Chapter 5: A New Face

 

A woman was in the apartment tonight. 

A strange woman. 

A real woman.

Work was exhausting early that day, so she really didn't need this right now. Today's end-game report was 3 Miss's, 2 Sir's, and 1 Confused - reactions from various customers about her gender. The Confused one was the funniest - a small child stared at Sophia, then turned to her mother and loudly asked "MOMMY IS THAT A BOY OR A GIRL?". The mother looked embarrassed and started trying to laugh it off, "Oh, he's a boy, dear! I'm so sorry about that, you know kids after all! You're definitely a very handsome young man!", while Sophia simply smiled to herself and said it was fine.

Society idolizes children's sense of intuition. They say "kids always tell you the full and honest truth, regardless of social mores". And if that's true, then she must not look like a man anymore, even if just a little bit. She was on the threshold, on the border.

But compared to the woman standing before her now, Sophia must have been a fucking caveman. 

This was a nightmare. She always felt a compulsive need to pretend to be as normal as possible around most women, and she didn’t know why. Her neuroticism, anxiety, heart-beat, would all increase, increase, increase. This strange person was going to judge her, see into her soul, and reveal all of her secrets and her true identity as a Man Inside. Women and their knife-edge insight were to be feared. Cis women were better than her. Cis women were superior to her. She was a worm compared to them. 

And this one was particularly stunning. It was obvious why John hooked up with her, as she instantly assumed. Instead of looking like Brooke, she had a more refined beauty to her, some kind of immaculate aura emanating from her body. Something about her seemed like a single gust of wind could blow her away - waifish and feminine, unlike the man now standing before her. Porcelain skin, blonde shoulder length hair tied up in a ponytail, and very vividly expensive fabric draping her body. A single ring on her fingers probably cost more than all of Sophia, Mark, and John's net worth combined.

She was terrifying. She was bewitching. She seemed like a nice enough girl. She was a real girl.

Why am I meeting such beautiful girls lately? Why am I being tortured like this? I'm going to fucking die.

"Oh, hello! I'm Jennifer. I've been dating John for a while, I'm sure he's mentioned me. Hello hello!" the woman said in greeting. Her voice felt like she should be speaking in a posh British accent, but she wasn't - but it gave off the feeling of one. You know.

Turning to me almost instantly afterwards, as if her eye caught a jewel in the coal, she then said, "And who's cute girlfriend is this? Are you with Mark? I don't think you mentioned living with a girl in your apartment before?" while turning to John. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHA.

Her heart jumped out of her fucking chest. John just chuckled.

"No, no, that's just, uh, Nick," Mark said, seemingly unphased. 

"Hm? Nicole, was it?" 

Oh god. She didn't get it yet. Sophia half-hoped in her heart that she never would - that she'd continue to think of her as a real girl the whole night, or her whole life, even. But she had no choice. She didn't want to be a deceiver. A liar. When push comes to shove, she felt she had an obligation to tell the truth that she's really just a fucking man.

"Uh, um, j-just Nick," Sophia finally said, lowering her voice a bit back from her work-mode higher tenor. Jennifer's eyes widened.

"Oh! Oh I'm, aha... I'm so sorry...Nick. Hello! You're very obviously a dude. A guy. For sure. You look pretty cool! I'm so sorry, really! I’m Jennifer, by the way!" 

She felt like she'd just lost something special that she couldn't get back, but didn't deserve in the first place. They shook hands, with Sophia’s damp palms meeting Jennifer’s immaculate model-tier hands and done-up pearl white nails, glistening like fucking diamonds. She felt ashamed for soiling this immaculate, thin figure with her own disgusting giant sweaty man-hands. The disparity between them revealed what a mockery Sophia was compared to a real woman. She should just leave this man-cave and go grunting and hunting for boars or something like her ancestors.

In the midst of their grip, Jennifer said "You never know these days though, right? Looking at the news and stuff, haha."

Yeah, the news. It's not like there's one right in front of you. They don't live among us, after all. Sophia's sport's bra hidden behind two layers of cotton and polyester started absorbing her trickling sweat. Sophia always had to be neurotic over what the cis people around her actually think of trans woman. From what they see on the news, on television, hear from their friends. Even the most supportive face could hide the most venomous intentions, or radical views. Every palm could be holding a knife. You are never fully safe. 

"Well, anyways, as I'm sure you heard already, I'm John's girlfriend, hello hello, it is I, it’s wonderful to meet you."

"Hi hi. I've been friends with John for years," Sophia said in response, wanting to state her relationship as well. Maybe if she presents herself as a close friend, she'll be more relaxed around her, like she clearly is around Mark. For some reason, she senses hostility. Maybe she could even be a new friend if she handles this properly. One of Sophia's long time dreams was to have a group of cis girl friends to be herself with - ones who accepted her as a girl, as one of them, without any reservations or expectations to act as a man around them. Maybe someday she'll actually be able to attain that impossible dream. Someday.

"Close friends?" Jennifer questioned with a certain look in her eye. "Well, you can be sure I'll be very good to him!", she continued, with her expensive rings starting to make indent marks into Sophia's soft and increasingly sweat-laden hands.

John finally deigned to open his mouth, seemingly wanting to interrupt the exchange - "We were just about to head out for dinner, but she said she finally wanted to see my place first. So, yeah... this is it."

"It's very... man-cavey. It's so you, John."

"Yeah. Only a place for the super manly," Sophia piped in with a bit of a melodious tone. Maybe she'd get the joke.

Maybe I can show myself a bit...?

She didn’t notice the joke at all, it seemed. They continued to explore the place together and make small-talk. Everything seemed normal and comfortable, and she apparently fit in just fine.

So why was Sophia feeling like her chest was being ripped apart?

—

It's been an hour or so since they'd left for dinner, and showed no signs of coming back. Perhaps John was staying the night with her instead - she most definitely had a much nicer place, after all. Maybe the few times he'd been out for the night was actually spent with Jennifer, and not drunk and passed out under a bridge like Mark and Sophia often assumed.

She'd been sitting in the kitchen having some tea now, while meticulously folding a napkin into exponentially smaller squares, then ripping them apart, then doing it to another with triangles, then ripping that apart too, while her tea got cold beside her.  

She felt something burning inside her. She felt this sort of anxiety when she got herself a fidget trinket - which just made her anxiety worse, a hot ball of fire in her hand. She needed to throw it away to feel free of it, like some kind of evil palantir threatening to possess her and burn her up. She'd always been like this, but tonight felt especially bad.

Flipping through her phone aimlessly at the tons of unread DMs, she shot Chad a message herself:

"heyyy. what do u do when you feel so fuckin frustrated about something but dont know why???"

"hey there :-) Having a good night? well when I feel like that, I usually either work out or jerk off!"

I guess Chad's not too much help right now. 

"Hey bro, what's up with you, for real?"

"Huh-wha?" Sophia looked up, taken by surprise. It was Mark.

"Just, you know, what's been going on with you lately? About everything. You been going through some shit? You know you can tell me anything, right? John too. Wanna have a drink or something?" Mark asked. He was a nice guy, but Sophia knew that what he said wasn't actually true. Whenever people churn out this shit line, they’re always lying, even if they don't realize it themselves. There’s always a hidden clause, an asterisk dotted at the end. A knife. 

Should I tell him? Should I tell both of them? Can they tell? 

How would she even come out? Would she say "I'm actually a girl!"? In some brandishing display of arrogance and confidence? Would her bravado bully them into respecting her new identity that she didn't even believe herself?

Maybe I can tell Mark first and then it'll soften the blow for John...maybe I can formulate a plan...maybe...

Would she say "Well uh, I've been taking some medication lately. So I've been growing some...things on my chest. A side effect!"? A white lie? A coward's way out, but one that was entirely accurate? After all, nobody can fault someone for simply taking some medicine with a very fortunate and nice side-effect. Nobody could ever mock her or hate her or reject her or abandon her for it. Nobody.

Nobody?

Why did she have to come out, anyways? She wasn’t under any obligation to come out to anyone. There is no grand holy rule ordained in the Trans Code that declares “If thoust dou trans, dost thou Come Out”. It’s nobody’s fucking business but her own. Her private shit. It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks. She wasn’t scared about what they’d think at all, absolutely not. She wasn’t going to be like those obnoxious trannies she read about online, who force all their friends to change how they talked to them 5 times a week, and announce to the world that they’re queer, before ever even downing their first fucking pill. No. She had some humility, some sensibility. She knew her transition was something humiliating, something to be embarrassed about, something disgusting to be hidden from the world. And that's how she was going to live her life, forever.

All she cared about was her body. She didn’t need anything else. That’s what being a real TransSexual is about. As long as her body was becoming more female, then that was fine. She would be happier. Trying to pursue any more happiness than that would be the height of arrogance. That was above her paygrade, her caste. It's not like she's a real girl like Brooke. It's not like she's a real girl like Jennifer. They got to live normal lives, got to grow up as normal girls. Some freak like Sophia only ever went on hormones anyways because of some overwhelming sense of dread about her body if she didn’t - she didn’t ever need to be called a ‘woman’ to get by. Pronouns were just words in the end. None of that shit matters to her. Screaming about ‘gender identity’, trans rights, being some LGBT progressive fuck that nobody likes - that’s what being publicly trans means, that’s what her friends would think of her if she came out, because that’s what she’d think about herself. 

So she can’t do it. She’ll never come out. It's too humiliating.

"Uh...Bro? You there?"

“Uh, I'm uh, just feeling stressed, I’ll just take a nap.”

"I mean it's already like night-time bro that's kinda fucking late for a nap but alright, I'll quiet down for ya out here."

This stupid little gender game she was playing was getting too real. She couldn't take living like this anymore. She needed a way to destress. 

She looked around her room. It’s already changed a bit since she first moved here.

The room she grew up in back home was always completely barren. Devoid of all life. A bed, and a computer. No signs that anyone even lived there. No posters. No doo-dads. No signs of life. If she ever thought to put anything up, any little poster, any sign of anything she liked, she would feel exposed somehow. That someone would look over her shoulder and judge her, and laugh, and mock her. It was better to be clean and pristine and barren.

But now, her new room was increasingly full of life. Perhaps it was just her laziness of not wanting to clean up or throw away useless things, but more signs of life was in her room than ever before. Just a few things - an old vinyl record or two that she doesn't even have a player for (she liked the album art), her Beta fish bowl, some manga volumes on a shelf. Even just this much was extreme for her, but it made her feel just a little bit more alive. Just a little bit more like a real human being. 

She locked her room and started to lie down on the bed. Taking Chad's advice. She hadn’t masturbated for 3 whole weeks. Before HRT, she would have to do it every day, as if forced to by her body. As if her testosterone was molesting her at a random time every day without notice or warning, or ever being able to resist, since it was coming from inside her, from within her being. HRT finally gave her that resistance she needed. Beyond any other change, it was one of the ones she was most gracious for. It helped her to actually enjoy the times she chose to do it, considering it was her actual choice now. 

She started rubbing her genitals softly over the fabric of her pants, trying consciously to make it stay as soft as possible, then closed her eyes and used her other hand to caress her new breasts, that were pretty sore today too. What if a man was on top of her right now, rubbing her like this, his hands gripping her thighs leaving imprint marks on her like a brand, licking her nipples and pinching on them with his teeth. What if he started thrusting inside her pussy as he started breathing hot air on her soft naked neck. She squirmed and writhed underneath him as he pinned her arms up above her head on the mattress, leaving her helpless. Her breasts would rock up and down with his thrusts - it turned her on so much to think about how much her body has changed and grown since a year ago. She hated thinking about having a flat chest like she used to.

Oh, now the man's starting to mock her for still trying to pretend to be a boy in public, when she’s so obviously a slutty girl, and should get fucked like one too. Who was she trying to kid herself. She gets confused for a girl now. She should just give up being a boy. She's not her parent's young handsome boy anymore, and never was. She'll never be a man. She needs him to be her man now. He can do that for her now. She can just relax and give in and accept her fate and let this wash over her, drowning herself in the pleasure, forgetting everything else in her life. All the pain. All the memories. All she needs is him and this pleasure. 

Is this what straight girls think about? Is this what Jennifer thinks about?

Wait, hmm, what did the dude fucking her look like? She hadn’t really decided on a look yet - he didn't really have a face even, just some vague shadow. He was just meant for sex after all.

Did he look like Chad? Or did he look like J-

God, her nipples were like electricity. But in her pants, she felt like a dead fish. God damnit. She loved that she was so limp now, but it wasn’t exactly doing her any favors for sensation’s sake, and her palm was starting to get really fucking sore. Maybe she just needed her vibrator...

No no no, this wouldn’t work. Her vibrator would make too much noise. Mark would definitely maybe hear, possibly. She's barely been able to use it ever since she discretely bought it over Amazon months ago - waiting desperately by the mail box, hoping to god nobody got to it before she did.

Plan aborted. Something was really fucking pissing her off. She needed some fucking air. 

 

---

 

"Which girl do you like the most?"

The mothers giggled at teasing the boys about their presumed heterosexuality, while watching some female pop group on television. A normal rite of passage - it was a birthday party, after all. They were growing into true Men, so it was appropriate to test their preferences and build them up properly.

However, Sophia was confused. Sophia had never even thought about it before. 'Like' the best? What does like mean? Liking girls? Was it like liking food? She had many favorites of lots of things, and toys, and books, and games, and snacks. But what did the question mean? Favorite girl? Sophia just couldn't understand.

While the other boys were answering the question just fine, with the parents giggling at their responses, she just kept contemplating while totally tuning them out. She'd definitely thought about this question before, while flipping through their CD lyrics booklet and singer profiles at home. She'd thought about it a lot about which one she looked at the most, and thought about the most. Maybe that's what they meant by liking girls. Finally, she reached a conclusion. 

"Well, I'd like to be like her!” while pointing at one in particular on the screen. That one was her favorite. The other parents laughed a bit and seemed a bit confused, but she didn't care, because Sophia was so proud of herself. It was a really tough question, but she figured out the right answer. I mean, in the end, it was just common sense. Her teachers always said she was a smart kid, after all. She was so smart. She was definitely her favorite girl of the group, why wouldn’t she like to be her? How else can anyone even answer a question like that? What else can liking girls even mean? 

She suddenly felt daggers stab the back of her skull, sending a chill through her. She'd forgotten her mommy was sitting behind her, somewhere in the room, but she couldn't tell where. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Sophia couldn't understand what was wrong. 

Click.