Chemystery, by Karin Bishop

Part 4

June 21: Afternoon

I followed Jenny to her bedroom and felt a little surge of envy for the beautiful, feminine décor, in light blues and yellows and lace and all the …things girls accumulate. The furniture was white; there was a freestanding large oval mirror, a hat rack festooned with hats and scarves, and a cluttered vanity. She also had a study area; a serious desk with neat stacks of papers and books and a very serious laptop with printer and other peripherals. It was an odd contrast to the delicacy of the rest of the room, but I realized the room had been set up when she was a little girl but was now a student and growing woman. I felt my heart clench at the image of being a little girl and growing up a woman.

Jenny turned and faced me, looking above me and to the side and I realized she was looking at the whole of me. She took a brush from her vanity and raised an eyebrow; I understood and undid the scrunchie that held my low ponytail. I was told to bend over and she brushed my hair, and then told me to straighten up and it was a lot fuller. She reached up and fluffed both sides of my hair and then began brushing this way and that way. I just stood like a manikin while she did this. Then she found something she liked and led me to the standing mirror.

Jenny grinned. “Just as I promised back at the library. Let me show you something.”

Even with the baggy cargo pants and baggy work shirt I wore, I saw a girl. Jenny had brushed my hair across my forehead and had it flowing down my shoulders and it was really pretty. I thought of Miranda fiddling with her hair and saw that I had split ends that needed trimming. I just nodded at the girl–me–in the mirror.

“See?” Jenny said triumphantly. “See the girl?”

I made a snap decision, my brain churning but clear on what I was about to do. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt, slid it off to the floor and turned to Jenny, my breasts puckering in the sudden chill. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“See?” I said. “See the girl?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh …my …God! I knew you were getting more feminine, but …omigod!”

As much as I wanted to grab my shirt, I crossed my arms over my breasts. “Yeah. Omigod.” I sat on the edge of the vanity bench. “Imagine it from my side.”

She reached down and picked up my shirt and was going to hand it to me but snatched it back, tossed it on her bed and said, “Chris, do you trust me?”

“Yes. I think I just proved that,” I said with a sad chuckle, looking at her and then down at my mounds.

My breasts.

She went to her bureau and turned back with a light blue bra. She handed it to me. “I think you’re just about an A cup. This one is really comfortable. I think …I think you pretty much need it.”

On autopilot, I took the bra and nodded. I looked at her and she understood, showing me how to put it on backwards around my waist, turn it around and pull it up and she helped adjust it. There was a little hesitation as she silently asked my permission. I nodded and she touched my boob! It was just to adjust the cups, but the thought of what had occurred was major. I think I trembled a little bit.

Jenny put both hands on my upper arms. “Shush,” she said gently. “It’s okay. It’s a big deal in every girl’s life, getting her first bra.”

She’d meant it so kindly that I was incredibly grateful to her and probably was responsive when I saw her frown slightly and say, “I don’t know if I can call you Chris anymore, like Christopher. Do you …do you have a name? You said Craig is going to be Lisa.”

“I’m guessing that; I won’t know until he emails me back. I don’t know what girls’ names Mom had picked out. But there are girls named Chris …”

She waved a hand. “Yeah, but they’re like sporty girls. Chris Evert, like that. But you’re …pardon me for saying this but I think you’re going to be a girly girl; you’re certainly pretty enough already. Um …until you talk with your mom–and I can’t believe she hasn’t noticed!–can I call you …I don’t know. Christy? Chrissie? What do you think?”

Without thinking, I said, “Chrissie.”

She grinned. “Yeah, I think so, too. Okay, Chrissie. Your first bra. What do you think?”

I said I didn’t know, and started walking around her room, reaching, bending, stretching and feeling the newness of the support. I turned back to her with a foolish grin. “I like it!”

She grinned. “It’s yours. No, really, I mean it! It’s a special gift between us, okay? And it’s practically new, and–oh!” She searched a drawer. “Here …No sense standing around without a top.”

I know some of the names of girls’ clothes; this was a raspberry camisole with spaghetti straps. I don’t know if she was teasing me or testing me or just handing me a top, but I didn’t make a big deal about putting it on.

That is, until I had to pull it over …my boobs. Jenny snickered a little bit and said, “Going to have to get used to them, Chrissie!”

Impulsively, I stuck my tongue out at her and giggled. I don’t think I’ve stuck my tongue out since I was five years old!

Jenny smiled and said, “I thought so.”

“What? That I have a tongue?”

“No, that you’ve got pretty arms and shoulders. Take a look.”

We both looked in the mirror and I had to admit that there was nothing masculine about my shoulders and bare arms. The light blue and raspberry straps lay right where they should and everything looked delicate and, well, yeah …pretty.

Jenny nodded in our silent agreement. Then she went back to the bureau. “Here’s the matching panties. Don’t want to break up the set, and they’re really nice and–” She stopped, realizing. “God, I’m sorry! I didn’t even …”

I reached for the panties. “No, Jenny, it’s cool. I’m …yeah.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

She nodded and there was that odd moment again. I realized she was looking at my baggy cargo pants. I looked down at them, too. It was a different view because the bra supported my breasts and made them look bigger and I actually had to bend a little bit to see down. My hair fell down and I had to pull it back.

Jenny said, “Hang on a minute, sweetie,” as if she’d been saying it for years.

She came at me with the brush again, and this time used a barrette to pull my swept-hair to the side. She grinned. “Looks really cute. Now look down again.”

This time the hair didn’t fall and block my view …of my breasts and my cargo pants. I frowned.

“They’re baggy, but …” I looked at Jenny.

She looked up and caught my eye and nodded. “You were wearing those at school a few weeks ago. They …didn’t fit like that, I’m pretty sure.”

I nodded, too. “I had to really cinch ‘em with the belt. Two notches. I thought it was maybe just eating better …” The truth dawned on me and Jenny saw it, too.

She said, “Have you measured yourself lately?” I shook my head and she nodded. “You’d better. And track it every day, you know?” I nodded. “I should have realized because you and I are pretty much the same size now.”

I sighed. “Wonder how much smaller I’ll get? I made a joke to Craig about working a circus if I shrank. But now …”

“I have a theory,” Jenny said, seriously, frowning a bit as she took a sip of her drink. “Based on no scientific evidence, just …theory, okay? If we start with your theory about the Black Hats using a …” She giggled. “I love that phrase, ‘girl-bomb’! Anyway, if it is overwriting your DNA, maybe …” She frowned and sipped again. “Maybe you’re–all three of you–maybe you’re being transformed into the body you would have had if you’d been born female. You know what I mean?”

“You mean we’re not being made into anything planned out, that they didn’t program us to look one way or another.”

She nodded. “Let’s pretend that they’re …well, let’s say your Y chromosomes are being absorbed or converted to X. So you’re becoming an XX female–and that’s a girl in my book!–then your body is …configuring itself to how it would have been if your body were …” Her eyes widened. “You’re returning to your natural state!”

“Oh, God, not back to the womb?” I half-joked.

“No, silly! Everybody starts out with an X and then the Y gets added, if it gets added, and changes height and bone structure and …genitals …and sex drive and how you think and everything. So I’ll bet the girl-bomb is changing the Y to an X in every cell. Making you XX just like you would have been if you were born a girl. And that stem-cell thing you compared it to? The breast tissue doesn’t do anything in its XY state, and then gets changed to XX and you started to develop breasts. And you’ll probably be the same eventual size you would have if you’d been born female. And functional, too, I’ll bet; you’ll have the ability to nurse. But growing so fast …” Her eyes widened. “Whoa–new idea! Back to the womb, you said; but the scientists say that our cells have biological clocks, you know?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s why we age–or those kids that are genetically messed up so they look eighty when they’re ten. Their cells told them they were eighty …” I trailed off; I saw where she was going.

She grinned, knowing we were on the same thought. “So your cells are being changed to XX, and your biological clock is okay and so they’re adjusting your …female body to where it should be, according to your age now. The cells’ internal calendar, so to speak. Not ‘back to the womb’, but fourteen years later.”

I was strangely excited by her theory. I also had no idea she was so darned smart. “So when this whole thing, this process, is over–if it ends–then I’ll be exactly the girl I would have been if I’d been born and raised a girl?”

“Uh-huh. And the same biological age.”

“My mother’s daughter, in other words, not just a …non-son?”

“Yep. Minus, of course, thirteen or fourteen years of culture as a girl.”

“God, you’re right. It makes more sense than anything else!” Then her last comment hit me. “Fourteen years of girl culture …It’s more than just not knowing what fork to use, isn’t it?”

She laughed out loud. “Oh, yeah! But don’t worry, Chrissie; I’ll help you.”

I paused and asked quietly, “Why?”

“Why? Because …” She sat on the edge of her bed. “You’re a good guy–scratch that, you always were a good guy. Always a really nice, friendly, compassionate, nice guy. And to tell you the truth I always thought it was a shame that you weren’t a little more …”

“Butch? Macho?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Male?”

She giggled and then sighed. “Yeah. I would have been attracted to you, maybe.” There was an odd moment of communication and shared loss for something that never was and never could be. “But when you started talking to me at the end of school, I just felt really comfortable with you. I didn’t know why.” She frowned and then asked, “I wonder if the stuff was already working on you then? Oh! Of course it was, and that’s why …Remember, the first thing we started talking about was the Evermore concert, and you were talking about the fun we girls must have had. That’s not a boy thought, nice guy or not.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know it at the time. I mean, it was sincere, but I think it was …well, Chrissie talking.”

She nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. Take away the fact that I know you’re a boy, or have been for however many years, and I just get a nice comfortable girl-vibe from you. I did when we started talking and a lot more, now. So that’s partly why I’m helping you. Girls like to try on different clothes with each other. And to be brutally honest, there’s an X-Files kind of fascination to the whole thing.” She shrugged. “And maybe you’re just my big Barbie doll and I like to play dress-up.” She grinned.

“Thank you,” I said. “I mean it. I’m going to need a true friend to get through all this. I only have two friends, Craig–and he’s gone–and Tommy, and they’re going through it, too.”

“There’s your mom,” she said gently.

“Tonight I’m telling her, I hope. It’s just been her darned work schedule that I haven’t told her; I haven’t even seen her for a couple of days. And I didn’t know as much to tell her as I do now.”

“Hey, can I tell my dad about this?” Jenny held up her hand. “Not with names, of course, but he’s got a lot of knowledge about that conspiracy stuff and has ways of digging deep for information. It might come in handy for you.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, thinking that it might be a good idea. “Hold off on names but once I’ve told Mom and checked with Craig …or Lisa, I’ll give your dad details.”

She nodded and we had a comfortable moment and I suddenly realized I was still holding the panties. I said, “Um …”

Jenny misunderstood. “Oh, I’m sorry; I’ll take ‘em back.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just …well, I should try them on …” I looked around for a bathroom.

“Oh! Down the hall and second door on the left.”

I took two steps and froze, staggered by a thought. “Um …If this is too weird, let me know, okay? You said, ‘girls like to try on clothes with each other’ a while back, and I’ve heard that girls change clothes in front of one another …”

She shrugged. “Sure. Yeah. We do it all the time. Go to the mall, cram ourselves in the fitting rooms and try things on. Or in our bedrooms …” Her voice trailed off. “Oh.” She smiled warmly. “If you trust me that much, Chrissie, I’m honored.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. “Cool. And you’ve got a choice, and this is super, super-weird, but …do you have any interest in …seeing what’s left of me?”

It took a moment before she got it. “Um …yeah, if you trust me.”

I grinned to ease the awkwardness. “Hey, I let you touch my boob, didn’t I?”

She giggled. “Sure did! But what the hell–we’re all girls here!”

The enormity of those four words …

I let the cargo pants slide to the ground. It seemed like–and it was probably true–my waist was narrower, my hips wider, and my legs more slender than they used to be. But I had on the boxer shorts that I didn’t like, the last ‘boy’ remnant. I preferred tightie-whities, but last year Craig and Tommy had said they were for little kids so I’d switched to boxers.

Taking a deep breath, I let the boxers slide down. Jenny let out a little gasp and quickly said, “Sorry. Um …is that …like before?”

I looked down at the tiny, shriveled penis, about two fingers-width long, with a curious detachment. “I was never a stallion, but no, it’s smaller. It was larger this morning and it was larger than that the day before.”

“Are you documenting any of this?”

God, what a moron I’ve been! “Omigod! I never thought …and I got a digital camera!”

“I’ve got one if you want to start right now. You can email the photos to yourself and we’ll wipe ‘em off this camera for security. But you’ve got to document this! You said it’s moving fast, day by day, and nobody’s going to believe it without some evidence.”

“I hope Craig’s documenting it; I’ll have to ask him.”

Jenny picked up a shiny blue camera from a charger on her desk, held it up and gave me a direct look. “You’re okay with this?”

“I’ve got one at home, but the way things are going, I might be even smaller by the time I get back. So, yeah.”

It was so strange to be so casual with her, with me standing naked below the waist, my puny little manhood dangling.

Jenny, bless her, was all business; clinical like we were in a doctor’s office. She handed me a ruler as she said, “This camera time-and-date stamps; your camera probably does, too. You might want to get a shot when you get home and see if there were any changes in however long it is between shots.”

Then she sat on her vanity bench, I stood before her and delicately held my penis, extending it to its full and pathetic length, with the ruler next to it. She shot from different angles and I sent a silent prayer: ‘Lord, don’t let anybody walk in right now!’ because it looked way kinkier than it was!

“Got ‘em,” Jenny said, studying the little screen on the camera’s back. She put the camera in the charger cradle and fired up her laptop.

I took the moment to tuck my little penis back and pulled the panties up, leaving a smooth, clean mound. Just like any other girl’s.

It looked so good, and so natural, that it took me a moment before I realized–yeah, my penis was small, but where were my testicles?”They’d been there, last time I’d looked, which was …I couldn’t remember exactly. And now they were gone, maybe up inside me, maybe actually gone …with my penis soon to follow.

All of this passed in a flash and then I was back to smiling at my smooth, mound, just like any other girl’s …

Jenny hadn’t noticed my startled discovery. She smiled. “Looks good, babe. You’re getting curvy, too. You’re going to be in a bikini before too long, and the guys will …” She looked stricken. “God, I’m sorry! I just get too comfortable with you as a girl!”

“Jen, it’s cool, really,” I said to calm her–and me. A bikini? And boys? “Craig and I have already compared notes and we’re both …well, let’s just say that we seem to be turning into heterosexual girls.”

“You mean …oh!” She grinned at the thought. “So boys checking you out in a bikini isn’t such a bad thing!”

I looked her in the eye. “I hope they will!”

She smiled happily. “We’re going to have such fun, Chrissie!”

It was a warm smile and a warm moment we shared.

Her laptop dinged. She murmured, “Okay …shots up …” She pressed some keys. “What’s your email address?”

I gave it to her and watched as she attached the photos and sent them. Then she deleted her sent mail–with the JPEG images–and deleted the uploaded images still on her computer. She removed the camera from the charger unit and wiped the memory and grinned at me.

“Now you have porn in your mailbox!”

I laughed with her. “Yeah, but I can always say you sent it to me!”

“No, you can’t,” she said, seriously.

“Well, yeah; the email’s from your computer. It’s in your email address as Sender.”

Her grin was like a Cheshire Cat. “No, it’s not. You think you and Craig are the only ones using an anonymizer? I told you my dad knows about things like that. He set me up with one that I’ve never used. But from what you’ve told me about these guys, it made sense to use it this time.”

“God, you’re brilliant!” I whooped and impulsively reached down and hugged her.

Then we both realized I was standing there in panties and Jenny raised an eyebrow again. “Ahem …you might want to think about putting something on! Oh …do you want to try …”

I smiled. “A skirt? Yes, please. Might as well jump in the deep end.”

She smirked. “Well, it could be argued that a bra and panties was the deep end!” she laughed. “Actually, I was going to suggest shaving your legs, not that there’s much there.”

“Um …”

“It’s better in a bath but there’s a quick way. Come on,” she said, leading into her bathroom. I started after her automatically, while part of my brain was screaming that I was wearing a bra and panties and camisole like it was the most normal thing–while another part of my brain was calmly saying, ‘Get used to it!’

Jenny’s bathroom was every bit as feminine and lovely as her bedroom, only in pinks. She folded up a towel and laid it on the edge of the tub.

“Okay, what I do is I sit there and shave sometimes. But Mom’s got some Nair so get comfy and I’ll be right back. Oh, feet in the tub.” She left and returned in an instant. “Here. Reading improves the mind!” she grinned as she handed me a Seventeen.

She stopped herself. “Oh! Um …raise your arm?” I did, elbow up. She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I want to see under your arms! I didn’t see …”

I’d raised my arm towards the ceiling and she peered at my armpit. ‘No; not armpit’, I reminded myself. ‘Guys have armpits; girls have underarms.’ Somehow I was fine with the idea.

Jenny said, “Next to nothing, but …”

She opened a cabinet and took out a small electric shaver and grabbed a tissue and turned back to me.

“Think I can do it in one. Hold that position.”

Placing the tissue under my arm, she turned on the shaver and didn’t really touch me with it, but I could hear a hair or hairs caught by its blades. She caught them in the tissue.

“What I thought,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Just wisp-wisp here, wisp-wisp there,” she sang goofily, to the tune from The Wizard of Oz.

She tossed the tissue in the wastebasket and replaced the shaver. “You can do a better job at home but the cami looks better now. I mean, if you have to raise your arms. Um …be right back.” Grinning, she left the room.

I was thumbing through Seventeen when she came back with a bottle. “You want to do it or me?”

“I’ll do it; you supervise,” I said, setting the magazine aside and holding my hands up.

She squeezed a dollop of the goo in my hands and I rubbed it in as she directed. Then she murmured, ‘Here’ and turned on her hand-held shower unit, holding it away from me so I could rinse my hands. She turned off the water and handed me a towel and I dried.

“Four or five minutes, tops,” she said. “If it burns, tell me right away. Don’t tough it out.”

In an innocent voice, I asked, “Don’t be macho?”

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right!” Then her face clouded and she sat on the toilet seat lid. “Um, Chris …Chrissie …”

“Yes, Jen?” I asked gently.

“I’m kind of …being all bossy here. I just realized. It might seem like I’m …using you. I joked about Barbie awhile ago, and I don’t want you thinking that …”

“I don’t think that, Jen,” I said in the same soft voice. “I …always liked you …”

Jenny leaned quickly and put her hand on mine.“No, let me say it,” she said. “I always liked you and I hope that you can be a really close girlfriend. I want to be your friend, Chrissie.”

I nodded. “As long as we both know that we’re not talking about boyfriend-girlfriend. I’m pretty sure I’m turning into 100% girl, and forever, and I know I’m going to need a friend but I hope you’ll be my closest girlfriend.”

She squeezed my hand and nodded as she beamed. “Hope so!” She nodded sharply once. “Good. Rinse time.”

We did the thing again with the hand-held shower; I held a towel up high over my crotch as I sprayed and then, standing, finished rinsing and used the towel I’d been sitting on to dry. She told me to blot, not rub, and then handed me some baby oil. I smoothed it on and was amazed at how smooth my legs were before I put the oil on, and especially after! I washed my hands, turned the shower off and wiped everything down and dried off.

“I am so jealous of your legs!” Jenny grinned. “Come on, babe.”

Without commenting, I followed her into the bedroom as she pulled a typical denim miniskirt from her closet and explained the ways of getting dressed in skirts as I pulled it up. She nodded and then grinned. “Ooh! Wanna go all the way?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” I said, airily, and giggled.

She had turned and spun back with a pair of brown sandals with a short heel. I nodded and took them, strapping them on. She smiled as I walked around, giving me hints here and there. “God, Chrissie, you got fantastic legs for heels, and you’re not even all the way there yet!”

The sandals required a different walking technique, and with her help I got the hang of it quickly, walking out of her room and up and down the hall. She was in her room doing something and suddenly burst out of her room and headed down the stairs.

“Something’s happening down the street! I think it’s Tommy!”

I ran after her as quickly as I could. She was about ten feet out from the door, looking down the street, and I looked the same direction as I came up next to her.

It was Tommy’s house, with an ambulance and police cars. I gasped and cried out ‘Oh, God!’ and took two steps to start to run to his house.

“Chrissie!” Jenny hissed and reached out, grabbing my arm.

I stopped dead in my tracks, suddenly aware–as Jenny had realized–that I would not help the Donohue family by running up in a miniskirt, strappy sandals, and a pretty camisole!

“I’ve got to change!” I blurted and turned to rush back into her house.

“Wait! Look!” Jenny pointed.

We stood there, shielding our eyes against the sun, watching the scene unfold. The paramedics were wheeling a gurney out of the house–that’s what Jenny had seen–and we couldn’t tell who was on it. But then the police followed them holding Tommy’s older brother, his arms handcuffed behind him. He wasn’t resisting but seemed proud and defiant. Jenny and I looked at each other, our eyes wide. I glanced around, conscious that I was dressed as a girl on the street, and saw several other families standing in their yards watching the Donohue house. Nobody paid attention to me and I looked back at the drama. An officer came out of the house, slowly, writing something and talking with Mr. and Mrs. Donohue, who walked beside him, nodding and pulling their coats on.

“Oh, God, it’s Tommy!” I gasped, knowing who was on the gurney.

The ambulance took off, Tommy’s brother was in the back of one squad car, and the officer gave a paper to Mr. Donohue, got in the car and the police left. Mr. Donohue looked somehow smaller and …beaten, I realized. Beaten down not by fists, but by his own prejudices, and their results. They got in their family van and drove off.

I had tears in my eyes and Jenny was trembling, her arms across her chest, rubbing her upper arms.

Jenny said, “You’ve got to …oh, God, you’ve got to tell everybody now. Not just your mom.”

“I know. I’ve got to find out what’s happened to Tommy and tell them, because all by himself they’ll never believe him.”

We went back in her house and up to her room. I changed, reluctant to shed the clothes and put on my own.

Jenny noticed. “Tell you what. I’m going to put all those in a daypack for you. Everything, shoes, undies, all of it. I think you’ll need them.”

“Need them?” I asked, sliding out of the bra and automatically crossing my arms over my breasts.

“Uh-huh. To show your mom, after you tell her, maybe. And if you go to the hospital, if you can find out about Tommy …”

I nodded. “God, thank you, Jenny! I can’t believe how …” I shook my head. “I just can’t believe it all!”

“Me, either,” she agreed, then grinned. “And I was just about to put some makeup on you, too! Oops, barrette,” she said, plucking it from my hair as I bent over to pull up my cargo pants. She went to her closet and came back with a blue daypack and began collecting everything into it.

The thought of makeup shook me but made me smile, too. Jenny came behind me and began brushing my hair back into my boy’s ponytail as I buttoned my shirt. I turned around and we hugged. It was two girlfriends hugging, nothing romantic, but it felt warm and supportive.

Jenny set her jaw. “Step one, tell your mother. Step two, get to Tommy. Step three, coordinate everything with Craig–you might have to just chuck the whole anonymous email thing and call him. Step four, bust this thing wide open. Step five, I guess …” she sighed. “Be my friend?”

“I am already, Jen. Your girl friend–Chrissie,” I smiled back at her, hugged her, took the pack, and left for home.

End of Part 4