Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this may be rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and help.
Copyright... are you kidding?

I was what I hated – big and sturdy. Already at sixteen, I was six-eight and two hundred fifty. For the last three years, I was growing almost half an inch a month. With all unpleasantries in tow. Like bone and joint pain, dizziness, and headache. The only relative built similar to me was mom's brother – uncle Bjorn. Other men in the family were… How to say it more politely? Tiny. Like my dad. And he looked like our surname Igel (hedgehog in German) meaning – short and skinny with a small pointy nose.

I looked the same as my dad when I was a kid. I expected and hoped to grow into a man like my dad and then transition effortlessly. To transition, because I wanted to be a girl. No. Wrong wording. I didn't want to be a girl. I was a girl. After my puberty, I could forget the transition. It was impossible. As a man, I was almost a monster, as a woman I would be what? Monstress?

The only thing I got from my dad, besides his family name, was his first-generation Bronco. It was my grandfather's car before, then it was my dad's and now it was mine. Inline six, three on the tree, switchable four-wheel drive, oil-and-lube machine, doing its fourth odometer cycle. Good car. Economic in 2WD mode. Better mileage than dad's new F150.

It had a key ring pendant in the form of a hedgehog. Rubber foam. Only a little bit of that rubber at the key ring was left. I needed a new pendant. Preferably a hedgehog. No, I wasn't desperate to get a new keychain charm immediately. I was looking for it whenever I got an occasion.

 

 

My senior year had just started. It was September and grandfather's birthday was nearing. He was collecting salamanders. Not alive. Figurines. Metal, wood, stone, glass… You name it. To get one he didn't have yet would be the greatest present. I went through all of Portland's antique and curiosity shops with a toothcomb. Old Port and East End, Bayside and West End. And nothing.

I found myself at the mall. The biggest one in Maine. It was called Maine Mall. I was here to buy a button-down shirt and necktie. Grandfather was old-fashioned. Men had to wear shirts and neckties. He wore them every day. Even at home. I had to be dressed properly when visiting him. Because of my growth spurt, I didn't have a shirt in my size. I couldn't get it in Walmart because there was almost nothing in my size.

I got the shirt and tie I wanted. I also found three curiosity shops and checked them for salamanders with no joy. I noticed another antique shop on the outside facing the East parking. I checked it as well. Nothing. The next door to it was Huggles Intl. I didn't know what it was. I stepped inside and found that it was a soft toy store.

“Do you have a salamander?” I asked a salesman just to be sure I had done and checked everything.

“Let's see…” he started elongating vowels, “what we have here… one big fluffy… one small… Yes, we have two. One fluffy and one thermal.”

“What do you mean thermal?” I didn't want fluffy. But I was curious about another sort.

“There it is,” the salesman placed a salamander on the counter. It was one foot long and was heavy as if filled with sand.

“It is sand,” the salesman confirmed, “rather than granulated silica gel. Put it in the microwave to warm up and it stays warm for a long time. And it absorbs moisture. Very good for older folks.”

“I'll take it,” I said not even asking about the price. Then I tried my luck once more, “Do you have any keychain charms? Hedgehogs maybe?”

“Why yes!” the salesman exclaimed. “In three sizes.”

He put three pendants on the counter. Sizes from two to five inches. Soft and fluffy. I liked the biggest one. It would be ripped when keeping it in a pocket. But if I were a girl, I could keep it in a purse. But I wasn't a girl to have the purse to keep the charm.

Anyway, I bought the pendant I liked the most. Just as I was about to leave, thunder rumbled outside. I instinctively turned to the window and noticed the first big waterdrops falling. A moment later it was raining cats and dogs.

There was no hope of running to my car and staying dry.

“Downpour doesn't last long usually,” the salesman said. “Wait here,” he gestured to the sofa against the wall.

I wasn't in the mood to get soaked. And I was in no hurry. So I accepted the salesman's offer readily and sat down on the couch. I had time to investigate my purchases.

The salamander was heavy. Like it was filled with sand. Okay, it was filled with sand. But it wasn't a simple sack filled with sand. The sand was evenly distributed. If I raised the tail the sand didn't flow to the head. And vice versa. This salamander wasn't something to be kept on a shelf. It was different than all other salamanders grandfather had already. It was practical.

Then I looked at the hedgehog pendant. Almost five inches. Fluffy. Soft. Light. Pleasant to touch. I closed my eyes and brushed its fur against my cheek and it fell so good I could start purring.

“As I predicted, the rain is almost over,” the salesman said.

I opened my eyes and glanced through the window. It was drizzling instead of raining. I looked down at my purchases ready to go. But my hands were not my hands. Even more! My body wasn't my body. I liked what I saw because it was a girl's body. But I wasn't me.

“I'm hallucinating,” I muttered.

“You are not,” the salesman said.

I turned to him.

“You have changed me!” I exclaimed.

“Don't you like what you see?”

“Yeah, I do. But… But how?”

“The magic of soft touch,” the salesman said as if his words were the most reasonable explanation.

I stood up. I was shorter than I was before. Probably a foot shorter. I was wearing an olive shirt with two mounds visible and tactic pants with lot various pockets. And boots. Army boots. I patted pockets and in one was a wallet. There I found my ID. Evelyn Igel. Not Fred Igel. Definitely a girl. The same birthday. The same address. The same car.

I put my purchases into the bag and left the store.

“Thank you, sir,” I said as I stepped through the door.

“You are welcome, miss,” he replied, keeping the door open for me.

I liked how it sounded, miss.

 

 

I found my Bronco where I had left it. It wasn't the same car though. I'd spent three years repairing it. New head, new piston rings and skirts, tubes, and wiring. New paint.

This car looked like it did three years ago when dad had bought his F150. It not only looked old. It worked like it was old. Didn't want to start. Sparks and distributor's cap were the constant problems as I could remember when it was dad's car.

I knew how to repair it and where to get parts and what parts to buy. I had done it once. It was the minor price I had to pay for what I had gained.

 

 

When I got home I was happy I was alone. I wasn't ready to interact with my family. As Fred, I was neither friendly nor unfriendly to others the same as others to me. Neutral. Businesslike.

So I wanted to look at myself. See what I was. I measured myself at the door frame. Five nine. More than dad. Eleven inches less than me as Fred. My weight… Rents had weight scales in their bathroom. So I weighed one hundred thirty. Twice less than my old self.

Then I undressed and checked my body. The fuzz of light brown hair on arms and legs. Bushes under arms and below. My body was not fat but not too muscular. And not skinny. I had some under-skin material to make my body look softer. My breasts were not big but no way I could be called flat-chested. Waist twenty-seven, hips thirty-two, and chest thirty-one. Not an hourglass figure.

The room looked almost the same as my room before. I didn't want to make it look masculine. Because I didn't want it to be a boy's room. And I couldn't make it look feminine because I wasn't a girl to others. Now in my closet dominated denim and army clothing. Not a single dress or skirt. Things I preferred to wear when I was a boy.

My thoughts drifted back to that soft toys' store… Huggles… Yeah, Huggles Intl. International probably. It didn't matter. What mattered was that I was given a blank page. Only the body. I would determine what kind of girl I would be. Tomboy, girly, athletic, dance, poetic… Anything. I didn't know… I wasn't sure what I wanted.

I'll go with the flow and…

 

 

“I'm home!” I heard the front door slamming and dad shouting.

“In my room!” I shouted back. My voice was girly but not squeaky girly. Softer maybe. And… I liked it.

Anyway, I had to put something on and go downstairs to meet dad. I put on the same pants and shirt. I couldn't put on shorts and something sleeveless with hairy arms and legs. When I was a boy it didn't bother me. Even on the contrary, it was ok to be hairy. But now things were different as I was a girl. Then I put on trainers instead of boots.

I found my dad in the kitchen.

“How goes it with the Bronco?” he asked.

“Need to change distributor cap, maybe spark plugs,” I responded. “Won't start and the fourth cylinder doesn't work.”

“How do you know?”

“It sounds like that is the problem.”

Dad grabbed his beer and relocated to the living room to watch TV.

We had to wait for mom to come home and make dinner. When I was a boy she didn't like me in the kitchen, especially after my growth spurt. I was willing to help but my size… I didn't know how things were now.

Usually, we had some meat with mashed potatoes and salad. I started to peel potatoes. I made a pot of them. Mom still wasn't at home. I checked the fridge what we had for salad. We had cucumbers and arugula. The cucumbers were big. I had to peel and seed them first. Then I washed the arugula and put it in a spinner centrifuge.

“Sorry, I'm late,” mom said entering the kitchen through the backdoor, and then, “Oh…”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked after a while.

“Helping?” I tried.

“Why?”

“Dunno… Don't you like it?”

“Nah… It's ok. I like it,” mom said, “will you help with the meatballs?”

“Yup.”

We the two of us got busy in the kitchen. Didn't talk much. Only kinda pass this or pass that or me asking if I did it right.

“Lyn in the kitchen?” dad wondered taking the second beer from the fridge. “It's long overdue!”

In this life, I was in the kitchen only to grab some snacks. The same as in my boy's life. But in the boy's life, it was mom's order. In this life, who knows why. But it would change from now on.

And… I got to know I am Lyn in the family. Not Evelyn or Eve.

Dinner went by mostly in silence. I could tell that my parents were eager to ask why such changes were taking place but didn't ask. I wasn't sure I knew why.

And then I learned that two meatballs were my limit. Not eight. Not even three.

After dinner, I was back in my room getting ready for school tomorrow. According to the schedule I had all the same classes including the workshop. In my old Fred's life, there were two girls in the workshop. Casey and Mel. Now there will be three of us girls.

 

 

The next morning, I dressed for school the same as I was dressed the day before. I left the Bronco at home and rode the bus like the other kids. I was a loner the same as Fred had been. It was good. I didn't know how girls interacted. And I wasn't ready to be friends with someone I wasn't a friend with in my old life as Fred.

The last period was the workshop. Yes, I was the third girl there. We talked about new projects. Metalwork and welding had to be included.

I thought about a piece of decorative fence. But then our teacher said, “Miss Igel, don't you want to repair your Bronco for the class project?”

“Oh, yes! But I'm unable to take an engine out,” I replied. In my old life, I did everything alone. I was strong. I was really strong. Now I had maybe one-third of that strength. If not even less.

“Mister Brown, would you like to join the Bronco project?” the teacher asked.

“Sure,” the boy in question agreed. Mr. Brown aka Nicholas Brown was my next-door neighbor. I knew him from my old life. We weren't close friends. Not because was something wrong with him. I was a loner. We had some classes together though.

“For next week, prepare the plan for what has to be done,” the teacher gave the first task.

“Will you come to my garage after school?” I asked Nick.

“Sure. When?”

“The thing is a little dirty. We need to change clothes. Is four ok?”

“Will be,” he replied. I liked it, him being laconic. I wasn't talkative too.

 

 

“To what extent are you ready to help me?” I asked Nick when we met after school in dad's garage.

“What do you mean?”

“Engine, gearbox, and transmission are the bare minimum,” I started. “The second level – add suspension to the above. The third – add bodywork. Like repainting, new rubber parts, tubing, and wiring. The maximum is everything I have listed plus the interior and glass. And… to be clear, I pay for everything – parts, materials, tools. Your word.”

“I'd like the max, but not sure ‘bout time.”

“If it is planned well and we do not fool around, I'd say we could finish by January or February. Depending on orders arrivals.”

“You have thought about this project before?” Nick asked.

“Sure I have! It's a good car. It's worth being repaired.”

“I'm in.”

“I'll do the list of what to do and what to order for the next class then,” I offered. Because I knew. Because I had done everything before. Some things had been twice and some other things three times. Because then I didn't know everything. Like that new skirts have to be thicker because oil nowadays is thinner.

 

 

I had to get ready for my grandfather's birthday. He was conservative. Men had to be in neckties and shirts, and women in dresses. I didn't know how to wear a dress. Well, I did know how. But I didn't know where. On an everyday basis, my mom was in jeans, leggings, and shorts. But at my grandfather's place, she was always in a dress. So I had to be in a dress too. Being in a dress will show my legs. I needed to shave them. Or maybe to wax them.

After dinner the same day, I asked mom.

“Who are you? And where have you hidden the corpse of my daughter?” she said with a chuckle.

“In the barrel of waste oil,” I replied with a hint of a smile. “Will you help me?”

“Sure I will. When?”

“I want to be in a dress for my grandfather's birthday.”

“You in a dress?”

“I want to be like you, ok?”

“It's so out of the blue,” mom mumbled. “We have two days. Three, if we start today. I'll call Marcia.”

Marcia was mom's childhood friend. She owned the salon in East End. So mom called her friend and got an appointment at nine.

I was waxed. Not only legs. Everything that could be waxed was waxed. Including eyebrows. It hurts. Burns, to be more exact. Mom insisted on nails. The flesh was pushed away and cut off. Now they looked longer though they were the same. Then my nails were polished with transparent lacquer. Twice.

We got home barely before midnight.

“We'll get a dress for you tomorrow,” mom said, “I'll be home early from work for you.”

 

 

At school the next day Casey noticed I was different.

“Beautifying for a new boyfriend?” she asked after homeroom.

“What boyfriend?”

“C'mon! Don't you notice how Nick looks at you?” Casey giggled.

“I see changes,” Mel joined demonstratively sniffing the air, “and I smell love.”

“Stop it guys! It's for my grandfather. I'm getting ready for his birthday tomorrow.”

“Eww…” Mel sighed. “By the way, he is cute, your new boyfriend.”

“Sooo cute I almost envy you,” Casey added.

My arguments didn't work. They teased me all day. They almost persuaded me Nick was cute. To say the truth, he was. But just one day ago I was in a boy's body and I wasn't ready for such radical changes.

 

 

I was at home at three and found mom already waiting for me.

“Have some ideas about what type of dress you want?” she asked.

“I don't know anything about types,” I admitted. “I want to look like you. If it's ok.”

“I'd love it,” mom said hugging me.

We got into mom's car and she drove us to the West End. Not the mall. A boutique.

We got dresses. Every dress has its name. I didn't know those names yet. From my tomboy's perspective, they were sleeveless, knee length, with some underskirts, and background color milk white with fine roses printed on. The dresses were identical only mine was bigger. Because I was bigger than mom. Then we got shawls to wrap ourselves if it was chill with the same fine roses printed on a silverfish gray background.

We got shoes in a milk white color. I got flats and mom got pumps with two-inch heels. Because I was tall and mom was short. Sorry, petite. And purses in the same color. But they were called clutches though they didn't look like clutches I had repaired before.

 

 

The party the next day went by like I was in a daze. It was an avalanche of compliments for mom and me. And for dad for being in the company of such beautiful ladies.

To tell the truth, mom looked stunning in her new dress. So I assumed I did not look too bad either. We didn't look like mother and daughter. Rather like sisters. She looked young. Because she was young – thirty-seven, while dad was forty-four.

The party didn't last long. Grandfather had cerebellum dysfunction and couldn't stay active for long. It was three when we left and we were at home at four.

Before we entered the house we were invited by our neighbor Ralph Brown to a BBQ party. He said they were celebrating Equinox. I thought it was just a weekend and a warm sunny day.

Dad and mom accepted the invitation. Mom and I went to change. Though we looked good in our dresses, a barbeque wasn't as formal as grandfather's birthday party.

I changed into shorts and a cropped top with spaghetti straps. Because the day was warm. And because my arms and legs were hairless. After I changed, I went to the rents' bedroom for mom to check my makeup. I was still helpless in this area. But I was learning. I found mom dressed the same as me. Only the colors were different.

A couple of minutes later, we joined dad in the neighbor's backyard. It was a warm day and everyone except him was in shorts and tees. Mom and I were complimented again.

“Hi,” somebody said from behind me.

I turned around and there was Nick. Haven't I mentioned he's my next-door neighbor? He is.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbled. Then he blushed.

He looked good as well in his torn denim shorts and a black sleeveless tee. I felt my cheeks getting hot for some unknown reason. Cute was probably the best word for how he looked.

My friends were right. I wanted to be his girlfriend. The hardest part of it was already accomplished – I was a girl.