cause once again, I am not trans. So just, if you haven’t already, please get that idea out of your head. But, what you said makes sense. There’s a difference between wanting to be something and accepting that you actually can be that something.” It seemed like, for the first time all damn day, we were actually on the same wavelength, which was good, because I was very tired of the layered misunderstandings that this whole thing was built on top of. After another long pause, Dylan asked, “So, um, do you want me to still call you Jesse, or do you want to change your name?” 

“Good question. I think I do? Want to change it, I mean. I know Jesse is androgynous, but I dunno, it’s still something I can’t separate from being a guy you know?” That was all well and good, but it left one major problem.

“So what should I call you then?” Yeah, that was it, that was the one, the problem I mentioned.

“Ah, well. I don’t actually know?” I offered a most unhelpful shrug. 

“Okay then. What if you just throw one out to see how it feels?” It wasn’t the worst idea, I paused for a moment, then realized pausing to think kind of defeated the purpose of throwing one out.  So instead, I opened my mouth, drew a blank, and closed it once more. 

“Apparently it's not that simple?" I shrugged apathetically, and got back to thinking.

To be honest, there was one name that I’d kind of been avoiding. In hindsight, this wasn’t the first time I’d considered what my name would be if I were a girl. And yup, that’s pretty telling. How the fuck did I not realize sooner? Still, there wasn’t much sense agonizing over it at this point. Plus, Dylan was still waiting for a reply as I kind of just awkwardly stared at the floor, deep in thought and blushing.

“Do you have something?” he asked expectantly.

“Um, can you call me Abigail?” I stammered, not taking my eyes off the floor.

“Sure, that’s a cute name, Abigail.” It’s a good thing I was already looking at the floor, because the moment I heard Dylan call me that, I shivered with happiness and blushed an even deeper shade of red, I wasn’t sure it was even possible for a person to blush more than I was. He chuckled.

“I hope this isn’t weird of me to say, but, you’re acting really cute right now.” Okay, nope, it was definitely possible to blush more. God dammit, fuck, it felt so nice to be called cute. And yeah, it always had ever since I started taking those pills. But now that I was being called cute as a girl, it was way different. I could only imagine what it would feel like when Olivia did. Though, as soon as I did imagine it, I immediately stopped, because it suddenly made me feel more than just blushy, and I was not about to start exploring those kinds of feelings in front of Dylan. 

Everything I was experiencing was definitely nice, but at the same time I felt a little bit weird being treated like I was this wholly different person. Dylan was my gym bro first, and that dynamic seemed to have been put on the backburner for this whole ordeal. “Um, thanks. But, uh. Look I know you’ve been kind of nicer and softer to me ever since you started suspecting I was a girl, and I appreciate that. But I also don’t really want our dynamic to change much, you know? Like, can you still treat me like your gym buddy? And, we can still work out together and stuff, right?” I finally managed to glance up, way up to meet his gaze.

“Of course! Sorry if I was acting weird -- I just, like, I dunno. But yeah, we’re still gym bros. Or, maybe not bros. Is dude still okay?” His tone rose at the end, and he was starting to look a bit awkward himself.

“Yeah. Dude is fine. I guess it’s not a hundred percent gender neutral, but well, I’m from California. I called a chair dude one time.” I giggled a little, and Dylan breathed a sigh of relief that turned into an amused guffaw. 

“Cool, sounds good, dude. You’ve probably got a lot to think about and figure out though, so, I won’t keep you. I’ll do a bit more research into that spell this afternoon to make sure we’re not going to have any issues, but I’m happy for you, dude.” He grinned wide and gave me a big thumbs up. 

“Right, uh, thanks. By the way, maybe don’t go around telling people about me? I mean, you know, it could turn out we’re wrong and I’m not actual--”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he interjected, before locking eyes with me. “Do we need to go through this again? Cause I can call you cute again and we can just go around for a few more loops.”

“I -- no, no that’s fine. I get, okay, fine. I’m still gonna talk to other trans people to understand better, but I get it.”

“Good.” His face brightened. “By the way, you have nothing to worry about, not gonna tell anyone ‘til you’re ready.”

“Uh, cool, thanks. Also, uh, thanks for helping me figure out that I might b--” My sentence was cut off by a growl from Dylan. “Uh, that I’m probably --” He kept glaring. “That I’m almost definitely actually a girl?” Seeming somewhat satisfied, he nodded, like a stern teacher releasing a student from an overly long detention. “Okay, bye!” I called, and scurried out of the room before I put my foot in my mouth again. He called his own goodbye after me, and I made my way home.

Once I’d returned to the privacy of my room, all manner of thoughts which I’d tried to avoid entertaining too much in public had now decided it was open season on my head. Somehow, it was almost weirder being alone with this body now that I understood the full implications of it. Before it was just a fun little experiment, now not only was I a girl, but I also had this probably still gradually changing body. Save what was between my legs, my body was exactly in line with what the majority of people would think of when asked what a woman’s body was like, and now having to somehow deal with that reality had gotten a lot harder. Not harder in a bad way, but harder in a oh my god how do I even start to process this kind of way. 

Instead of coming up with anything concrete, I kind of just wound up flopping onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling and running my hands all along my body. It was so wonderful. I had always enjoyed the changes, but now, it was like I had permission to enjoy them uncritically and without shame. Which made doing so both a way more exciting and way scarier prospect. Even the feel of my fingers running up and down my hairless skin was electric, making my breath catch in my throat.

I had this perfect mixture of firmness and softness all over. Taut, toned muscles covered in plush skin. My thighs simultaneously looked like they could be used as a great pillow, or a means to crush someone’s head. And my boobs, for the first time since I’d first changed, I allowed myself to really, genuinely feel myself up. It was so wonderful to feel them fill my small hands and squish like little stress balls attached to my chest. Though maybe it would be best to avoid using them for that purpose outside the comfort of my own home. Still, I couldn’t help but gasp in a husky, but deliciously feminine voice as I felt them. They were so soft and sensitive, topped with such big and perky nipples. I quickly realized where this would be going if I didn’t stop myself, and somewhat reluctantly, decided it would be best to hold off on that sort of thing. 

I had way too many things to figure out, and not enough time to figure them out. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how impractical my entire plan was. When I was coming up with my ‘oh so brilliant plan’ yesterday, how the hell had I not considered that completely changing a person’s appearance and presentation would require a lot of work? Well, that was pretty obvious, actually, I didn’t think about it the same way I didn’t think about basically any of the implications of that plan. I just wanted an excuse to be a girl, probably. But now the work I was going to have to do to integrate into this identity must have grown like, tenfold. 

I was going to have to talk to so many people. I would need to tell Olivia I was a girl, the rest of my friends too. And, fuck, my family. They were probably not gonna be too weird about it, but also weren’t going to not be weird about it. Then there was the school, and all my professors, and shit, the bank, the government. I couldn’t even buy beer anymore. Nobody would believe that was me on my license. 

Well, actually that was probably an exaggeration. Most people who live in a college town know about trans people, so I probably could just show it and not run into any trouble at certain places. But still that would mean basically outing myself to any and every person I ever had to show any form of ID to. And they would probably be fully within their rights to not accept that ID if they just decided they didn’t like trans people, or if they just didn’t believe that was me and god dammit. 

That was probably only the beginning too. There was buying a whole new wardrobe, learning to actually fit in as a girl. And now I’d have to deal with shit like misogyny, and also homophobia and maybe transphobia and yeah, okay, I was kind of freaking out. At the very least I took some small comfort in the fact that none of the things I was worrying about were enough to make me want to stop or go back. So, that suggested I really was authentic. Which was nice. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to just curl up into a ball and hide from the world. 

Then I realized that was something I actually could do. So I did. And I kept doing it, and then I did it some more and before long I’d realized I really, really did not want to face the world right now. I didn’t want judging eyes on me, I didn’t want to risk the wrong person somehow figuring out who I was and saying or doing awful things to me. It soon became crystal clear that I definitely needed to cancel my date with Olivia. My anxiety was peaking at the thought of going out in that dress. Not at the thought of wearing it. Wearing it seemed pretty nice, but what if it looked bad? It showed a lot of skin, I’d be way too exposed in it and I was super not ready. I just wasn’t. So. reluctantly, I texted Olivia.

“Hey, babe. I’m kind of having an existential crisis / anxiety attack right now and I don’t think I can be around people tonight. I’m really, really sorry, but can we move our date back?” I stared at my phone anxiously for several minutes, each passing second making me more and more convinced my girlfriend hated me and was going to leave me for that other girl. Fuck, wait, she also needed to know I really was a girl too. That would probably earn me points. But I still really, really wasn’t ready to do that, and I didn’t want to do it over text because I’d just run into this exact anxiety problem waiting for her reply all over again and --

“Of course. I’m really sorry you’re still struggling. I just want you to know that I’m really proud of you.” I sighed in relief, and also scratched my head in confusion. Why was she proud of me? Maybe it was still related to the whole “I’m exploring my feminine” side BS I’d concocted. Either way, it wasn’t the time to worry about that sort of thing. It was the time to decompress.

All in all, things could be worse -- I mean of course they could, but they could be worse within reason too -- for one, while it was Sunday, I didn’t actually have class tomorrow. This upcoming week was the school’s designated studying period -- for those uninitiated into the inner workings of American higher education, see: drinking period -- which preceded the start of finals, so classes were canceled. That meant I had a few days to at least get the word out to all of my professors and the school administration that I’d changed my name and gender. 

Also, frankly, it was just good timing. While the study period did have the ultimate threat of finals hanging over its head, it was usually actually a fairly low-stress week. We had literally an entire week with no obligations save studying or working on whatever final papers were due. There would be plenty of time to not do that and push any and all work off til the last few days before pulling three all-nighters, as was tradition. I decided to put off stressing over all that, and do some, hopefully not stressful, introspection and investigation into being trans. Cause, y’know, I still might actually have just been a confused feminine guy all along who’d just convinced himself that he was actually trans. 

About an hour later, I was elbow deep in realizing just what a fucking idiot I was. I’d found a handful of different online trans communities, and as it turned out, I checked just about every box. In fact, I apparently wasn’t even particularly alone in the subgroup of people who “experimented with magic for x reason and turned out to be trans.” One of the communities I’d looked at had like, a hundred posts that described situations almost exactly like mine. Well, not always specifically becoming more feminine to appease their apparently gay girlfriends, but on the whole, very similar stories. 

It was in the middle of reading a comment thread on a post from a “guy,” who sounded so much like I would have sounded not three hours before that it physically hurt, when I got a text from Dylan. “Yo, Abbi (is Abbi good? Trying it on for size.) Did you wind up telling Olivia that you’re a girl now?” It was an odd question, but not entirely unwarranted.

“Not yet, no. Why?” 

“I’m at a kickback hosted by a friend from my Spanish class. She’s here too. Keeps talking about a girlfriend. Someone said they thought she had a boyfriend, she’s denying it. Thought you should know.” My heart sank. What had I done wrong? Was it because I canceled my date with her? I quickly realized the words on the screen were getting blurrier and blurrier as my eyes began to water and a little sob escaped my lips. “Do you want to come over here and talk to her? I know that’s kind of awkward, but I dunno. Maybe she kinda deserves to get yelled at.” 

“Address?” I texted, fumbling on the keys awkwardly as I trembled through another sob. I was going to give that cheating cheater a piece of my mind. 

“323 Pasley, it’s on the corner of Pasley and 51st. Blue house, has a weird bear sculpture out front. Also, I do have --some-- good news I think. I’ve been studying that spell. I think I figured out what the deal is. Can you bring the pills?” I started throwing on a more casual outfit I’d gotten from the store today, just jeans and a shirt, and tore open my bag to find the pills. That was when things got even worse: the pills weren’t there. I turned it inside out trying desperately to find them, then began combing my room on hands and knees, tossing covers, books, everything everywhere. It was nowhere to be found. Dylan said he didn’t have what he needed to make more right away, did that mean I was going to -- I shuddered, trying as hard as I could not to finish that thought, as my tears only got worse. 

I trudged upstairs and out the door. Everything was fucked. I was losing Olivia, possibly losing this body I’d just barely accepted as my own for a completely unknown amount of time. But whatever, if I was going to crash and burn, I’d at least chew out my shitty soon to be ex-girlfriend first.

SapphicSounds

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