Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn So by the New Year, my wife was a babe and I was a shrinking skinny androgynous young adult getting younger every day and with out-of-whack hormones and little to no sex drive. In many ways, our friendship was the best it had ever been as the result of our hours of shared thoughts and feelings. While we still worked at sex, it was getting increasingly more difficult for me to perform sexually. While we never talked about it, both of us were starting to see where Grandma Broussard's magic was taking us. Neither one of us were thrilled.

Chapter 5

As we slid into January, my need to shave completely disappeared and I continued to lose weight, muscle mass, height, and apparent age. Sandra, had grown an inch and was now 5' 7". Only two inches shorter than the new me.

When we went to Louisiana, I was 5' 11". At the New Year I was only 5’ 9” tall. At this point my height loss meant that, when Sandra wore moderate heels, we could look at each other eye to eye. When she wore her tallest heels I had to look up slightly to meet her gaze.

The age regression and gender morphing trend was continuing.

The crystal also seemed a touch more pink each day.

The doctor was puzzled. She was collaborating with a number of specialists and no one could figure out what was happening to me. We've tried dietary supplements, exercise, and hormone treatments to no avail. She tried to get me on a high calorie diet, but that failed too, probably because I didn't feel up to eating any of it. I hardly ate at all, but did drink a lot of water and munched on vegetables. It was as if my body was living off fat reserves. I tried working out in the gym to gain back some of the lost muscle, but the exercise had no effect on the decline.

Sandra would often meet me at the gym after work. While the exercise did nothing for my predicament, Sandra’s exercise toned her body and made her all the more attractive. It also energized her. She was pleased with the results which solidified her resolve to stay in shape.

By this point, we were both convinced that Grandma Broussard's magic was not hocus pocus.

We called Grandma Broussard to see what we could do to reverse my changes, but we only got an answering machine and she was not returning calls. Sandra asked Tom to pass the word that we wanted to talk to her, but he hasn't been able to get a hold of her either.

Sandra told me that Tom had complimented her on her new figure but seemed concerned when Sandra told him about the changes that I was experiencing. He redoubled his efforts to get Grandma to talk. The extended family in the area said that she's doing fine. She just doesn't want to discuss our case with anyone, especially us. She relayed back that she'd talk to us after nine months had transpired.

By early February, new developments had me even more worried. My male sex equipment had shrunk considerably. Sandra was not at all happy about that as, if anything, her sex drive was at an all time high. She tried to stimulate me in every way possible, but nothing worked anymore. I could only stimulate her with my fingers, lips and tongue. Our physical relations were starting to feel more like a lesbian relationship. Something that did not appeal to either of us.

So much for having a child together.

"I'm going to have words with Grandma Broussard when I talk to her again." Sandra said with some force one night after a frustrating sexual interlude. It was the mid-February and we were getting very frustrated. "How can she expect me to have children if my husband can't perform sexually!"

"If you remember," I reminded, "she never really answered my question about my role in all this. I think that we both know at this point that I will most likely become that new girl in your life. It certain looks like that with the way things are going. I was mistaken for a coed again at the university this morning."

Yes, at that point I was shorter than my wife. Not only did I shrink but she'd grown another two inches and become a bit more curvy. I had lost my Adam's Apple, no longer needed to shave, and had much softer features. My arms looked like those of a girl and my upper body and waist was shrinking faster than my hips and thighs. The pitch of my voice had moved up an octave. We had gone shopping for new clothes and found that the women's section provided jeans that fit me better than those in the men's section. It was pretty apparent to those watching this process that I was slowly morphing into a young woman.

"What good does that do?" Sandra asked indignantly. "I need a man for a husband. And I want you, Andy!"

"I love you too, babe," I quietly responded.

Neither one of us said anything, but the elephant in the room had gotten bigger. If Grandma’s prophecy was correct and I became the young girl then that only meant that there would be another man who would take my place as her husband. Neither one of us wanted to broach the subject. I was pretty sure that I knew who the lucky guy would be. I was pretty sure that Sandra also knew. I could see it in her eyes. There was extreme conflict there.

It’s true that we still loved each other. We'd been getting closer and closer emotionally over the past months. In fact I found that we were more in tune on so many more things than we had ever been. We had continued having our talks late into the night about all sorts of things and nothing in particular. It was like we were connecting on a whole new level. Even though we were both frustrated sexually, the removal of sexual tension between us opened up new horizons of emotional intimacy.

One weekend morning, Sandra threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. 

"I do love you, Andy." She reassured me. "Probably more than ever but it is different."

"I have felt it to," I responded with a sigh.

"You probably won't like to hear this," She continued with a grimace, "but you are my best friend. As in best girlfriend. I feel that I can talk to you about almost anything, even most girl stuff."

"'Almost anything'?", I questioned her.

"Well," She replied with some discomfort, "there are a few girl things that you don't have a frame of reference for."

"Yet." I add.

The next time I saw my doctor for my weekly visit, I mentioned the observation that I might be transforming into a girl. She admitted that she had reached that conclusion a few weeks earlier, but did not want to broach the subject until I had arrived at the same conclusion. She didn't see how that could be possible, but the blood tests and measurements were confirming that observation. She decided that it was about time that I started seeing a psychologist with experience in gender identity issues. I told her that I had no problem identifying with my male identity. She pointed out that I might need some help identifying with what appeared to by my upcoming female identity. She had a good point.

When I went home that night, I noticed that only the middle half of the crystal was still blue. I sat and stared at it for a long time.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Sandra asked when she saw my troubled expression as I stared at the crystal.

“I’m becoming a girl,” I stated the obvious.

She sighed, “I was wondering when you’d reach that conclusion.”

“That’s pretty much what the doctor said,” I told her about my visit that day with our physician. “She said that she was waiting for me to come to that conclusion.”

“How do you feel about that?” Sandra asked sympathetically.

“I should be mad, I suppose,” I replied reflectively. “I really would rather be the man I was. It’s what I have been all my life and I liked it.”

“So why aren’t you more upset?” she queried.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Maybe it’s because we are closer than ever before. There is a lot less tension in our relationship now. I don’t think that we’d ever get this close emotionally if things had stayed the way they were. I really like where we are with our relationship. It's actually better than it was before we went to see Grandma Broussard.”

“You might be right about that,” she agreed, “I hate to break it to you, Andy, but you are behaving a little more feminine by the day. When we talk, I almost feel like I’m talking with another woman. It’s just not the same as before. While there is still a lot of male in you, your mannerisms are becoming more feminine. You are walking and sitting more like a woman than a man. There are other signs too. I am not the only one seeing it. Several of the women in our families have commented on it to me.”

“What do we do about it?” I rhetorically asked her.

“What more than we are already doing?” she asked in reply. “You have done everything that the doctors recommend and nothing has even slowed the process.”

“And Grandma Broussard is ignoring us.” I pointed out. “I think that only she can reverse this.”

“And she’s not willing,” Sandra agreed. “We’ve tried everything short of going to Louisiana to find her.”

“And if we did go,” I pointed out, “we would probably never find her unless she wants us to, which she doesn't. Even with the help of Tom’s family. She made it pretty clear that she wouldn't talk to us until the nine month anniversary of our visit.”

We both silently reflected on that for a minute.

I break the contemplation with a change in subject, “The Doctor wants me to start seeing a psychologist to help me accept what is happening to me. I think that she has given up hope of reversing these changes.”

Sandra pulls me into a hug and we shed a few tears together.

“That might be a good idea,” she concedes after a few minutes.

“I don’t want to think about what this means for our marriage,” I sadly said.

“Neither do I,” she agreed. “Let’s not talk about that right now. There may still be some way to reverse this that we haven’t found yet.”

----<0>----

Somewhere in the middle of February all sexual contact between Sandra and I ceased. She is not into lesbian relationships, particularly with a teen. I was actually relieved as I was tired of trying so hard to please her while I was basically sexually inert. We both loved each other but we were no longer lovers. I was, by then, a trusted companion and confidant. I was now a BFF.

I also started seeing a psychologist.

----<0>----

As March began, my various symptoms continued to degenerate. Work was becoming a problem. I found that someone who looks like a 16 year old doesn't quite get the respect in a professional environment that a 32 year old does. Especially a 16 year old girl. Yes, most people were mistaking me for a 16 year old girl by then. My coworkers, who had observed this change, still treated me like a valued colleague. Unfortunately, since we were basically a service department, my interface with people that did not know me wasn't going so well. My boss tried giving me as much shop time as possible by sending others out on service calls whenever he could but he could only do so much. Even with a fairly short haircut I looked like a young girl.

"Hello," I said to a faculty member having trouble with his office computer, "I'm from IT. What seems to be the problem?"

"You're with IT?" the faculty member asked incredulously. "Aren't you a little young?"

I sighed. "I'm older than I look and have years of experience. Now what can I help you with?"

"I've heard that teens are better with computers than us old codgers." He replied before telling me what the problem was.

So went life at work. My boss was getting regular calls questioning my experience. He supported me but things were getting out of hand.

----<0>----

My new psychologist and I had started having weekly sessions at in mid-February. She was very experienced in working with the transgendered, but I was a new challenge to her. All her other patients were in a body they didn't want and were working towards changing that. They were already the other gender in their minds before their body could catch up to it. In my case my mind identified itself with my original gender but needed to catch up to a body that had other designs. We didn't know if I needed to adapt mentally to my changes or work to reverse the changes once they were complete. We didn't even know, for sure, how far the changes would go. I'm pretty sure that the shrink was excited about the unique change in pace. She eventually published a paper, with my permission, about my case. She received a lot of notoriety from the publication.

By the end of February after we had had a couple of visits, she started discussing the option of giving into the inevitable and for me to start embracing my new found femininity. She pointed out that the personality profile testing that we had done indicated that I was not only becoming feminine physically, but emotionally as well. I blamed it on all the estrogen coursing through my body.

“How would you suggest that I embrace my new femininity?” I asked her in resignation.

“The most obvious way,” she began, “is for you to start dressing and presenting as a girl.”

“I’m not ready for skirts, dresses and high heels,” I defended.

“Many girls aren’t either,” she informed me. “There are many girls who don’t even own a dress or skirt much less high heels. What I am suggesting is actually just a subtle change to what you are already doing.”

“And what would that entail?” I asked curiously.

“You are already wearing girl’s jeans,” she pointed out. “Start wearing them with panties underneath. Buy a few non-descript plain girl’s blouses and start wearing them. Your work polo shirts should be fine as I expect that the women in your office also wear them. Also, get some girl's shoes and socks. Low or no heels would be fine. Just make sure that everything you are wearing is made for a girl.”

“Aren’t girl’s blouses designed for something up top that I don’t have?” I pointed out.

“Yes,” she admitted, “but your doctor and I think that you will soon start developing breasts. You could solve that problem by wearing an A cup bra with breast form inserts. Many girls use a little enhancing while waiting for nature to do its part. You could also start shaving your legs and arm pits.”

“That sounds a little extreme,” I told her.

“Think about it,” she said. “It’s just a suggestion, but I think that you should at least give it a try. You might just find that you like it.”

After leaving her office I couldn’t get the idea of dressing in all female clothing off my mind. I could see the logic in her suggestion. It fit my current physical profile. I just didn’t think that I was ready for it yet. I needed some time for the idea to settle on my mind.

Over the next couple of days, the more I thought about the suggestion of dressing completely as a girl the less objectionable it became.

I thought that I might just give it a try.

Someday.

Maybe soon.

We’ll see.

----<0>----

Author's note: I've had some extra time the past few days and I've gone over this chapter way too many times. It screamed to be published before I went crazy.

Enjoy