“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Nora said. “I’ve shown you plenty of times, just do it.”

“Um… okay,” I nervously replied. I licked my lips, and then carefully slipped my tool inside the hole. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that,” Nora answered. “Now move it around, try to get a feel for it. Find the spot.”

I nodded, and shifted positions a bit. Pushed around. Everything was surprisingly pliable, I expected it to be more… rigid, somehow. Not that I had much experience with the current situation – I didn’t have any at all, actually.

“Good,” Nora said. “You should be in a good position. Try twisting a little bit.”

I complied, but found some unexpected resistance. “Is it… is it supposed to feel like this?” I asked. “I can barely move it.”

Nora frowned. “No, it’s supposed to slide around without any problem,” she replied. “Hold on. Try to pull back. Just a tad.”

I did as I was told, and immediately heard the rapid click-click-click of the pins falling back into place; I sighed deeply, and pulled the lockpick out of the keyhole.

“I’ll never get this,” I complained. “This is too hard.”

“It’s absolutely not hard, you’re just not used to it,” Nora rebutted. “I’ll show you. Give it here.”

I handed the padlock and lockpicks to her, and she immediately got to picking. “See, you turn the tensioner slightly, just a little bit, and then feel for the pins,” she said, sliding the lockpick in the keyhole. “You move it around a bit, listen for the clicks, and…”

With a loud clack, the padlock popped open.

“See? Nothing to it.”

“You make it look easy,” I said.

“I suppose,” she replied. “But then again, this is a particularly shitty padlock, easy to open, and I’ve picked it probably hundreds of times, so I know exactly where the pins have to go. Muscle memory.” She smiled warmly at me. “You’ll get it eventually. All it takes is practice.”

I sighed once again, and shook my head. A couple weeks after we'd gotten together, Nora had talked me and a few of our friends into giving lockpicking a try; after just one hour of this, though, I was getting ready to give up.

“But even if you don’t get it,” Nora continued, “you can just call me. I’ll come right away, and open any door you need me to.”

She leaned forward in her chair, and gave me a peck on the cheek, which went red – along with both my ears, and the rest of my face.

Even after two weeks, I was still not used to this. I was still not used to being the object of someone's affection: I'd never dated anyone before, and my parents had never been big on physical touch as I was growing up. On the other hand, Nora – and the others in our small queer group, whenever they were present – delighted in teasing me endlessly, and seemed to revel in my embarrassed reactions. (Not that I disliked it.)

“Oh, look at that blush,” Vicky commented from the next table over. “Cute.”

“Isn’t she?” Nora said. “The cutest girl on campus.”

Case in point: my blush, if at all possible, became even deeper – my face was probably lobster-red at that point.

“Don’t be mean to me,” I mumbled, covering my face with my hands. “I may cry.”

“Oh, really?” Nora said; I heard her lean in, and then she whispered in my ear, “I’d really like to see that.”

I made a noise. It may have been a squeak.

“Alright, I’m going to grab the spray bottle,” Anna said. “Seriously, you two, get a room.”

Peeking between my fingers, I saw Nora look around in pretend confusion. “But we’re already in a room,” she said.

“You know what I meant.”

“Mmhmm,” Nora mused. “Okay. Shall we get a room, then, Lily?”

“I…” I began; then gulped. “I don’t think I feel ready for that yet. After all, we’ve only been dating for what, two weeks now? And besides…” I stopped, and took a deep breath, but didn’t continue the sentence after that.

What would I even say? That I didn’t want to be intimate with someone? That I didn’t feel comfortable being intimate with anyone, because I didn’t feel comfortable with my body? Hell, I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror: the thought of someone besides myself looking at me naked or, worse, touching my naked skin, made me feel almost physically sick.

“I get it,” Nora said, shaking me out of my thoughts. “Don’t worry, we’ll wait until you’re ready.” She brushed my hair aside, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Take your time.”

The blush returned, but not at full force, thankfully: I managed to stammer a “Thanks” to Nora and smile at her.

“Speaking of time,” Anna said. “Lily, we should really be going, class is going to start soon. We don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, getting up from my chair.

“Hold on,” Nora stopped me. “I want you to have these.”

She handed me the padlock I’d tried to open earlier, and a small pouch which on opening revealed what looked like a beginner’s set of lockpicks.

“So you can practice even when you’re on your own,” she explained. Then she smiled, and continued, “But I’m always available to give you some pointers regarding that, or if you need anything else.”

I smiled back, and thanked her once again; then I patted my pockets, wondering where I should put the two things she’d given me: my coat's pockets were becoming quite full, since I had to carry my wallet, keys, phone, pepper spray, and my hormones – while I’d given most of them to Nora for safekeeping, I still kept a box of estradiol and one of cyproterone on hand at all times, since I couldn’t well go to her house every morning and evening. And now I had the lockpicks and padlock too. Where…?

“I have something else for you,” Nora said.

I looked at her. “Huh? What?”

“Hold on,” she said; she fished inside her backpack, and pulled out what looked like…

“A purse?” I said.

Nora nodded. “Yeah, a purse. I’ve been watching you, and noticed you’ve been having trouble carrying everything around, so… yeah. I got this for you.”

Yet again, my blush returned. She’d actually noticed I needed something? Without me having to say anything? She was incredibly thoughtful, to say the least. Still…

“I’m sorry, Nora,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m grateful, I really am, but… I can’t go around with a purse. You know. Because of Joe.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all,” she said. “Here, take a look at this. When the purse is like this, you put it over your shoulder. Like, well, a purse.” I nodded, and she continued, “But if you pull this strap out, you can wear it cross-body, and it looks like a man-purse, like something many men carry around.”

She pulled on the strap, lengthening it, and slung it over her head, demonstrating how to wear it.

“Huh,” I said. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. And it does look like something a man would wear.” I would be able to keep it after going back to being a man, at least, I thought with a pang of guilt, so Nora’s thoughtfulness wouldn’t be wasted.

“Here, try it,” she said. She handed me the purse, and I passed the strap over my head, arranging it diagonally across my chest: as I did so, it brushed briefly over my nipple. Ow.

…Ow?

That had hurt. Not really that much, but it had been a weird, unexpected pain: my chest had never hurt that way before. What…?

“I still don’t get why they have to call it a man-purse,” Anna said, distracting me from my thoughts. “I mean, why not call it a purse, period? Is masculinity so fragile that they need to specify that it’s made for men, and is absolutely not feminine at all, no sir?”

Nora laughed. “You know how men can be. Not all of them, of course, but some are very… defensive of their masculinity.”

“I can definitely attest to it,” I replied; living with Joe had given me ample proof of it. Come to think of it, it was weird I wasn’t more defensive of my masculinity: maybe it was the whole pretend-to-be-trans thing? Or maybe not having had many friends as I was growing up had shielded me from the worst of toxic masculinity, which I hadn’t learned as a result?

Yeah, that was probably it.

“In any case,” I continued, “We really gotta go now. Thank you, Nora,” I said, rising to my tip-toes to give her a peck on the lips.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” she replied, smiling back at me.

I waved goodbye to Vicky, who waved back, and then Anna and I left the room, to make the trek over to the social studies classroom.

“I’m surprised Elanor wasn’t here today,” I said as we walked. “Aren’t you two always together?”

“Normally, yes,” Anna replied. “But today they took some space, said they wanted to prepare a surprise for me for tomorrow.” She smiled. “I really can’t wait to see what they’ve cooked up.”

“Oh? Is tomorrow a special occasion?” I asked, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

Anna nodded. “Oh yeah. Our first Valentine’s Day together.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, and she walked a few steps before turning back and giving me a curious look. “…Fuck,” I swore, under my breath.

“Lily? Is something wrong?” Anna asked.

I shook my head. “I’m a complete dumbass,” I said. “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten Valentine’s Day. Nora will never forgive me.”

Anna tilted her head to the side. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry. She’s not the type. And besides, you still have time until tomorrow, don't you?”

I hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. I better think of something.”

Anna smiled, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Lily, I know you’ll figure it out. You’re a really smart girl.”

I smiled back at her, reached up, and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Anna.”

“Any time. Now, let’s get to class.”

-----

“And that’s all for today,” the professor said, as the bell rang. “Remember that you have to turn in your next assignments by Wednesday next week. Have a good evening.”

There was a general shuffling around as everyone started to get up and move towards the exit.

“Mister O’Connor, a word?” the professor said, catching my eye; I nodded, and approached him as everyone else filed out.

“Yes, sir?” I asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about the research project I spoke to you about two weeks ago,” he said. “The one about toxic masculinity and the effect it has on both the person holding those beliefs, and those around them. Have you given it any thought?”

I looked at him for a moment. Yeah, I had given it some thought, actually: he’d asked me if I wanted to take part in it, it was meant to be a group effort. It was actually a good opportunity for me, and a sure-fire way to pass the class with an almost-perfect grade… But I had other plans.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I answered, shaking my head, “but I was thinking of doing something else as my final project for the class. There’s something I’ve been working on for a while, actually.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh? And what would that be?”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of how to put my thoughts into words. “I don’t have a title for it yet, I’ll have to decide on it later down the line. But it’s a project I started a few months ago, way back in November. It’s about…” I paused once again to gather my thoughts. “It’s about trans people. And transition. And the effects transition can have on cis people.”

The professor looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry, but how does transition affect cis people? Is this something about how trans people have to relate to a cissexist society when transitioning? Because there’s been plenty of research done in the field.”

“Not that. I… It’s kinda hard to explain, actually,” I replied. “But I can promise it will be a very interesting read once I’ve completed the whole thing.”

“I see,” he said, giving me a pensive look. “Alright. Well, the last thing you wrote for the class was really interesting, so I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Though it’s a shame,” he continued. “I was really looking forward to having you work on the toxic masculinity thing. It’s a really interesting subject.”

I suddenly thought of something. “Why don’t you ask Anna to do it?” I said. “Anna Suarez, I mean.”

“Miss Suarez?” the professor asked. “Why her, specifically?”

“I thought she might be a good fit for the project,” I answered with a shrug. “I know she’s had problems with toxic masculinity before, and we both know someone who’s chest-deep in the stuff, giving us both no end of trouble because of it.” Mainly me, I thought, but Anna too: after all, every time she’d met Joe, they’d been seriously at odds.

“Indeed?” he said. “I thought you two didn’t see eye-to-eye.”

I waved the thought away. “No, not at all. We’ve had our differences, but in the end we actually became friends. She and some other friends have been helping me with some stuff, actually.”

“…Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

The professor understood I wasn’t willing to elaborate further, so he just nodded. “Alright, I’ll give this some thought,” he said, looking at me carefully. “Thank you for your time. Have a good evening, O’Connor.”

“You too, sir. Thank you,” I replied with a smile; I turned around and left the room, passing my purse’s strap over my head as I did so.

Once again, it brushed across my chest and, like earlier that afternoon, I felt a bit of pain.

I stopped walking.

This was weird. Why was my chest hurting like this? I carefully poked and prodded it with my finger, and sure enough, it felt a bit tender. On both sides, actually, in a very specific area. It was as if…

I blinked.

Oh.

-----

“Hey, bro, welcome back,” Joe greeted me, looking up from his textbook.

“Hi,” I replied, and then I frowned. “Wait, are you studying?”

“What’s it look like? Of course I’m studying,” he replied. “What, you have a problem with it?”

There he went, always aggressive. I just shook my head; “No, no problem,” I replied. “It’s just, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you study.”

“Have to,” he said simply. “The administration is already on my ass because of Darrell, don’t wanna give them an excuse to kick me out.”

“Wait, hold on,” I said. “What was that about Darrell? What did he do?”

Joe shrugged. “What do you think? He ratted me out to someone high up. About the beer.” The gaze he levelled my way said he still somewhat blamed me, too, for that whole debacle, but I just ignored it.

“But he said he wouldn’t report you…”

“He must have. Otherwise, how do you explain the fact that since I’ve come back to college after Christmas break I’ve got nothing but failing grades on all my assignments?” he said, annoyance clear in his voice. “They have it in for me, I tell you.” He sighed. “Of course if I were a woman, or black, or gay, or non-binary, whatever that is, they’d go easy on me. But normal white men get the short end of the stick.”

I frowned at his use of ‘normal’ to describe his being cishet – it didn’t sit quite right with me. And in fact, I could think of several reasons why he was failing: that he hadn’t bothered studying nearly as much as he should have; that he’d missed three full weeks of class after Christmas break; that he had a terrible attitude; that he spent all weekends partying, without bothering to get ahead on schoolwork. And a couple more.

But I didn’t tell him any of that, of course. Best not to antagonise him.

“Sorry to hear that, buddy,” I said, walking towards my bed and dropping my backpack and purse on it.

He shrugged in response. “Nothing I can do about it at this point.”

I nodded as I opened my wardrobe and grabbed my towel, pajamas, and bag of toiletries from it. “I’m taking a shower, today was tiring and I’m all sweaty,” I told Joe; then I added, in a joking voice: “No peeking.”

“What, you think I’m some kind of homo?” he replied with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I really don’t wanna see your dick.”

I smirked at him, then moved to the bathroom and closed – and locked – the door behind me. I set down my things on the toilet, then quickly disrobed, turned around, and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.

The mirror wasn’t full-length, so checking myself out wasn’t easy – I had to stand way back against the door to get a full view of my body, and that made me miss some details I could instead see from up close. But by alternating the two positions, far away and close in, I got a pretty good idea of what I looked like.

And I looked… different?

To be fair, I didn’t have a good baseline for what I looked like before: I’d never liked to look at my body, so I couldn’t really remember my exact shape, but I seemed to be… rounder, somehow. My hips were fuller, maybe? Just a little bit? Or maybe it was just my imagination.

The main thing that caught my eye, though, was my chest. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but there seemed to be two small, raised bumps, just behind my nipples. I experimentally tried to probe them with my finger, and found they were quite sensitive. That settled the deal.

I was growing breasts.

It was funny, but the thought didn’t alarm me nearly as much as it probably should have. After all, it was just one of the effects of the hormones: and like I’d read online, as long as I stopped taking HRT before the six month’s mark, everything would go back to the way it was before. So I didn’t see it as a problem, but rather as an opportunity: to see first-hand the very early stages of breast development in a trans woman. Or a cis man on HRT, anyway.

But as I showered, I found out there was, in fact, a problem with me growing boobs: they were way too sensitive. I had to be careful about washing them under the stream of warm water, because they hurt if I just rubbed at them the way I’d always done when I showered. And when I put on my pajamas, the cloth felt really rough on my nipples, so much that I could barely stand it.

I had to do something about this.

I wrapped a towel around my head to dry my hair – which was getting longish, I noted: I would have to get a haircut soon – and grabbed my cellphone.

Hey, I texted Nora. Are you free tomorrow?

The answer came almost immediately. Yeah, I am. What’s up?

Can we hang out?

Yeah, of course, she replied. Any particular occasion?

Well, it’s Valentine’s Day, of course.

You remembered!

I smiled. Yeah, of course I remembered. So I thought we could maybe go shopping? In the afternoon?

Sure, was the reply. Anything in particular you’re looking to buy?

I hesitated for a moment before typing out the next message; but in the end, there was nothing to it, really.

Yeah. I need to buy a bra.