I had no obligations on Friday. I took my in-progress painting to the private workspace, but I wasn’t able to make much progress. For one thing, my allocated area was still a bit junky, but it didn’t make sense to start customizing it to suit me, not when I would be leaving in two days time. For another, Sasha the cat came to sit next to me, and meowed plaintively until I allowed him up onto my lap. He was a warm little ball of comfort, his purrs reverberating through me almost medicinally. Before I knew it, the clock read a quarter past noon.

I had not quite made the decision to get up when Sasha stood, stretched, and bounded off my lap. That was as good of a sign as any. I rose and trekked back to the kitchen. It was also deserted, which allowed me to throw together a quick sandwich and duck outside without any conversation to get in the way.

The weather was cool for late summer. On Long Island, I would have expected temperatures pushing the nineties, and enough humidity to choke on. Not here. The sun was warm but a cool breeze blew, and the air was just a joy to breathe. I felt energized and alive, but that only fed into my growing sense of melancholy.

I had found paradise, only to discover it was not intended for me. I was Moses, looking into the Promised Land but forbidden to enter. Worse, I had come for a week, and had to harden my heart to leave it.

My feet carried me along the cliff, farther than I had gone before. A line of crushed grass soon became a trail, which led right up to the side of the cliff. The path continued down in switchbacks across the cliff face, and I let it carry me down to the lake below.

What-if scenarios kept interrupting my attempts at tranquility. What if I changed back? What if Madge and Gerald and all of them didn’t care I was really a guy? Artists were a pretty liberal lot. But of course, they only knew me as Cayley, and somehow the introduction of a magic, gender-changing necklace into the conversation would derail things. Plus, there was the mysterious girl’s warning that I had to come in disguise, not to mention the note in my room which warned me to keep the necklace on at all times while on the property.

That gave me pause. Was I on the property now? How would I know? There, a sign identifying the lake as a state park. I could become myself again any time I wanted, and out here in the wilderness, there would be no one to see me

I hooked my thumbs around the cord of the necklace, but hesitated. What was wrong? Didn’t I want to be myself? And if not, why not? Perhaps the magic of the necklace was addictive in some way. Maybe it was like the One Ring, and it somehow wanted me to wear it. Maybe if I kept it on too long, I could get stuck as a woman forever.

That last thought was enough. I yanked the necklace off, my body was tugged upwards and out, and suddenly I was male again.

In body alone, however. I was still wearing a bra. My jeans were still in a women’s style, as was my shirt. I even had a clip in my hair. All of these articles of clothing I had bought while transformed, so they had not changed back with me. Well, that was not entirely true. They had gotten bigger, enough so that I was not cutting off my circulation or busting out, Hulk-style.

But they looked ridiculous on me. I felt a sudden impulse of disgust, though whether it applied to my body or the way I was dressed, I did not know. If nothing else, I could not walk around like this. I returned the necklace to my neck, and in gradually widening waves, I returned to female form.

The foolishness of what I had done suddenly struck me. What if I wasn’t far enough away? But far enough away from what? Did I think that there was someone up at the house that could recognize magic being done, and might expose me?

Anthony. The name floated on top of my conscious mind, and I snatched it before it could submerge again. The very first night, he had reacted to my necklace. He was asking me questions about it, as if he knew it was unusual. And then earlier in the week, when Gerald showed him my portrait, Anthony had been staring at the necklace in the painting.

Was I really accusing Anthony of knowing how to use magic? Stuffy, British Anthony with his still lives and landscapes, stodgily transferring images to canvas like a monk copying musty texts? He did not seem the type, though my own paltry experience with magic was not enough for me to really know what the type was.

I walked out onto a rocky outcropping that looked out onto the water and sat. I removed my shoes and socks, and dabbled my toes into the water. It didn’t matter, I reminded myself again, because in two days time, I would be well on my way back home.

My feet kicked at the water. I cried, just staring at my feet. In that moment, they encapsulated this whole experience. Just look at them, so short and dainty, high arched and elegant, with their long slender toes. Such a difference from my own feet, flat and broad-nailed and ungainly. But male or female, they were just feet. They did the same damn thing, whether you crammed them into high heels or sneakers. Why the hell did it matter so much what kind of feet they were?

Why did it matter to me?

The other what-if scenario rose to mind. What if I stayed? What if I remained as Cayley forever, remained a fellow at Belmont. I could stay long enough to build up some money, if nothing else, a few years at most. I could pass my place on to someone else, someone who actually deserved it, and go out on my own. I could be financially independent, and I wouldn’t have to hide as Cayley anymore, except at art shows, or whenever I had to interact with the public.

That drew me up short. My entire career would be behind this lie, my only source of livelihood. I would never be free of the deception. And that was assuming that I was not discovered and thrown out before that.

No, the only way forward was to leave. I cried some more. And because life isn’t like a movie, the camera didn’t just cut away to later. I had to stop crying, wipe my eyes, dry off my feet in the sun, and pull my socks and shoes back on. Then I had to sweat and labor back up the cliff, with my pad chafing my crotch and the sweat pooling under my boobs. I saw Nicholas on the way inside, but returned him only a perfunctory answer before closeting myself in my apartment.

I took a long shower, the sort that turned into a bath halfway through. The steam opened up my pores and swept away the sweat, leaving me feeling much more human again. I had just toweled off, and was wandering around somewhat aimlessly in my robe, when I heard at knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Aubrey. Can I come in?”

I opened the door a crack. “Sorry, I just got out of the shower. I was trying to figure out what to wear tonight.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you!” And so I stepped back and let her in. She had what must have been half her closet with her, which she draped over the armchair before flopping onto the couch. “Ugh, I am so tired. I asked Anthony to help me with that technique you showed me, that one with the fan brush? And he seemed to think he was a drill instructor. He made me do it at least sixty or seventy times.”

“Did you figure it out?”

“Yes! After about thirty times.” She leaned back her head and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

“Did he seem... odd to you today?” It was only a hunch, but it didn’t hurt to ask. I took a peek at the wall clock. “Like, about two hours ago, maybe three, did he do anything weird?”

“No weirder than he ever is. Oh, he did jump like someone had goosed him, but when I asked him what it was, he wouldn’t say. He just lectured me on how to hold a brush and made me try again. Why, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. He makes me uncomfortable sometimes.”

“He’s not that bad. And I did figure it out thanks to him.” She wiggled her hand as if using an imaginary brush. “So anyway, what were you planning to wear?”

I had no idea, and said as much. I threw open my closet for her inspection. “What do you think?”

She started sorting through the contents. “I guess it all depends. Are you dressing for you or for Darren?”

My heart did a little leap into my throat, and I swallowed it down resolutely. “What do you mean for Darren?”

“Oh come on, are you saying you’re not into him?” She got out a dress held it to her body, and shook her head. “I could never wear that. I thought you two were like, already a thing.” She stopped suddenly, another dress halfway out. “Wait, does he think it’s a thing, and you don’t think it’s a thing?”

“It’s not a thing! I mean, I’ve only known him for a week. Not even a whole week. That’s not time enough for a thing.”

“Oh, please, that’s totally time enough for a thing. You're in thing city. You're the queen of thing. Here, try this on.” She held the dress out to me.

“Oh, all right.” I went into the bedroom, ditching the robe and hurriedly donning a pair of panties and the first bra I could find, before pulling the dress over my head. “There,” I said, returning to the living room.

“Fucking hot.”

I looked down. “You don’t think it’s too, well, too much?” The neckline came to a point several inches away from my neck, leaving a broad swath of chest showing.

“Oh, and you didn’t intend that when you bought it?” She scrutinized me. “And is that a push-up bra?”

I felt around. It was. “It was the first one I grabbed. Let me go change it.”

“The hell with that! You look amazing. Come on, stand over here.” She positioned me in front of a floor-length mirror.” Aubrey tugged at my skirt, adjusted the shoulders of the dress. She pointed at my butt. “Hot.” She pointed at my waist. “Damn that’s hot.” She pointed at my breasts, one after the other. “God. Damn. Seriously, Cayley, if I had a body like yours, I would be wearing shit like this all the time.”

Feeling suddenly shy, I crossed my arms in front of me, but there was a lot of boob there, and the only way I could make it work was to fold them under my bosom. That just made them more obvious, so I dropped them. “I’ve never worn this dress, obviously. Look, the tag is still on. And there’s a big difference between what you think is a good idea in a changing room versus showing up to a bar with a guy you hardly know with your tits hanging out!”

“Well, I’m thinking about wearing this.” Before I knew it, Aubrey had removed her top and unsnapped her bra. I tried not to stare, but I don’t think she noticed what I was doing or not. She pulled one of the tops she had brought, a light green halter with no back. She made some adjustments to the front and turned to face me. “I mean, I figure if I’m going to be small, I might as well get away with wearing stuff without a bra. I kind of like how it shows the whole breastbone here, but since I don’t have any cleavage, it’s not a crazy as it might be. What do you think?”

“I think it looks great on you. And yeah, it’s sexy but not in that intentional, in your face, look-at-my-titties kind of way.”

“Well if that’s what you want, what about that purple top you’ve got?”

For the next hour, we tried on clothes. It took me a little while to follow Aubrey’s example, but by the end, I was changing in front of her just as shamelessly as she was in front of me. At one point, we were both down to bra and panties, distracted by some art question that had come up, which I was looking up on my phone.

It shook me, that moment. I quickly brought our session to a close, saying that I needed to dry my hair and get ready before we all went out to dinner — the three of us had planned on a quick Italian meal before going to Flanagan’s. She exited with an admonition to be confident — I think her exact words were to “own that fucking hot body of yours” — and left me alone once more in my apartment.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I had spent an hour trying on clothes, next to another girl... no, next to a girl, not another a girl, a girl who was flashing her boobs around like it wasn’t a big deal. And after the initial surprise... it wasn’t a big deal.

I had not been turned on by Aubrey. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought she was attractive. For all her protestations, she was a very attractive girl, someone that in other times I would have wanted to ask out. I wouldn’t have, because I was too shy for that sort of thing, but I would have thought about it, dammit.

In that moment, Aubrey had leaned over to see what was on my phone. Her boob was pushed into my arm, casually, and I didn’t care. And this was after spending a pleasant hour talking about what clothes would show the right amount of interest and skin to attract a man.

Was I gay now? Or would that be straight? Was there even a word for what I was feeling?

I mean, it wasn’t like I was specifically turned on by Darren, right? Sure, I enjoyed spending time around him, and I got that sort of fluttery feeling when I thought about him liking me, but that wasn’t the same as, like sexual attraction, surely.

More than likely, I had been immune to Aubrey’s boobs because my temporary ladybody just didn’t react that way to the sight of a woman. I had been seeing my own boobs on a daily basis for a week straight, so a lot of the mystique had vanished. Perhaps I was just on boob overload. And I was so hyper-aware of the difference in my body, I wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she threw herself at me. That would explain the lack of attraction.

And as for Darren, it was probably the novelty of it all. No one had ever shown me that sort of attention before. Maybe it was just because I was a pretty girl now, but frankly speaking the attention was flattering, and I was enjoying it.

There was no reason not to enjoy it, I decided. I would just set myself some ground rules, especially since this was going to be my last opportunity to try something like this.

First, I was going to dress up sexy as hell. It would be nice to get some more of that attention, and quite a boost to my self-confidence. Second, I was going to enjoy Darren’s company. I wasn’t going to lead him on, or pretend to offer anything. We were just going to be a guy and a girl who were friends, and that was that. Third, I was not going to worry about my sexuality tonight. The whole confusion started up because I had kept the necklace on for so long. All it would take would be a few weeks back in my normal body, without any sex-changing escapades, and everything would be safely back to normal.

On went the push-up bra. Aubrey was right — god damn. I might not be getting turned on at the sight of my own boobs, but I still had a perfectly clear memory of what I liked in a rack, and this was it. I was full and firm and round, and I had a bit of a jiggle in my step that was quite appealing.

I pulled the dress on over my head. It was the maroon one, stretchy and clingy in all the right ways. The skirt came just down to my knee, but it was full enough that I could twirl and it would flare out. I put on a pair of black panties for the sake of modesty — if you could call it modesty, when I had every expectation that a single twirl would show them to the world. Luckily my period was over now — the pad had caught nothing all day.

The one thing that got in the way was the necklace. It hung too low, and in such a tight dress, I couldn’t just tuck it in like I often did in more casual clothes. Without removing it, I shortened the loop and knotted it. The knot would be hidden by my hair, and now the medallion lay just below and between my collarbones, and just above where my cleavage started. And it was thematically appropriate, going to a performance of Irish music and wearing that necklace.

I dried my hair, brushed it out, and then braided two long thin sections on either side. I joined these together in the back with a hair tie, cover by the clip that matched my necklace. I did my makeup, added earrings and rings and other jewelry. I finished by stepping into a pair of attractive but very impractical shoes.

There, all done. For having worn this body such a short time, I had to say, I didn’t look bad at all. I did an experimental twirl in the mirror, made only a little difficult by the shoes. The effect was spectacular, though. I drew in a deep breath, made note of the effect, and blushed a little.

I felt as if I had just completed a painting. Sure, there were some things I might do differently next time, but there was a sense of accomplishment, pride in a job well done. It was the feeling of creating something beautiful, only in this case, the beautiful thing was me. I was about to go out with an attractive man on a nice, friendly not-a-date. Every nerve alight, I took up my purse and stepped out into the direction of the rest of the night.