“Mmmm, who’s my good girl?” The woman speaks in a sultry voice that nearly shatters my brain into a million jagged pieces. Honestly, that’s gotta be some kind of superpower. The low, sing-song tones gently flow past my ears demanding compliance while teasing a tacit note of effortless dominance. If Erika wasn’t sitting next to me and “studying” for our next scene I would be forced to answer the woman on screen out of pure submissive instinct.

 

The other actor on screen obviously sees things my way, as their make-up-laden face is twisted in agonizing desire. At the start of the video, the guy involved was dressed rather plainly and seemed to dismiss the entire idea of the scene. All an act, I’m sure, but a rather convincing one nonetheless. Just thirty minutes later… damn. They’ve fully embraced their role, dressed in a cute frilly outfit and begging their mistress to continue down the path which invariably leads to blissful satisfaction.

 

Now, I’ll be real here. The woman in the video is stunning, no two ways about it. The acting and production value far outweigh anything Erika and I are capable of on a modest budget and lacking a background in any kind of theater. Even the actor’s outfit, as unnaturally poofy as it is, adds something meaningful to the product as a whole.

 

…

 

But the thing that strikes me most, is the impact of the transformation itself. Step by step, we’ve seen the actor strip away everything that could have been considered masculine about himself, only to be reforged as someone new. Someone… beautiful.

 

When Erika first mentioned the request, I could never have imagined it was possible to become someone totally new. When the “average joe” looking actor first appeared in this video, it would have been impossible to see him as anything but another adult film performer. So why then, did the person on screen seem so impossibly different? It could have been the makeup that accentuated their features and gave them an undeniably feminine face, or the outfit that seemed to hug and hide them perfectly to support the illusion of complete transformation… or it could be the expression they wore when they were first led to the full-length mirror present. The– the relief that flooded their face as they nearly broke down, elated and liberated from shackles that hadn’t seemed to be there before but were undeniable in their absence.

 

“Felix?” Erika asks, video paused during a brief transition, no doubt to switch up the structure of the set. I turn to my friend, I can feel myself making an unfamiliar expression, wishing I could identify either my outward look or inner turmoil. “Are you okay? You’re like… really red right now.”

 

My answer doesn’t arrive right away, being stuck in transit behind the millions of thoughts and confusions jamming up traffic on the I-95 in my head. “Y– yeah. I’m good. I’m totally good. Just… I’m just a bit surprised. This isn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

 

My friend half-chuckles out of habit while still looking worried. “I mean, I thought the genre’s title was pretty self-explanatory. I’m not sure what part of this is surprising.” As I struggle to articulate an issue I haven’t even identified yet, my mouth flaps open and shut like a fish that followed a hook and is confused by the concept of a world without water. “Wait… are you into this?”

 

“No!” I shout a bit too loud to be in any way believable. “I mean, of course not. You know me, I’m cool to try just about anything… but this? Come on, this is just– it’s just weird, you know? Like, super fucking weird.” I force a laugh, hoping to convince Erika that I’ve dismissed this whole thing as another sacrifice for our continued financial security.

 

Erika puts her hand on my shoulder until I shrug it off, fulfilling my rule three obligation. “It’s not weird. It’s okay to be into this. Hell, we’ve been at this for almost a year. It’s about damn time we found something you’re actually into.”

 

“But I’m not!” I argue, standing up from the dining room chair we’d moved next to our desk. “I’m NOT into this. At all. This is… this is fine, for whoever wants to be a part of it, but I don’t.”

 

“Lix… Alright, you’re not into this. I get it. I’m sorry. Now, do you want to finish watching this with me?”

 

That voice… I recognize it instantly. It’s the same voice Erika used when her parents told her Mr. Fuzzles went to live on a farm with all the other good little Chameleons. She didn’t believe me. Why didn’t she believe me? Why didn’t I?

 

Frustrated, confused, and pissed off about not understanding what is going on in my own goddamn head, I let out a harsh growl and storm off. At least, that’s the plan anyway, until it gets rudely interrupted by our coffee table tripping me and sending me face-first into the ass-crack of our couch cushions.

 

Before I’m able to regain my bearings, I feel Erika’s hands on my arm again and she’s saying something that’s thankfully muffled by the cushions on either side of my head. With no further to-do, I claw my way free of my corduroy prison and fulfill my earlier promise of a good ole fashioned storm-off, complete with door slam finale.

 

Over the next hour, there are a few attempts made by my roommate to lightly knock on my door to check-in. Obviously, being the incredibly mature person I am, I ignore them all opting to give my friend the silent treatment for the horrible crime of trying to be supportive in the event that I enjoyed what we were watching. Unbeknownst to her, I pull up that same video on my phone and begin watching it over and over again into the wee hours of the morning and forsaking any semblance of a good night's sleep that might have been available to me.

 

*Still Insanely Early in the Morning*

 

Emerging from my room, desperate to avoid anyone like a cryptid in the night, I rush to the bathroom to put a new door between myself and the woman I’d do anything not to talk to at the moment. “Felix?” Damn my lack of stealth mission skills! “Felix, please talk to me.” I hear a weak, sleep-addled voice barely carrying over from the couch. Why the hell was she sleeping out here again!?

 

Unable to ignore Erika any longer, I slowly trudge back to the living room. When she sees me approaching, she tucks her legs close to her in order to make room for me on the loveseat. “What is it? I’ve got places to be, sleep to go to, and dumps to take.” Polite and eloquent, as is my M.O.

 

“We don’t have to take the commission.” She says, directly addressing the elephant in the room. One thing to admire about Erika, she’s never shy about tackling a problem head-on. “I never would have even brought it up if I knew it was going to affect you like this. Obviously, the payday isn’t worth it, so… let’s just drop it, okay?”

 

My best friend smiles at me sweetly, hoping that this act of clemency will end every problem present. Unfortunately, I know now more than ever that this isn’t the case. “Erika… you were right.” I pause for a second, expecting the usual gloating we both love to indulge in when the other is forced to utter those three sacred words, but her annoying self-gratification doesn’t come. Instead, Erika sits up and leans against me. “I think… I know, that this is more up my alley than I’m comfortable admitting. I don’t know why, but it is. I– I was entranced by that video earlier. But– I don’t think I can make the video with you.”

 

I can feel Erika nodding as her head gently rubs on my shoulder. “I’m not trying to change your mind, or press the issue, I only ask this because I want to understand you better: Why can’t you do this?”

 

If there’s one habit of Erika’s I find absolutely insufferable, it’s her ability to ask the very question you least want to answer at any given moment. She is a virtuoso of finding buttons to press and going absolutely buck wild on them whether she realizes it or not. “The person in the video, at the end of it all, they were beautiful. They were beautiful and happy and comfortable in a way I can’t even imagine. Me– well, I mean, come on,” I say, vaguely gesturing to my entire body. “There’s no way I end up looking even a fraction as good. I’m just going to be me… in a dress. That’s a disturbing thought, is it not?”

 

“I wouldn’t say it’s disturbing at all. But–” Erika goes dead silent, measuring her words before she releases them to the general public. “Are you sure that what you’re describing is a kink thing? Or is this something else?”

 

What the hell else could it be? I want to be dressed up in feminine clothes, wear makeup, and feel beautiful. What other situation would that possibly be normal in? “I’m pretty sure.”

 

“But you don’t want to do this because you’re afraid you won’t look good, right?”

 

“I mean, that sounds kind of shallow, but it’s not altogether incorrect. I think I’d be comfortable if I knew I could look as good as the person in the video. Their transformation was just… It was incredible.”

 

I feel Erika’s weight shift off of me as she leans on the arm of the couch in order to look me up and down. “Hmm, not gonna lie, this is not my area of expertise. I only learned how to do goth'd-out makeup that looks good with latex because… well, you know.” Oh did I ever. “However, I do know someone who might be able to help. Would you mind if I called in an expert?”

 

A slight panic starts building deep in the pit of my stomach. “Wait, you’re talking about bringing in someone else? But nobody we know even knows we’re doing this! How the hell are we gonna swing this?” And how soon after she’s comfortable telling other people about our side venture will I be replaced?

 

“No no no no no! I am *so* not telling anyone about this. Trust me, not interested in that awkward ass conversation.” Well, that’s gotta be the only awkward conversation she doesn’t want to have. “I’m saying, I have a friend, she’s incredible with makeup and style stuff, and I think she’d be uniquely qualified to help you out.”

 

…

 

Alright, something here doesn’t quite compute. “So you have a friend who would come over, give me fashion and makeup tips for femininity, and wouldn’t question why the hell me… a guy… would be interested in any of this?”

 

Erika shrugs. “I mean, I’m sure she’ll be curious, but given her own situation, I’m almost one hundred percent positive she won’t ask anything that will make you uncomfortable. She’s incredibly sympathetic to people who want to look different than they currently do.”

 

Still confused as all shit, I take a minute to think. Can I really trust a stranger with this? I mean, it’s a friend of Erika, so I’m not afraid of her being some terrible person that’d hold this over my head but… It’s still nerve-wracking. Every practical bone in my body is screaming to say no, walk away, and forget this whole ordeal ever happened.

 

So why am I intensely excited about the prospect of experiencing what the person in the video did? Why am I ready to jump for joy picturing a whole new person staring back at me in the mirror? Why is my mouth moving of its own accord and telling my friend, “Sure, if you don’t mind… I’d like to give it a try.”