None of these parodies are meant to be of the work of specific individuals. I hope none of them seem too meanspirited. Poe's Law may apply. Typos may or may not be intentional.

To think I was a normal boy two days ago... but let me start at the beginning.

My family was on vacation, well sort of vacation. We were looking for house near where my dad had his new job. While we were here, my parents though we might as well see some of the local attractions, like a waterpark. But first my twin sister and I had to register at the high school I'd be going to.

When my family arrived at the motel, however, and I was unpacking I realized I had taken someone else's suitcase. It was an identical model to mine and I hadn't checked the label.

Just then, my sister coming over to see what was wrong, bumped into him and made him spill my Coke all over my self.

“Fucking watch it bitch. This is my favorite shirt”

“Can't you just change?” she asked.

“no, I don't have any close now.”

Little did I know my foul langage made her think “he should be taught a lesson.”

“You weining nerd” my sister said. “Didn't you pack anything like parents said?”

“Yeah but, I got someone elses luggage”

“You can't wear it?” “No, its girl's clothes! And really girlie”

“Well, why don't you wear some of my clothes?”

“No way! That's girl clothes too”

“I have some pretty uni sex stuff you could wear. Besides you know whe're the same size.”

It was true. Unlike mostof the boys in my grade I had yet to go through pupberty and was still short and facial and body hairless. “ It probaly didn't help that I had long hair as a way of rebelling against my parents.”

Fine, I guess I dont have a choice at least until stores open tomorrow.” It was late noon when our flight finished and now it was night.”

I complained to my parents about this situation. They weren't vary sympathetic thought. My mom said “I think you could stand to learn more about th opposite sex.“ My Dad said “Actually,whe n I was younger I used to wear your mom's clothes. Her dad made me to it to prove I was worth her (read “A Test of courage for more).”

It was then I remembered I had to register for school tomorrow. Oh no! What was I going to do!

To be continued...

Synopsis: When Jerry's wife gets tired of his lazy ways, she decides to turn him into her sissy maid Geri.

Jerry's Feminizing Improvement Part I by Sissy maid Geri

Disclaimer: Do not read this if you're under 18, or if it's illegal to read where you live. Any resemblance to real life persons or situations is strictly coincidental. If you're offended by transgender themes, crossdressing, forced feminization or unwilling gay male sex, this is not the story for you.

Jerry's Feminizing Improvement Part I by Sissy maid Geri

I made a lot of money from my job as a software engineer. That's probably why my wife was so upset when I quit.

My wife is dyed blonde with a fantastic figure (38-18-40). To be honest, I married her entirely for her looks. I've always thought she's a bit of a gold digger but as long as she looks like that, who cares?

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you know that the husband is supposed to support his wife?” she raged at me.

“Not this husband. I'm sick of working so hard and we have plenty saved up.”

“Well,” she smirked with a gleam in her eye, “Maybe he shouldn't be a husband any more.”

To be honest, I thought she was hinting at divorce. I now know that was a foolish assumption. At the time, though, I didn't ask what she meant. It was best not to question her when she was angry.

The next night, I was confused when she tried to get me to wear her panties. “It's sexy,” she grinned. I didn't agree but thought it might placate her about my retirement. How I regret that decision.

The night after that, she brought out a whalebone corset. “You'd look sexy wearing that, but with your figure you hardly need it,” I smoothly complimented her.

“Oh, it's not for me,” she said with the biggest smirk I had ever seen on her face.

“I am NOT wearing that,” I exclaimed, waving my hands for emphasis.

“You don't have a choice,” she sneered, and brought out pictures of the night I wore her panties.

“Sh*t, you can't show that to anyone. It'll ruin my reputation.”

“Then you know what you have to do” she snickered as she held out the corset.

Half an hour later I was in the corset and panties, breastforms stuck in the corset's cups and thick rouge, mascara and blush oj my face. “I look like a pervert,” I bemoaned to my reflection.

“No, you look like a sissy,” my wife sneered. “So your outsides match your insides. Now everyone who sees you will know you're not much of a man, refusing to support your wife like that. They'll see you for the sissy you are.”

“No, enough is enough,” I declared. “I'm getting out of this clown gear.”

I started tugging at the corset but to my horror it wouldn't come off. The same was true of the panties, and the makeup wouldn't wipe off. My wife chuckled as I gaped at the mirror and tugged.

“It won't come off unless you have THIS,” she announced, holding up a small white and red bottle. “It's the solvent for the glue I put on everything you're wearing.”

“What about the makeup?” I asked, dreading the response.

“Oh, it's permanent. It won't come off for months or even years.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. “Oh, that's probably your friend Jack. I forgot I invited him over” my wife announced with a falsely casual air. “Now there's a REAL man.”

“If you don't want to be caught,” she added, “you better put this on.” She handed me a French maid uniform.

I scowled at the petticoats and frilly skirt, the low-cut blouse that would reveal my convincing fake cleavage. “No way.”

But I didn't have a choice.

Besides, as my wife reminded me, “You deserve this.”

One Sunday afternoon I was bored. My wife was out of town on a business seminar and because we had moved to this city recently I didn't have a lot of friends.

Just to entertain myself, I tried on a blonde wig my wife had worn last Halloween. It was a cheap wig, but I was amazed at how much it changed my appearance. From the neck up, I looked like a beautiful woman!

Next I put on some of my wife's clothing, padding one of her bras and tucking my little penis back into her panties. After finishing with a cocktail dress, I was amazed at how sexy I looked—for a woman!

Just then, the doorbell rang. I peeked through the spyhole and saw it was a well-built, handsome delivery man. Wow, I'd like to—What am I saying?? I'm a straight man!

I let him in and to my pleasure he referred to me as “Miss” Franklin. I realized I didn't have any money on me—my wallet was still in my jeans pocket in the bedroom and I didn't want to go get it in case a man's wallet gave the game away. “I'm sorry, I don't seem to have any money on me. Perhaps I could pay you another way...”

“I can think of another way,” he leered, suddenly seeming so threatening. Was this how women felt all the time?

I carefully dislodged his engorged manhood from his bulging, tight-fitting knakis and then did something I never expected to do—put another man's penis in my mouth. It was hot in my mouth and smelled strong and fetid, yet somehow good. After a few seconds, he started shouting small yelps and then shot his hot man juice into my mouth. I was careful to swallow all of it—I didn't want to get my wife's dress dirty.

As soon as he had left and I heard his truck start up and drive away, I changed back to my normal clothes. Since that day, I've had plenty of fun afternoons but nothing quite like this.

I'm a boy!

I'm a normal highschooler, or I was. I guess I still am except I look like a girl but I'm a boy.

I have gynomastia, this thing where teenage boys grow breasts but it's supposed to be temporary. I also have long hair and I'm unusually short and slight for my age. One day my parents told me they had an announcement. It turns out I'm intersex, like part male and part female, and even though I have a penis I'm going to develop like a female, which explains why voice hasn't deepened and I haven't grown hair. So my parents decided to start raising me as a girl. Only one problem—I'm a boy! I don't care if I'm gonna grow breasts or not, I just can't think of myself as a girl. Oh well, I'm sure my parents know best.

Sincereley, Tyler Kylie Bourroughs

This is my 1st story so I hope people like it.

One day Jon was walking along when his pants suddenly tore. “Damn”, he swore. Then his shirt tore too. He dashed into the nearest clothing store but it turns out they only sold girls clothing. Coming out of the store, he was stung on both nipples by bees from a hive by the store entrance. His chest area swelled up and looked like boobs.

After the grocery store cashier called him “miss”, Jon decided to get his long (for a guy) hair cut short to look more masculine. Unfortunately the stylist also thought he was a girl and gave him a girl's haircut. She also put some makeup on “her” face for free, because she thought “she” could use some help. Jon wondered what she was putting on his face but she told him it was just to make him look better. He assumed it was moisturizers or something. A little girly, but if it helped him with the chicks he was all for it.

When he saw himself in the mirror Jon swore. 'How can I look so much like a girl? I'm a manly, manly man.”

When he went home his mother wouldn't believe it was him at first. He had to show her a birthmark on his butt. Then she was happy.

“I always wanted a daughter” she said. Too happy in jon's opinion. He went to go change but his mother told him to stay like that. “I want your dad to see his adorable new daughter when he gets back.”

Now Josh was really stuck. What misadventures would he get up to next? Comments positive or negative, appreciated

Part ii

Note: I know I accidentally called him josh but I think I like that name more

Josh's dad walked and said “Who is this lovely girl?” Then he started goldfishing (gasping like a goldfish). “Is that you Josh? It's me your dad.” “Yeah dad I know how you are.” “Yeah right sorry dau—son but I'm just so shocked.'

“Josh's dad started to examine Josh. He said “You actually look really beautiful. I wish you were my daughter”. Josh was annoyed. “Hey dad I'm still a boy even if I don't look like one.”

Just then Josh's friend Kyle walked in. “O sorry miss I was looking for Josh”. Josh couldn't believe he didn't recognize him. “Its me you dumbass.”

“Sorry are you josh's sister?” “No it's me, Josh” “WHAAT, Josh, that's you? I thought you were a really hot girl.”

“That's creepy man,” Josh complained.

“Hey I have a good idea.” He (Kyle) leaned over to whisper in Josh's ear. “NO WAY I'm not doing that, that's gay.”

“No seriosly dude. Don't you want to hang with the cool kids?”

“Yeah I guess”, Josh whined reluctantly. “Fine, I'll be your date to the big dance”

Josh is even deeper in. Will he ever free himself from all this girl-ness (if that's a word) Comments positive or negative, appreciated

At This Rate I’ll Never Turn Into a Girl!
By Vilastis

This story was basically written as an excessively long joke. The entire point is that there are constant jumping-off points for a fairly standard premise but it doesn’t take advantage of any of them. Side note: AJ is my best attempt at an underwritten stereotypical female friend.

It started out just like any other day. I was hanging out at the arcade with my two best friends, AJ and John. Despite her name, AJ is a girl. She's kind of a tomboy. She hangs out with us boys, obviously, and she plays video games. She still wears make up and dresses, though. John is cool. He's a lot like me in personality, but more laid back. He's also half a foot taller than me, and has the start of an impressive beard. I wish puberty would hurry up!

“There's no way you'll beat me!” I screamed at AJ. “I'm the master at Space Blaster. I have all three top score spots!” I pointed to the display, which showed “ASS” in the top three spots. AJ groaned.

“You're so immature. I can't believe you put—you know, that.” I winked at her.

“Just be glad I didn't put anything worse.” She sighed and rolled her eyes.

AJ was the most mature of the three of us, and it was probably good we had her around. She was the voice of reason.

“Fine,” she said. “I'll wipe you off the scoreboard.”

“Yeah! Wipe his ASS!” John hollered. AJ rolled her eyes again.

“You wanna bet something?” I challenged her. She sighed.

“Okay. If you lose, you have to dress like a girl for a week.”

“WHAT? Fuck no!”

“What, so you think being a girl is a bad thing? That's sexist.”

“No, there's just no way I want to put up with the shit I'd get.”

AJ sighed. “Fine. Five dollars.”

“Affirmative.” “You're such a nerd,” she complained.

I fed in a quarter and selected DUEL mode. I presented her the joystick.

“Ladies first.” She rolled her eyes.

She did pretty well in her round. She couldn't beat my killer combo, though! She sighed as all the alien ships blew up right before my timer ran out.

“A thousand? Damn, bro,” John exclaimed.

“That's not even counting the chain multiplier,” I bragged. AJ watched, eyes wide with horror, as the score doubled, and then tripled.

“Pay up,” I smarmed. She reluctantly dug into her purse and slapped a bill into my hand.

“Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet,” John and I chanted before high fiving. AJ sighed.

“You better not spend this on porn,” she lectured. I had the decency to look guilty.

By then it was almost four and AJ had to go to her dance class. I waved goodbye as her mom's compact pulled up and she climbed in.

“You wanna hang?” John inquired. I shook my head. “Nah, I got an essay due Monday I need to start on.” John laughed and slapped my back. “Classic Brian! Starting the day before.” I waved him off. “See ya later!” I shouted as I started my walk home. He waved before getting on his skateboard and riding off.

Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. Maybe it was the driver's fault. Whatever happened, I was in a crosswalk and the truck didn't stop in time. The front of the truck was a few feet away when the driver saw me, and swerved sharply. The truck smashed into a lamppost and overturned. The side of the truck split open, and a weird green liquid sprayed on me. It felt like it was burning my skin. I screamed in pain and tried to wipe it off me, but only succeeded in spreading it around more. My skin was turning red, and almost looked like it was boiling with blisters. I fell to the ground as I felt everything go black.

I felt the world swimming into view around me as I woozily awoke. A man in a lab coat rushed to my side as I tried to sit up.

“The patient is awake!” he shouted. Several other people wearing labcoats and scrubs rushed into the room and started fussing with equipment around me.

The first man turned to me, and started talking. “You've been in a serious accident,” he informed me. “Humans were not supposed to be exposed to that chemical, not in that amount.”

“Fortunately,” he announced, “we've been able to cure your condition using a revolutionary new therapy. Nanotech! It's the future!”

“However,” he coughed, ”There were a few...side effects.”

Oh, god. What if I was some kind of monster? “Get me a mirror!” I shouted.

The doctor regarded me strangely. “A mirror?” he asked. “None of the side effects are external. They're not major. You just may find yourself to be slightly less...continent than you were before, and you should avoid eating bananas, at all costs.”

Thank god. I'd have to look up what “continent” meant later, but it seemed like I was okay. “I can go home?” I asked the doctor.

“As soon as you fill out the paperwork.”

The paperwork was long and tedious. I was sick of signing and initialing before I reached the end. On the last page was the bill. I screamed when I saw it.

“A million dollars!?'

The doctor cleared his throat, and looked away. “Revolutionary new therapies aren't cheap,” he informed me.

I was going to have to get a job.

My mom and dad rushed to the hospital as soon as they learned I was conscious. My mom fussed over me, while my dad stood back and looked aloof. “He's like this now,” she confided to me, “but you should have seen him earlier! He was out of his mind with worry.” My dad coughed and looked to the side. “Gladyou'rebetter,” he mumbled. My mom beamed.

As soon as I got home I started applying for jobs online. Most places actually preferred an online application these days. I guess no one wanted to deal with actual people. One online posting caught my eye. It was for a clothing store, but not just any clothing store. “Madame Olivia's caters to the most discerning and feminine women,” the post read. “We required dedicated and humble employees who appreciate fine clothing, and don't believe fine fashion should be relegated to yesteryear.”

I was fascinated. I always hated how most of the girls in my grade dressed, wearing jeans and t-shirts all the time. They might as well be boys! But here was a different place, a wonderland of lace and voluminous skirts. A place that loved the glamor that women used to have, before ugly, hairy feminists destroyed tradition. I applied immediately.

I also applied to several other jobs, at fast food restaurants and supermarkets. However, my heart was set on Madame Olivia's.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the job. The polite email I received informed me I lacked the necessary experience. That was no problem! I'd gain more experience and apply again!

I ended up working, instead, at the local Burger Hut. On my first day, AJ and John came in to see me.

“Haa! You look like such a douche in that paper hat,” John jeered. AJ scowled. “I think it's very mature of him to take responsibility,” AJ said. “You could learn some things from him.”

“You could learn some thing from him,” John mocked in a high-pitched voice. AJ whipped around and glared at him. “Would you care to repeat that?” she said icily. John gulped. “That's what I though,” she said, satisfied.

“Oh! There's a way you don't have to wear the hat,” AJ informed me. I sighed. “Please tell me you're not going to make fun of the hat. I though you were mature than that.”

“Well...it's not great,” she admitted. “The colors totally don't go with anything else you're wearing.” I rolled my eyes. Typical girl.

“That's not what I was talking about, though!” she exclaimed, getting back on topic. She showed me a flyer. “See? Burger Hut is looking for a new mascot.”

“But then I'd have to dress like a giiirl,” I complained. Burger Hut was known for their sexy mascot, the Burger Witch.

“Well, it's your call,” AJ said snootily. “I was just trying to help.”

I worked after school for the next several days. By the time Saturday came around, I realized I was feeling unusually tired. It was like I was fatigued all the time, or I was weaker than I used to be. I told my mom. I also thought my sex drive had gone down, but I wasn't going to tell my mom about that! “Are you sure it isn't just from the new job?” she inquired. “I'm sure it will take you some time to get used to it.”

“I'm fucking sure,” I insisted. Mom winced. “Please don't swear. Gosh, sometimes I wish you were more like your sisters,” she muttered. She says things like that a lot. I don't think she means anything by it, though.

Mom took me in to see the family doctor. They only had women's magazines in the waiting room. I silently cursed. I wanted sports magazines, or at least PC Mag. Bored, I flipped through an issue of Homemaker Monthly. Some of the women were pretty hot, but I found myself looking at their clothes more than at them. What was happening to me! I was turning gay or something.

Finally, a nurse called me in to see the doctor and measured me. For some reason, my height was an inch shorter than when it was last recorded. The nurse said it was probably just a mistake. Another nurse drew some blood, and took it to the lab. Finally, the doctor himself came in, holding a clipboard.

“I know what your problem is,” he announced. “Your hormone levels are off the charts.”

“Give it to me straight, doc!” I exclaimed. “Am I turning into a girl? Nothing else explains the changes I've been going through.”

The doctor looked at me like I had grown two heads. “No, if anything, it's the opposite.” I raised my eyebrows in puzzlement. “Your estrogen levels are the lowest I've ever seen. If this trend continues, I may have to prescribe you hormones.”

I sighed in relief. “So, if anything, these changes are actually a sign of how manly I am!”

The doctor sighed. “Sure, why not!” I couldn't wait to tell AJ!

After I got home, I was pretty hungry. I fixed myself a snack, banana with peanut butter. I know AJ thought I was weird for eating that, but it was pretty good! I had forgotten the doctor's warning.

Moments after I swallowed my first bite of banana, I felt my insides warping and churning. My stomach bulged out, and then suddenly sucked in. I was transforming! I ran to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. I looked...the same. Suddenly, my stomach contracted again, and I was struck by an overriding, primal urge. I ran to the toilet and had violent diarrhea for several hours.

Fortunately, I recovered from the banana diarrhea by Monday. I headed into work, whistling. Suddenly, I stopped, and gasped. A sign in the locker room read that the manager would pay any mascot overtime rates! I could really use that money. I know the costume is embarrassing, but it was worth it. For time and a half, I could overcome even my greatest fears.

I marched up to the manager, and shook his hand. “Meet your newest mascot!” He looked puzzled. “Where is she?” I laughed and slapped him on the back. “It's me, silly.” Silly?! I never used to use words like that.

The manager hesitated. “I don't think that that's a good idea,” he said. “The Witch is supposed to be a young, attractive woman. Anything else would dilute the brand.”

“I bet, with AJ's help, I could pass as hot, young woman!” I exclaimed. “With the right make up and wig, and a little padding, guys would be drooling over me!” Not that I liked guys! Why would I phrase things like that?

The manager shuddered and shook his head. “No, and that's final.”

When I arrived home after my shift, I complained to my mom. “The manager wouldn't let me be the mascot, because she's supposed to be a girl. I could be a girl!”

My mom patted me on the head. I wish she wouldn't baby me like that.

“You know, sweetie,” she said. “If you're interested, I have some of your sisters' old clothes you could try on.”

“Gross!” I shouted, and flung her hand off of me. “I don't want to dress up like a girl, I just wanted to get paid more.”

“Sor-reeee,” Mom said, and she never brought up the subject again.

On Wednesday, I got a day off from Burger Hut. I was hanging out at the arcade, by myself, honing my Space Blaster skills. Suddenly, John ran up, panting.

“Have..you...seen...AJ?” he panted. I shook my head. “Negatory.”

“Damn!” he cursed. “I told my cousin I have a really hot girlfriend, and I was hoping AJ could pretend to be her.”

I shook my head. “I don't think AJ would go for that.”

“Well, do you know anyone else? Anyone?” John pleaded. I shook my head. Girls, except for AJ, tended to stay away from us. Far away.

“Sorry, dude. I can't think of anyone.” I was struck by a sudden though. “Unless...”

“What if I pretend to be your girlfriend?” I proposed to John. “I bet if I do things right I'll totally fool your cousin!”

John stuck his finger down his throat, and mimed gagging. “I'm not that desperate.”

Just then, AJ arrived. “Hey, AJ!” I exclaimed. “I bet you can help me look like a girl.”

She gave me a weird look. “Why would I know anything about drag?” she asked quizically.

John elbowed me. “What Brian here meant to say,” he insisted, “was that it would most humbly appreciated if you would deign to be my ersatz date.”

“My lady,” I added. John elbowed me again.

AJ laughed. “Sure,” she said. “Should be good for a laugh.”

I smiled and looked happy for them, but, secretly, I was crushed. At this rate, I would never turn into a girl!

Jason's prank on his roommate goes wrong ... or very right.

The story of a kid who just wants to be cool. Arguably the main character doesn't change at all, just people's perceptions of him.

Dan was what one might call nervous about his first day at a new school. Like, throwing-up-in-the-toilet nervous. At his last school he had been considered a nerd, unpopular with everyone but his immediate friends. Who, of course, were also nerds. It's not even that he was interested in nerdy stuff, not moreso than anyone. He wasn't even bad at talking to people or girls. After a lot of worry during the summer, he had concluded that the problem was his appearance. No one could take him seriously with his square glasses, messy hair and hoodies over t-shirts. He looked like a socially horrible wimp even if he wasn't one. He had managed to convince his mom to let him buy new clothes—to “make a good impression at the new school,” which was basically the truth—and let his hair grow out. Now he was ready with slicked-back long hair, a leather jacket, combat boots and tight black jeans. He put on sunglasses. Time to blow their minds.

After he threw up one last time.

***

Dan strode through campus, intentionally not looking to either side, though from his peripheral vision he got the impression people were gawking. Good, let them stare. They probably hadn't seen anyone so cool before.

Time for first period.

***
“I want us to all get to know each other, so I want you to fill out these cards for a partner. Not yourself. People do that every year and it just doesn't help them get to know each other.”

Dan stopped staring at a weird doodle on the board behind the teacher--what was it?--took out a pencil and filled out his card.

“Hey, do you have a partner yet?” an annoyingly cheerful Asian girl asked him. He held up his filled-out card. “Okay cool, just checking.”

Dan saw another boy filling out his card without a partner. He looked cool, wearing a shirt with some heavy metal band on it. Dan decided this was his chance.

“Hey,” Dan drawled, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. “Looks like we both filled out cards for ourselves. Why don't we partner up so the teacher won't bother us.”

“You mean so we don't have to fill our own out? That's a good idea!” the boy blurted breathlessly. He handed Dan his card. This guy seemed... also really cheerful. F*ck, maybe he was a bad choice.

“Hey, are you new here?” the boy asked Dan. “I've never seen you before and I know most of the people in tenth grade at least.”

“Yeah, I'm new.”

“I like your jacket.”

“Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence. Then the boy asked something really f*cking weird.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“W-what-no. Why would you even ask that?” Dan stuttered. “Jesus.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't want to creep you out. I just thought you look, you know, cool and pretty and I thought maybe... I don't know. I guess you just moved here.”

“Pretty?”

“I'm seriously so sorry, I don't know how to talk to girls!”

Just then the teacher interrupted. “Who wants to go first?” Dan winced when his partner called him “she.” Sh*t, already something for people to make fun of.

***
Dan was sitting, eating lunch by himself when that same boy approached.

“Hey, sorry about earlier.” He looked at the ground. “I'm an idiot.”

“No kidding,” Dan said caustically. “Please don't sit here.”

The idiot sat anyway. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Yes,” Dan said, “Going the f*ck away!”

The idiot raised his hands. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm leaving now.” He wandered off into the cafeteria's crowd.

Dan had returned to eating his sandwich—roast beef and horseradish, it was really good—when he he realized was standing right by him, tapping her foot.

“Hey,” the girl said. Like him, she was wearing a leather jacket. Also a truly stupendous amount of eyeliner. “You're new here.” It was statement, not a question.

Dan was excited but he couldn't let it show. That wouldn't be cool. “Yes. You are?”

“Coral. I'm talking to you because you look like you maybe don't buy into corporate America's preppy bullsh*t like the rest of the losers at this school. Maybe.”

“No, yeah, bullsh*t. I get it. It sucks.” Actually, he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

“Yeah. If you are actually cool, which from past experience I doubt, come sit with me and my friends”
She handed him a card and, like the idiot before her, vanished into the crowd.

Dan looked down at the card. It was an index card that read Coral Johnson, MD. Behind room K-11. There was also a weird drawing. It looked—actually, it looked like the drawing on the board from earlier. Maybe it was like a gang symbol. Cool. Dan was there.
***
It actually wasn't that cool. It was just a bunch of girls wearing black and leather, sitting on the grass eating their lunches. One of them was smoking an e-cigarette.

Coral stood up as Dan approached. “So you found us. You have passed the first test.” She bowed to him. Dan was intensely confused.

“Now. What is your name?” she intoned.

“Uh, Dan.”

One of the other girls yelled, “Coral, stop being weird and introduce her already.”

Dan stuttered, about to say, “Actually, I'm a guy.” But maybe that would be uncool? Like, correcting someone. And he'd look really dumb if he misheard or only one girl thought that.

“Fine,” Coral complained. “I was gonna do the whole ceremony and everything. You never let me weird the new girls out anymore, Mist.”

“Yeah,” a third girl complained. “We could have made her do something funny for initiation. Like, have sex with Mr. Blount or something.” Everyone laughed.

“Who's Mr. Blount?” Dan asked.

“Oh, he's like a really creepy old teacher. There are rumors he molested someone but it's probably BS.” She stood up and shook his hand. “I'm Sierra, but these weirdos call me Mist.” There was a general noise of disgruntlement from the group. One of the other girls shouted, “You love us!” Sierra—sorry, Mist—raised her eyebrows. “What's your story?”

“Uh, I... just moved here and was hoping people here would be cooler than at my last school. So far it doesn't seem like it. Oh, and my name is Dan,” he added.

“So I can call you Dan? Not like, Danielle or Dani or anything?”

“Yeah, no, definitely Dan.”

Mist nodded. “Cool. I get that.”

The bell rang.

***
The rest of the first week went by fairly uneventfully. Dan continued to hang out with the girls at lunch. He was just alarmed that none of them had figured out yet that he was a guy. Like, he wasn't the muscly-est ever, but no one had ever thought he was a girl before. He could only think it was the hair. Fortunately, there was a natural solution.

Next Monday, the girls clustered around him. “Whoa, that is short!” Mist exclaimed. Cora said “Way to violate traditional gender norms. I'm so proud of you,” and patted Dan on the shoulder. Idiot--Dan never learned his name and wasn't planning to—stopped by the group.

“Whew, that's quite a change!” he said. Dan glared at him. “Sorry, sorry, no, it looks good! Really... punk,” he finished lamely. Today he was wearing an American flag shirt.

“Please leave,” Dan sighed. Idiot did, apologizing and holding his hands up until he backed out of sight beyond the next corner.

“That was kind of bitchy,” Mist commented in an obnoxious ironic voice. “You got some kind of history there?”

“History? F*ck no. He just keeps following me around, if that's what you mean by history.”

Coral said “He's obviously pursuing the male role of a traditional heterosexual relationship.” She paused. “Also, swearing more doesn't make you cool, Dan.”

“He likes you,” Mist translated in a sing-song voice. “Like, like likes you.”

“That sentence hurt my brain,” Cora, one of the other girls, complained.

“So do you not like him?” Mist probed. “Or do you not wanna look uncool around your girlfriends?”

Coral added “It's okay. I already think you're uncool.”

***
Dan sighed bitterly. The class had to partner up for projects and Idiot was hovering Dan's desk like a lost puppy. Dan really didn't want to partner with this guy but looking around, most of the rest of the class had already found people to work with. And unfortunately none of the girls shared this period with him. And this guy did actually seem to be pretty smart. Academically. Only academically.

Dan finally gave in. “Fine, jackass. You can work with me. I don't know why you're so eager to anyway, I'm probably going to let you do all the work.”

Idiot laughed. “I really like your sense of humor.” Dan should probably start calling him Bryan. He added, “Sorry, you probably get asked this a lot, but like Dan is a weird name for a girl? Not weird, just unusual,” he hastily amended.

Dan was sick of this. “Yeah, it's because I'm a guy,” he said resignedly. “It's short for Daniel.”

Idio-Bryan squinted seriously at him for a moment, then started laughing. “Yeah, that sense of humor.”

***

Dan was at Idiot's house, working on the project. He didn't exactly want his parents to hear someone call him “her.”

Bryan's mom came into the computer room. “Are you hungry, Dan, Bryan?”

Dan regretted saying yes. He didn't realize it meant eating dinner with them.

“So,” Bryan's mom asked in suspiciously breezy, conversational manner, “How long have you two known each other?”

Dan said, “I don't know this guy,” at the same time Bryan said “Two months.” Bryan's mom laughed. “I hope you're more coordinated on the project than this.”

“Oh, we are!” Bryan assured her. Dan took some more mashed potatoes. They were really good potatoes.

“So Bryan tells me you two are just friends, is that right?” She fixed her gaze on Dan.

“I wouldn't call us... friends,” Dan said carefully. “More like acquaintances.”

“But you two are not... in a relationship, right?” she asked equally carefully. Dan choked on his mashed potatoes.

While Dan was gulping water, Bryan endeavored to assure his mom. “No, mom, just because she's a girl and a friend doesn't mean she's my girlfriend.”

Right before Dan left, Bryan's mom pulled him aside. “I can tell Bryan really likes you, and you don't like him as much right now. You're free to do what you want, but if you break his heart I will come down on you.”

Dan shuddered. “Trust me, breaking Bryan's heart is the last thing I ever intend to do.”

She fixed him with a steely glare. “It better be.”

***
The next day, Mist was waiting ready to harrass him.

“I heard you ate dinner at Bryan's house! What's up there? I thought you said there was no history.”

“How did you even--never mind. There is no history. We were just partners on a project.”

“Well, maybe there should be a history. He seems to really like you.” Mist pointed behind Dan and he looked back to see Bryan waving excitedly. Dan groaned.

“Was it a history project?” Coral asked.

***
“Hey, Dan, has anyone asked you to the dance yet?” Mist pestered him.

“Yeah, I don't think anyone wants to go with me.” It didn't exactly help that all the girls he knew thought he was a girl.

“That's not true. I can def think of people.”

“Like who?

“Well, I'm sure Bryan wou-” Her suggestion was interrupted by a loud groan. “Seriously, I don't know why you hate that guy so much.”

Because he thinks I'm a girl and follows me around hitting on me, Dan felt like saying but didn't.

“Well anyway,” Mist added, “All the cool people will be there.”

***
Dan knew Mist had been kidding, but it still galled him for anyone to call him uncool, even jokingly. Except for everyone thinking he was a girl, his reputation here was way better than at his old school. He had only achieved this level of respect by paying close attention to the cool people around him and imitating them. Even one slip-up could be deadly.

That, he knew, was why he was in Bryan's mom's car on the way to the dance. The reason still didn't really satisfy him though.

I can't believe I'm doing this. Is being cool really so important to me? Going out with a guy?

He turned his head to see Idiot staring moonily at him. “Back off, dude. You're creeping me out.” At least the guy was good at taking orders.

As Bryan stuttered his usual apologies, Dan took a moment to gather his thoughts. He knew his parents would insist on seeing pictures of him at the dance. With this in mind, Dan had managed to get away with wearing a tuxedo even though Mist insisted he'd look like a lesbian.

Dan swam back into the present, realizing that Bryan had just said something to him. “What?” he snapped.

“Uh, sorry, we're here. There. At the dance.”

Dan honestly couldn't stand this anymore. “Dammit, dude. You need to not be so fu-fricking (Bryan's mom was in the front) nervous when you talk to me. Or girls.” Dan wasn't about to call himself a girl. “What's the worst that could happen anyway? All that's going to happen is that you're so awkward you annoy someone. Seriously, you need to just relax.”

Bryan slumped in his seat. He was still shaking but not as much as he had been earlier. “I'm sorry. I'm just afraid—I don't know, I already don't like myself, I know I'm annoying, and when I talk to people I'm always afraid they'll reject me. Whatever that even means.”

Dan sighed. “At least you tried. You took a chance asking me, and I didn't reject you, right? I'm at least going to this thing with you.”

Bryan sat up slightly. “That's true. Honestly, I'm surprised. I got the impression you didn't like me. Wait, but didn't you ask--”

Dan interrupted. “Let's go.” Bryan's mom's glare was making him uncomfortable.

***
Dan was chatting with Cora when some asshole decided to crack their idea of a joke. “Hey everybody, look at the lesbos!” Dan had an uncomfortable feeling that they meant him. Just because he had short hair and a suit. Jesus. He hoped this didn't hurt his cred.

“Hey! That's my--” Bryan started to yell before Coral punched the culprit in the face. “That's not something to make fun of people about,” she growled at him.

So now they were thrown out of the dance. And the original asshole didn't get punished at all. Typical.

Well, not punished except the punch in the face.

So now Bryan, Dan, Coral, and the rest of the girls were hanging out in the pizzeria while the dance continued. The cheaper one, even though its arcade was way crappier.

“Thanks for...uh...defending my honor,” Dan said to Coral.

Bryan winced. “I still feel like that should have been me,”

Dan reassured him, “I appreciate that you cared though. You can punch someone in the face for me another time.” He had been trying to be nice to this guy ever since his admission in the car. It was weird, he so used to yelling at him.

At least Bryan seemed to like it.

“I told you so,” Mist whined. Everyone glared at her.

For once, Dan actually felt cool.

Mac was—well, “obsessed” would be to put it unkindly—interested in a rather particular art: the vocal impression. Since he was eleven he had been practicing voices: cartoon characters, celebrities, even his parents. But there was one wall he always ran up against: he couldn’t do female voices. It didn’t help that his voice had changed at a relatively young age. But it wasn’t just that: he also just felt too embarrassed. It felt like he was doing something… wrong.

During his post-college gap year, he decided to finally sit down and devote some real time to perfecting his hobby. He listened to interviews of female celebrities, looked at diagrams of anatomy, even read resources intended for trans women.

Finally, after weeks of work with little to show, he was just about ready to give up. Then suddenly, one day, it just… clicked.

“Oh my god,” Mac said, hearing the new voice issuing from my mouth. “I sound like my sister or something. Except girlier.”

He looked in the mirror. Same mop of hair and lanky build as ever. He rubbed at his moustache that refused to grow. “Hi, I’m Mac.” In that voice it sounded like it was short for “Mackenzie.”

He practiced for a few hours reading passages and expressing different emotions in the new voice. Finally satisfied, he headed downstairs to grab a snack.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, heading for the refrigerator.

“Hey, Kyra,” she said without turning around from the stove. “If you were going to eat, dinner is in an hour.”

Mac felt suddenly intensely embarrassed. He had forgotten to stop doing the voice.

“Mom, it’s Mac,” he said in his normal voice. Or tried to. His mom turned around.

“Oh, sorry Mac,” she said. “If you were trying to fool me, good job. You sounded just like your sister.”

“I’m heading out,” Mac mumbled. His voice still wasn’t quite back to normal.

Mac headed for his favorite coffee place. He loved that it was within walking distance. The cute barista didn’t hurt either.

“And what would you like, sir?” a barista—Kelly must be off—asked as he approached the counter.

“One decaf latte.” Mac winced. Once again his voice had come out a bit weird.

“Oh, I’m so sorry ma’am,” the barista said, flustered. “It’s just—that haircut—I’ll just get your drink.”

Whatever. He didn’t want to deal with correcting her right now.

Mac headed over to his friend John’s place. They had prior plans to hang.

He groaned when he arrived and found the outside door locked. John better not have forgotten again.

He whipped out his phone.

“Hello?” John answered dopily.

“Hey, douchebag, let me in.”

“I—I’m sorry, who is this?” John asked, suddenly sounding much more awake.

“It’s Mac, shit-for-brains. Who did you think?”

“Wait, what, really? Damn, man, you really fooled me with that one.” John laughed. “Sorry, man, I was taking a nap. Let me come down and get you.”

Once they were up in John’s apartment, they both collapsed onto John’s ancient couch, PlayMaster controllers in hand.

“Die, robot zombie motherfuckers!” Mac shouted. It sounded a bit strange in his new voice. If it had been someone else talking he probably would’ve thought it was cute.

“Hey, can you stop doing that voice now, man?” John complained. “It’s just really offputting, man. It’s like hearing Tinkerbell’s voice come out of Shrek’s mouth or something.”

“Can’t I at least be Fiona?” Mac teased. He paused for a moment. He hadn’t really thought before he spoke. It was just what sounded right for that voice to say.

John paused the game and turned to Mac. “Seriously, man, is something up with you? You usually freak when someone calls you a girl or shit.”

He looked serious for a moment. “If you’re like, gay or transgendered or something, you can tell me, man. Er… buddy.”

Mac giggled. That’s right. He goddamn, downright giggled. “Why would you think that, silly?”

John shook his head. “Just remember, if you ever wanna talk…”

Mac yawned as he slumped behind the checkout counter. He and John had stayed up till five murdering the hell out of some zomborgs.

“Hey, man, do you know—wait, did we go to high school together?” asked a guy who you just instantly knew was a douchebag just from looking at him. Mac groaned. It was Brody, flanked by two of his equally douchey friends.

Brody suddenly perked up. “Hey, wait, I know you. It’s girly-boy.” He pointed. “Hey guys, it’s girly-boy.” His two henchmen snickered on cue.

“Go AWAY, Brody,” Mac snapped in his high soprano. Brody froze.

“Hey, guys, you hear that?” Brody leaned in over the counter. “Shit, I remember when you used to do all those dumb voices in high school, but I never realized you were ACTUALLY a boy-y girl.” He laughed at his own wit.

“Y’know, I’d do ‘er,” he said, turning to his friends.

“SERIOUSLY, go AWAY, BRODY,” Mac repeated. “You’re so not my type anyway.”

“Ooh, I’m not her type,” Brody mocked. “Obviously, lesbo.” He drew back his fist and punched Mac in the gut. “Let’s get out of here, guys.”

Mac collapsed to the ground, winded. The old lady who had been next in line rushed to his side.

“Are you okay, dear? Do you need me to call the police? An ambulance? A lawyer?”

“I’ll… be… fine…” he managed to groan, recognizing the old lady as his neighbor Mrs. Futerman. The old lady’s expression changed to one of horror.

“I can’t believe he’d do that to a girl!” Mrs. Futerman knelt down. “Was that your boyfriend, honey? Because I WILL report him. You need to get out of that situation.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mac struggled. “I barely know that guy. Just let it go.”

Mrs. Futerman’s face bloomed with sudden recognition. “Kyra? What DID you do to your hair? You look just like your brother.”

“I AM Mac.”

“Oh, I’m sorry dear,” Mrs. Futerman said, consternated. She whispered, “To be honest, I always thought you were a boy.” She patted Mac’s head. “But I understand. I have a niece who’s a lesbian.”

Mac finally passed out from the trauma.

He woke up to find himself in bed, with John hovering above him. “Oh, hey, buddy, you’re finally awake! That’s great!”

“I rushed over here as soon as I heard what that asshole Brody did to you. I can’t believe we’re this far out of high school and he’s still getting away with this shit.”

“Well, it’s nice to see someone’s worried about me,” Mac teased. If he had heard anyone else say that he would’ve thought it was flirting.

“Well, yeah, man,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re like my closest friend.”

“I was kidding. I think it’s sweet,” Mac said.

John looked confused but didn’t say anything.

After a day off Mac was back at work. He sighed. At least he didn’t have to work the register today.

He was restocking cans when he heard a soft voice behind him. “Sorry, do you work here? Do you know where the party supplies would be?”

He snapped around to see a pretty girl with short hair standing there. “Um, yeah, they should be on, uh, Aisle 13—it’s by the back of the store near the far corner.”

“Oh, okay.” The girl turned to leave before turning back. “Um, actually, would you want to come?” Mac looked confused.

“Uh, I’m Jean if you… didn’t remember,” she said in a small voice.

Mac could’ve sworn he had never met this chick before. On the other hand, he didn’t have the best memory for faces and he was drunk for most of college anyway.

“Um, okay, sure!” He cursed his high, perky voice. At this rate he was gonna make Jean think he wasn’t into girls.

“Okay, awesome! Let me just get your number if it’s changed, and I’ll text you the info.”

As Jean walked off, neither of them could stop beaming.

As Mac walked up the steps to the party, his heart beat quickly in his chest. He had dressed up a little—just a button up shirt and slacks, really. He wanted to make a good—second? third?—impression on Jean.

“Oh, awesome, you made it!” Jean yelled as she opened the door. The music inside was already pumping. Scattered groups of people mingled in the living room and hung out in the kitchen.

After getting him a beer, Jean led Mac upstairs to a bedroom. “It’s a little loud down there for me, honestly,” she confided to him as they both sat on her bed. “You’re cool with just being up here, right?”

Mac nodded a little bit too quickly. Was she actually into him? Like actually, legitimately? Girls never hit on him. He almost looked around for the hidden cameras.

“We can watch Netflix or something,” Jean continued. “Or whatever you want to do. Basically anything is fine.”

Mac decided to press his luck. To make his move. He leaned forward and seductively purred. “Anything?”

Jean nodded silently. The two of them leaned in closer and closer until their lips finally touched.

“Oh god, I’ve wanted to do this with you for so long,” Jean moaned as they twisted sideways, collapsing onto the bed. “But I was never sure how to read the signals you were giving off in college.”

“Okayy?” Mac responded, confused. He felt terrible, but he still didn’t remember this girl.

“But when I saw your new haircut, I knew. It was so clear.”

“I’ve waited so long for this, Kyra.”

Girlfriends

Cameron takes a women's studies class and ends up learning a lot about himself.

**
I actually didn't write this story, my sister did, but she was nervous about posting it, and also thought that people who liked what one of us wrote might also like stuff by the other one. I'm not sure if it's a good fit for this site or not, but I think it's very cute and also mostly pretty realistic to my actual life.

**
Cameron walked slowly into the lecture hall, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. He hadn’t really wanted to take Gender and Women’s Studies 12, but it was the only open class that fulfilled his university’s social science requirements. This wasn’t a subject he really knew much about, having been raised by his dad in the middle of Indiana.
He sat down near the back of the hall, slumping slightly in the hard plastic chair and running his fingers impatiently through his spiky blond hair. Looking around, he saw that the class seemed to be almost all women, which maybe wasn’t so surprising. Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad: this could be a good way to find a girlfriend.
As if in response to his thoughts, a short girl with purple hair and a pointy nose sat down beside him. She was breathing a bit hard, apparently having rushed to class.
The professor coughed a bit, then began speaking. “Welcome to GWS 12. Throughout this semester, we’ll be discussing queer and feminist ideas about American culture and society. Just to get started, I’d like you to turn to the person next, preferably someone you don’t know, and introduce yourself. Then, I’d like you to discuss for a minute about what you hope to get out of this class.”
Cameron slowly turned toward his new seatmate, saying, “Hey. I’m Cameron. I’m majoring in mechanical engineering. I don’t really know what I want from this class, but I do know that it fulfills a requirement I need.”
She responded, “Hi, I’m Madison, she/her pronouns. I’m really interested in learning about like queer theory and stuff like that. I’m planning to study English. It’s nice to meet you! What pronouns do you use?”
He looked her over a bit, thinking that she was actually kinda pretty. The purple hair and stuff was a bit weird, but he actually though it looked kinda nice on her. “Uh,” he said. “I don’t really know?”, not quite sure what she meant.
“Well, I understand that,” she continued, “I’m planning to go to this like student group thing later. Do you wanna come with me?”
“Sure!” he said, hoping that maybe this could be a chance to get to know her better.

**
Shortly before the meeting, Cameron was staring at himself in a grimy university bathroom mirror. He wished he wasn’t so short and chubby, but other than that he thought he looked nice. He had dressed up a bit to try to impress Madison, even wearing a tie and button-up shirt.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then walked out and over to the small classroom where the meeting was happening. Madison waved, clearly excited to see him. Desks had been arranged into a circle, so he went and sat down in the one next to Madison.
Once the meeting started, people started introducing themselves, going around in a circle. A lot of them were quite alternative-looking, and there were a number of women with very short hair. A lot of the people said their name and then “pronouns,” which Cameron once again found a bit odd. He could tell if someone was a boy or a girl, they didn’t need to tell him what to say.
When it was his turn, he just said his name and major. He didn’t really think it seemed necessary to say any pronouns, so he just skipped that.
People started discussing different topics. A lot of the conversation went over his head, and people kept using terms he didn’t know. He noticed that people seemed to be talking about “queer culture” and stuff like that a lot. Maybe this was a study group for the class he was taking?
After the meeting was over, Cameron, Madison and two other group members started walking over to a coffee shop near campus.
As they walked, Madison gestured around, saying, “Everyone, meet Cameron. She’s in one of my classes this semester. Cameron, meet Ava and Denise.”
“Wait, did she say ‘she’?” Cameron wondered, before dismissing the thought, assuming he had heard wrong.
Ava was an Asian women with close-cropped black hair and a nose piercing. Denise was tall, pale, and had curly green hair. They started talking to Cameron, asking normal introductory questions like “Where are you from?” and “What year are you in?”
When he said he was majoring in Mechanical Engineering, Denise nodded a bit and said, “I’ve heard that there’s not a lot of women in that field. Has that been hard for you at all?”
Cameron jokily replied, “I mean, I wish there were more women. Maybe it would be easier for me to get a date then, haha.”
Madison nervously said, “Well, if you ever want to go on a date with me …” and blushed slightly.
“Oh! Of course I’ll go on a date with you,” Cameron said. Wow, this was moving faster than he had expected.
Ava and Denise were both smiling at this exchange, clearly pleased.

**
Cameron and Madison had just finished up a date at a cafe near campus. They had clicked really well, discovering that they both liked a lot of the same music and TV shows.
Madison had invited Cameron to come back to her apartment. Cameron was quite excited, hoping that maybe he was finally going to lose his virginity.
He was a little sensitive about letting anyone see his body, though. For whatever reason, he had gained a lot of weight around his hips and chest the past few years. He kind of had “man boobs”, and so he usually tried to avoid taking off his shirt. On top of this, his penis was quite small, only maybe three inches in length. Well, Madison was nice, and she seemed to really like him, so hopefully everything would be okay.
They walked up the stairs to her apartment. Madison asked, “Would it be okay with you if we watched something on Netflix or something?” Cameron said yes, so they settled down onto a beat-up couch and started watching a movie on her laptop.
A few minutes into the movie, Madison snuggled up closer to Cameron, gave him a kiss, and murmured, “Is it okay if I … touch you?”
Cameron whispered back, “Yes! Of course!”
Madison began slipping her hand under his shirt, moving to squeeze Cameron’s pecs. She began to gently stoke one nipple. It wasn’t what Cameron had expected, but he shivered a bit with arousal. Normally, he was self-conscious, knowing that his nipples were strangely large and sensitive for a boy, but in this moment he didn’t care.
He reached out and began to caress her back. He was amazed at how soft and smooth and full her breasts were. As far as Cameron was concerned, this was the most thrilling moment of his life.
She began to slowly wiggle her pants down her legs, exposing her black, lacy underwear. He held his breath in anticipation as she slowly revealed herself to him.
She guided two of his fingers into her, and he began to slowly thrust them back and forth inside her. He watched as her face flushed, listening to her gasps of pleasure.
She begin to unbutton his pants, then suddenly paused. A look of surprise flitted over her face, but she seemed to shrug it off as she started to gently stroke him.
They kept touching and kissing and rubbing, their pleasure slowly building in intensity, finally reaching a shuddering, wonderful finale.

**
A few days later, Madison announced that she wanted to try giving Cameron a “makeover”. He decided to go along with it: he assumed that this was just a normal part of having a girlfriend. He sat in a chair in her room, kind of zoning out as she did all sorts of things. She kept handing him clothes and messing with his hair. He tried to object as she started to apply some sort of makeup to his eyes, but she said, “Look, I know that you’re, like, butch, but this is just really minor eyeliner. Even some like guys wear this sometimes. Okay?” He said, “Alright, I guess it’s fine,” and so she kept applying it.
Around 15 minutes later, Madison finally seemed satisfied. She led him over to a mirror and asked, “What do you think?”
Cameron stared at his reflection. Madison hadn’t done anything major, yet somehow the combination of small tweaks really changed his appearance. She had him wearing a plaid red jacket and skinny jeans. His hair slicked forward in a slightly androgynous style, and there was some light makeup on his face. He thought that he looked a bit a girl, but whatever reason, he actually kind of liked it. He gave Madison an awkward thumbs-up, saying, “Yeah! It’s nice”
She gave him a kiss and said, “I’m glad you like it!”
They ended up making-out again.

**
Cameron had been really embracing his new style, because Madison seemed to really like it. She’d compliment him almost every time she saw him.
He had noticed though, that he seemed to be treated a little bit differently. Guys kept trying to hold doors open for him, and he swore that people kept checking him out. He assumed that he was getting more respect because of his fresh new appearance, and he was actually pretty happy about it. He thought he heard people call him “ma’am” a few times, but maybe they had been talking to someone else.
After a few weeks, though, something rather odd happened. Two engineering students had walked up to Cameron as he was leaving an afternoon class. One of the students, who Cameron only vaguely recognized, said, “Hey, Cameron, I’m Dave. This is my friend Michael. I’m in MechE 182 with you. I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”
“What?” Cameron asked, assuming Dave had a question about homework or something.
Dave said, “Umm … well, would ever want to go on a date with me sometime?”
Cameron was very confused. Did Dave think he was gay or something? Why would he think that?
Cameron replied, “No, dude. I don’t swing that way. I have a girlfriend and everything.”
Dave said, “All right. Well, it was worth a try.” He walked off, and Cameron swore he heard Dave’s friend say, “See, dude! I told you she was a dyke.”

**
Cameron had been thinking a lot about the recent strangeness in his life, and he had come up with a theory. Maybe people had been mistaking him for a girl! That seemed unlikely to him, as he was clearly quite masculine, in his opinion. It wasn’t as if he was flouncing around in skirts and pigtails or something. But that theory would explain a lot ….
The next day, he decided to check what Madison thought. While they were hanging out together on campus, lying on the grass, he gingerly asked, “Do you think I look like a girl?”
She responded, “Yes, of course! I know you’re sort of butch, but it’s not like you look like a dude or something.” She gave him a kiss and continued, “You’re my adorable girlfriend, and I love just the way you are.”
Cameron was strangely pleased by this answer, and blushed a little. “Awww,” he said, “I love you too.” But wait … she thought he was a girl too?
He slowly started to say, “I don’t know why everyone has been seeing me as a girl recently … even you. I mean, I’ve been a pretty normal boy my whole life and I never really even thought about that until recently …”
Madison replied, “Well, when I first met you in that GWS class, I thought you were a butch cis woman. Later on, I realized you had a, um, penis though, so then I thought you were just a really cute trans girl. I’m sorry for making assumptions, though, I should have just asked earlier, but it was kind of awkward to bring up. Do you not consider yourself a woman?”
“I don’t know!” Cameron said. “Until I came to college, I never realized I had any choice in the matter. I was born as a guy, and I thought I had to be a guy my whole life.” He nervously continued, “But I can say, I liked it when you called me your adorable girlfriend. It felt … really right somehow.”
Madison gave Cameron a kiss, saying, “Well, then, I’ll say it again. You’re my super adorable girlfriend.”
Cameron blushed a little and then kissed her back, saying, “And you’re MY super adorable girlfriend.”

Gold Digger
By Vilastis

Marcus sighed. There was no way he was going to manage to make his rent this month.

Women had it so easy. They just had to flutter their eyelashes and some asshole with more money than sense would throw cash at them.

He had come to a decision. He opened a dating site and created a new profile. “Marcia.”

Men were all too willing to message the twenty four year old fitness trainer who loved dogs and walks on the beach. “Marcia” lived across the country from where he actually lived, so he had an excuse for not meeting up. However, too many of the men wanted a phone call or a video chat.

He finally gave in when he realized he was starting to lose marks. He watched several videos on how to talk in a female voice, and spent the next few days practicing. Finally, he felt confident enough to risk a call.

“Marcia! It’s so good to finally talk to you!” Rob, the boisterous manchild on the other end of the line, clamored. “I’m so glad I can finally hear your voice!”

“Do you… like what you’re hearing?” Marcus practically whispered in a husky voice.

“I love it! It’s just as sexy as I imagined!”

From the other end he started to hear regular, heavy panting. He realized with horror that Rob was probably jerking it on the other end.

Might as well go all in. “I’m wearing nothing but teddy right now,” Marcus lied smoothly. “Oh, my tits are so round and they’re almost aching. They need your touch.”

“Yes, that’s right, baby!” Rob shouted. “Let me come on your tits!”

Marcus finished the phone call feeling dirtier than he had ever felt.

Rob was a software engineer, which seemed promising. However, he kept pressuring Marcus to video chat. Marcus finally gave in and watched several tutorials on makeup. He ended up spending an alarming amount on cosmetics, clothing, false breasts. Well, gotta spend money to make money.

“It’s so good to finally see your face,” Marcus breathed as he thrust his fake tits forward, his long wig cascading down on either side. He rubbed his hands along his body. “So good.”

The next day, Marcus was practicing applying makeup and the false breasts, just in case he ever had to use them again, when a loud knocking at the door alarmed him. He opened the door a crack to peer through, only to have it forced open by Rob!

“I’m sorry, Marcia,” he explained breathlessly. “I just couldn’t stay away.”

“How did you know where I live!?” Marcus shouted.

“I specialize in internet protocols. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have, but I traced your IP address.”

He engulfed Marcus in his arms and pressed his lips into an unwilling kiss. Marcus was disgusted to realize he could feel Rob’s erection against his body. Marcus was about to shout at him to leave and never come back, when Rob made an offer he couldn’t refuse. “How would you like to try $200 steak?”

Marcus hung off of Rob’s arm, giggling. The steak had been fantastic, as had the restaurant’s atmosphere. He was feeling a little lightheaded from the champagne. He couldn’t stop beaming. This was sure to solve his money problems!

“So…” Rob said gently. “I couldn’t help but notice your apartment is in a bad part of town. I’m not sure a pretty girl like you is safe there. I’m worried for you.” Marcus hiccuped at the idea anyone would think he was pretty. “I was wondering… I know this is kind of sudden…. Ii you would want to move in with me?”

Marcus literally leapt at the chance. “Yes! Yes! Of course!” This was better than anything he had hoped for.

His wardrobe and collection of makeup had grown vastly, but he still had plenty of room in his vanity and walk-in closet. It turns out Rob was not just a programmer, but had founded a well-known company before. And fortunately for his deception, Rob said he was willing to wait until marriage.

Marcus puttered around in the kitchen wearing a low cut dress, waiting for Rob to get home. He didn’t have to cook—that was what the servants were for—but it was something to do during his long days at home. He heard the front door open and ran to embrace him. The two of them hugged tightly, Rob picking Marcus up and swinging him around before they both collapsed onto the sofa, laughing. Marcus hadn’t expected it, but Rob had really grown on him. Besides, the mansion was really boring without him.

“Hey, honey,” Rob said, suddenly serious. “I have an important question for you.”

“Yess?” Marcus quavered.

Rob got down on one knee. Marcus’ heart start beating faster and faster.

“Will you… Marcia Roberts… marry me?”

“YES! Yes, of course!”

Marcus recalculated his long term plans. They just had to stay married for a year or two—then he could take Rob for everything he had in the divorce.

Marcus lay by the pool, sipping his piña colada. He had taken a short vacation to Thailand a month before the wedding. He still idly wondered sometimes when he should try for a divorce. But honestly now he didn’t have to worry about rent, work, or the future. Everything was taken care of.

He glanced over at Rob at the other end of the pool.

Life was great.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT A DIVORCE?!” Marcus screamed at Rob. This was terrible! He couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Marcia, you know it’s for the best,” Rob said calmly. Where did that jerk get off! Just because he caught Marcus sleeping with the pool boy. It wasn’t Marcus’s fault! Rob was gone on those long business trips so much, how was he supposed to wait?

But what would happen to his platinum card? His walk-in closet? His full-time foot masseuse?

Marcus limped home to his shabby apartment from a long day at the office. These heels were killing him, and he was sick of every guy who came in hitting on him. MAYBE he’d consider dating these scrubs if they had, say, about a million more dollars than they do.

After taking off his makeup, he carefully inspected his face for any signs of wrinkles before sighing in relief, and then plucking a stray gray hair from his scalp. It never hurt to be careful.

In the back of his mind, though, he couldn’t stop worrying. How was he going to make rent?

Experiencing paradise, he thought, sometimes just made the real world more bitter.

I Hate You Too
By Vilastis

A trans superhero finds acceptance in an unlikely place.

Despite being in the superhero genre, this is maybe the most realistic story I’ve ever written. Note: I wrote this a while ago while I was depressed, so maybe don’t read it you’re looking for happy stuff. I personally find it kind of hard to read.

She sat in the middle of the “support” group meeting, depressed as fuck. Why she even came to these fucking things was a mystery.

An irritatingly attractive and also just irritating woman was talking. “I may have had less trouble passing then a lot of people, but I've put a lot of work in. Powers don't just make everything magically easier.”

She mentally rolled her eyes. Yeah right, like your powers haven't made things easy for. Stupid fucking shapeshifters.

She had to be fucking “blessed” with super strength. And the body that came with it. You know the drill, upsidedown triangle, tiny legs. She didn't even exercise much but then again that wasn't how powers worked.

Honestly, no one would ever think she was female. It was pretty clear.

She raised her hand. “I don't mean to be hurtful, but haven't your powers made things easier? I mean, you have an advantage over a lot of people.”

The shapeshifter looked pissed off. “You know how my powers work? I have to put in constant effort to maintain something that isn't my natural shape. It's not easy.”

This wasn't even worth arguing about. She didn't even bother to respond.

It's not like putting in constant effort would make a difference in her case. If she really tried to present as female, makeup and everything, people would just see a freak. A stereotypical drag queen with red lips and a broad chest.

Even more of a freak than she already was.

She was in the middle of wrestling a doomsday remote away from her nemesis but she wasn't really feeling it. He managed to wrest the remote from her and held it up in the air, cackling evilly. She just stood there slouching.

They did this every week. It's not like there was a point to it. Fuck, he could just win this time. It's not like it mattered.

He seemed to notice something was wrong and lowered the remote. “Hey, are you okay? You seem...distracted. You're usually more into this.”

She hadn't come out to him yet. He'd probably just make fun of her, using it as part of his evil taunts. Besides, they had known each other for way too long. That just wasn't how he thought of her. As a her.

She mumbled something incoherent. His brow furrowed. It did this weird thing where the eyebrows actually met in the middle. It had always bothered her.

“I'm fine!” she said more loudly. Falsely. He didn't seem entirely reassured.

“Okay, just checking,” he said, then pressed the big red button. Something in the distance exploded.

For once she was actually trying. After all, she had decided, it was her own fault if people misgendered her. She wasn't giving them any kind of clues. Makeup or a skirt anything.

She was wearing women's clothing—in weird, ill-fiting sizes because nothing fit her stupid triangle body—and a little makeup. Too much and people would probably be able to tell how badly she applied it. Besides, the goal was to look “natural”, right? There was a little hair clip in her hair. It was too short to really do anything else. At the store the cashier called her “sir”.

Fuck, trying was pointless. Fuck trying. Just pointless.

She was so dumb.

At home she changed back into her normal clothes. Punched a wall just to get a little bit of the anger and anxiety that was filling her, stretching her further and further like a balloon and soon she was going to pop

—she punched through the wall. Fuck. So stupid. Now she was going to have to fix it and pay money. She didn't feel like dealing with it now. She could do it tomorrow.

Soon she was sprawled on her bed, sobbing.

She didn't do anything at all the next day. Well, except lie in bed and try to distract herself by watching dumb comedies on Netflix. There was a dull-sharp pain in the bottom of her stomach, like she had swallowed a knife wrapped in a napkin, knowing she was being way too fucking irresponsible. She turned off the news and the police scanner she usually had on. People could save themselves today. She was too busy saving herself.

Well, actually she wasn't really improving her situation at all, but still, that was a catchy line. Oneliner. She should write a screenplay.

Just kidding! Because that would actually require her to actually accomplish something beyond the staving off of everyday problems. Yeah right! She was a miserable heap of garbage.

Besides, she was too busy with hero work.

Really, though, calling her a hero was laughable. Shouldn't a hero at least be able to save—wait she already used that one basically. So she was a hack. Oh well.

After several hours her aching stomach—to be clear, hunger this time, though the anxiety was still there—the different pains layered together, until it was kind of hard to distinguish them—forced her to drag herself out of bed and into her condo's tiny kitchen. You'd think being a super hero would pay more.

Well, maybe it would if not for the secret identity. She was pretty stressed about that, actually. People—some people, anyway—would definitely shit all over a hero who transitioned publicly. And the other fucking half would say how brave. She was honestly considering to just continue to pretend to be a guy when in her hero alter ego. She was kind of worried that would hold her back from really making changes her body though—like, getting surgery, or even growing long hair.

She was eating a shitty sandwich—haha, not literally—maybe she shouldn't make jokes when she was depressed, it confused people—not that there was anyone there to be confused—JESUS she overthought everything—when the doorbell rang. After it rang five more times she dragged herself up like a drooping puppet with overly long strings, and to the door, and peered through the peephole. It was her nemesis.

What the fuck was he doing here?

She momentarily freaked out that he would be able to tell she was trans before remembering that she was just wearing a fairly gender-neutral t-shirt and pajama pants and no makeup or anything. Whenever she tried stuff like that it just looked like drag, honestly.

He looked nervous, grinning maniacally like usual but there was something off about the eyes. They actually looked WORRIED. Now that was out of character. And his fingers were interlocked and squeezed tight instead of steepled like usual.

With a sigh she opened the door. She was definitely going to regret this.

“So,” he started, perched on her bed/couch (a folding piece of shit from Ikea) “uh... there's something I wanted to talk about with you.”

Yeah, no kidding, she thought but didn't say.

“Um, so, the other day when we were fighting... I might have kind of used a mind reading ray on you? Just a little bit?”

“Goddamn it!” she burst out, “I don't fucking care what fucking ray you use on me. It's, like, your job anyway.”

Really she was pissed because she thought this was actually going to be something important when it was actually some really mundane shit.

“So... “ he said. “You're transgender?”

Fuck.

Why the fuck was she even thinking about gender when they were in the middle of a fight. That was, like, the whole point of fighting. To not think.

She realized that, through her tunnel vision and pounding heart, he was still talking.

“I want you to know that I'll hate you either way,” he smarmed. “I mean, I won't hate you for being transgender, that would be—you know. I just want you to know that I'll consider you my enemy no matter what.”

If you replaced a few of the words this would almost be nice. Without her realizing it, her heartbeat gradually slowed.

“Are you going to change your name?” he pestered. “I mean your hero name, I don't actually know your real one. Uh, your legal one, I mean. I can talk to the press for you. I can tell them I used a trangendering ray on you! MWAHA… ha…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, it's been a while since I've laughed except evilly. Not since the breaku"— he suddenly cut off.

She glared at him, using her well-honed hero squint. It was probably too masculine, wasn't it? Yeah probably. Some Clint Eastwood shit. She'd have to change that—find some replacement. Anyway, she had something she needed to say.

“I hate you too.”

The world was so unfair. So wrong. How could someone like her become a hero? If anyone deserved to be famous…

But he was going to do it. Finally, he had overcome his natural ennui.

Who's the impostor, and who is real? I dunno either, man.

Charles Edward Fitzgerald, CEO of Jugs (America’s #4 casual dining restaurant) slammed his fist down on his desk. “What do you mean, you told them I would do their moronic show? I gave you very explicit instructions.”

His secretary Francesca shuddered. “I’m so sorry—sir,” she hastily added.

“Don’t apologize, just fix this!”

The “moronic show” Charles referred to was some reality show he had never heard of called Incognito Boss that kept pestering him with mail. Apparently the central premise of each episode was that an executive of a large company would try to blend in with the masses for a brief period, to “see how they think” or some nonsense. As if cream like him wouldn’t naturally rise to the top.

“Of course, sir. I’ll do my best. However…”

“Out with it, woman!”

“I… I believe you already signed the contract for your appearance, sir. I put it in front of you on Tuesday. I believe it has already been faxed. But I’m sure you read it over, sir? It’s in the first chapter of your book. ‘Always read the fine print.’” She was referring, of course, to his self-help book From Hags to Bitches: How I Rose From Obscurity to Become the CEO of the #5 Casual Dining Restaurant in America, and You Can Too.

“GODDAMNIT!” He hadn’t read the fine print. That was what lawyers were for! It’s not like he wrote any of that book anyway.

Well, even then, it shouldn’t be too big a problem. He could just slap on a fake mustache and wash dishes for a week. It’d be over with in no time.

Always read the fine print.

“Well, Mister Fitzgerald,” Ben, the probably gay producer, said to Charles, “It’s great to have you on the problem. Just to verify, you read the contract we sent you and have no problem with it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles said, waving the guy off. He was sure it was just boilerplate stuff.

“Great! Okay, so as I’m sure you know—you’ve watched the show, right?—” Charles mumbled in response—“we, of course, have to change your appearance to make sure employees don’t recognize you!” Jesus, this guy thought he was an idiot.

“Now, this process can take a while, and it might involve work on your part—for example, we might want you to lose or gain weight.” Shit, they weren’t going to put him on some kind of rabbit food diet, were they? Well, honestly he could probably use it, or so his doctor kept telling him. But what was the point of money if you couldn’t splurge?

“Okay! So next I’m just going to introduce you to our team that you’ll be working with!” The producer clapped. A group of sketchy-looking younger people stepped forward. Charles frowned. He wouldn’t hire any of these people in his restaurant, let alone let them decide what happened to his body.

“I’m Stacey!” said a peppy-looking, athletic blonde, whose appearance was marred only by an unsightly nose ring. “I’ll be your physical trainer!”

“I’m Rod,” said a slouching young man, who looked sullen and was, inappropriately, wearing heavy eyeliner. He had several more piercings than Stacy. “I’ll be doing your makeup.”

“And I’m Bex!” said a third young person with a shaved head, whose gender Charles couldn’t quite discern. “I’ll be working on any prosthetics we might need for you.” Charles wrinkled his brow. Why would they need prosthetics? Maybe to disguise his distinctive, aquiline features, he realized. It would certainly be difficult to make him look like one of the lower class.

“Okay, team,” Ben said. “Let’s get to work!”

They put Charles up in a rented apartment (much smaller than he was used to) for the duration of his stay in the city. Right away, as he had expected, Stacey started him on a lighter diet and a regular exercise routine. Charles grumbled some about it, but it was what the contract required, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. Besides, after a few days he was feeling healthier than he had in years!

After a few weeks he almost didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. He looked like he was some kind of skinny pretty boy in his thirties (to be generous).

On several occasions Rod came and creepily stared at Charles, slightly stroking his arm with different makeup, for some reason. He bet the pervert was just getting off on it.

Bex came and took incredibly detailed measurements of his bare body. He felt vaguely uncomfortable the whole time. This was far more in-depth than anything his tailor did. What did they need all of this for anyway?

After several weeks, everything came together. Charles had to go into the studio at an ungodly hour, strip, and allow the weirdos to slap strange pastes and oddly shaped plasticine lumps onto his body. He realized they were attaching prosthetics around his sternum and lower waist. Why the hell had they made him lose all that weight if they were just going to add it back on?

And they wouldn’t even let him see a mirror! Him, the CEO of Jugs, America’s sixth largest casual dining chain.

Rod placed a wig on his head, carefully arranging it. Finally, it was time for the big reveal.

Ben pulled back the curtain before a full-length with a flourish.

Charles couldn’t believe what he saw.

Charles stared at the mirror.

A beautiful, naked young woman stared back at him.

Was this their idea of a joke?

“Tadahh!” Ben announced. “Great job, team.”

He turned to Charles. “Okay, so the idea is, you’re undercover… with a twist! From exploiting women, to working as a waitress at your own restaurant.” He briefly applauded himself. “The viewers are gonna love it!”

Charles suddenly unfroze. “What the hell have you done to me! I knew you Hollywood f*ggots were freaks, but I didn’t think your perversion ran this deep! Take this shit off me this instant!”

“Oh, almost forgot,” Bex said. They leaned over and pressed a spot of Charles’ neck.

Ben smirked. “That’s not in our contract, Mr. Fitzgerald. And if you damage these prosthetics in any way you’re going to owe us quite a bit of money.”

Sputtering, Charles turned to walk out.

“You might want to put some clothes on, miss,” Ben said. “You’re liable to get yourself arrested walking around like that. But I’m sure they’d love you in prison.”

“Is that a threat?” Charles barked. Or tried to. A sweet, smooth soprano that he had never heard before emerged from his mouth.

“Well, I’d just like to wish you luck convincing the police of who you really are.” Ben dangled Charles’ wallet between his fingers. The bastards must’ve stolen it from his pants.

Charles grabbed for his wallet, but the prosthetics threw him off and he ended up sprawled across the floor. “Fuck!” he yelped, sitting up and rubbing where his round breasts had impacted against his chest.

“Here, I’m feeling generous.” Ben tossed Charles the wallet. “After all, a poor girl like you needs all the help she can get.”

Charles quickly rifled through the wallet, only to find that that all his money and credit cards were gone, and his driver’s license had been replaced. “Charli Edwards,” the new ID read. “Blonde 5’5” 24 F.” The photo was a fair likeness of his current appearance, complete with a shy smile.

“Get some sleep, Mr. Fitzgerald. Or should I say, Ms. Edwards? After all, your first day is tomorrow.”

Trudging from the studio back to his apartment, Charles realized from the light that it was already late afternoon. The prosthetic hips and chest were still throwing off his balance, causing him to sway strangely as he walked, and the long blonde wig fell in his face. But it was amazing how you could get used to anything.

“Hey, baby!” the driver of a passing car shouted. Charles flipped them off without looking.

He finally arrived back at the apartment, to find that it had been completely redecorated! Instead of the former professional, if spartan, surroundings, it now looked exactly like a young woman had lived there for several months. From the razors in the bathroom, to the bra hanging over a chair, to the smartphone charging by the wall, they must have thought of everything.

Charles picked up the phone and started prodding at it. He had never understood how these things worked, or why young people were so obsessed with them. After some trial and error, he finally managed to call his secretary Francesca.

“Hello? Who may I ask is speaking?”

“It’s me, you blithering idiot!” Charles suddenly remembered what Bex had somehow done to his voice.

“I’m sorry, who is this? Young lady, I don’t think that’s an appropriate way to speak to your elders.”

“It’s. Me. Your. Boss. Charles. Fitzgerald,” Charles spat, one word at a time.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Fitzgerald!” Charles sighed in relief.

“Do you think I’m a fool?! Young lady, I’m going to have this call traced, and you’re going to regret—”

Charles hung up.

Charles tried prodding at his neck for almost an hour, but he couldn’t seem to quite find the spot that Bex had pushed. He tugged at the prosthetics and the wig, but they all seem firmly attached.

He stripped off the overly tight jeans and t-shirt the studio had given him and soaked in a hot bath for as long as he could stand. The only thing this accomplished was making him uncomfortably aroused at the sight of his own body. As he stared downward, he was briefly tempted to caress the perfect round breasts, to run his hand over the beautiful shaven cunt, the way he would if a beautiful young woman had been lying in the bathtub with him

But he stopped himself, with his trademark willpower. He wasn’t some kind of f*ggot, getting off on his own body.

No matter how beautiful it looked.

“Mhmm,” the middle-aged manager drawled, leering at Charli. Charles crossed his arms over his breasts protectively. “So no prior experience?”

Charles couldn’t believe he was in this position. How dare this low-level piece of shit question Charles Edward Fitzgerald’s competence? He was fired, first thing, as soon as this ridiculous freak show was over.

“Welll. Hmh. I suppose we miight have a spot open as a server. I’m feeling generous today,” he said, licking his lips while staring at Charli’s exposed cleavage.

Charles may have resented this situation, but he knew his business know-how would shine through. “You won’t regret this.” He leaned forward over the table and firmly shook the manager’s hand, maintaining eye contact the whole time. This was presumably why he didn’t notice how the gesture caused his breasts to thrust forward and jiggle up and down. The manager grinned lasciviously. “We’re glad to have you on board.”

Charles filled out several forms, referencing his new fake ID several times, and then signed an employment contract. He meant to read the whole thing, but it was just so long and he was used to having a secretary to this kind of busywork for him. Finally, the manager led him to the back.

“Okay, here’s your uniform,” he said, pointing to a table with a pile of folded clothes on it. “You’re responsible for keeping it clean. If you need anything, ask one of the other girls. Only bother me with the big stuff, okay sweetheart? I mean like the world is ending, we’re being bombed by North Korea, etc. Not that you have your period or your boyfriend broke up with you.”

Charles was incensed. How dare this moron talk to him, a distinguished businessman and pillar of the community, so disrespectfully? He opened his mouth to say something but the manager was already gone.

“Oh, hey, are you the new girl?” asked an attractive young woman wearing the Jugs uniform who had just entered the room. Her nametag read “Kartina.” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Sorry about Ted. He’s kind of an ass. Everyone else around here is pretty nice, though!”

“Uh, where do I change?” Charles asked. He winced at how brainless he sounded.

“Oh, we usually just do it in here or the employee bathroom.” Realizing Delilah wasn’t going to leave, he excused himself to the bathroom, carrying the folded clothes.

The pile included a shirt meant for a ten year-old, an pair of shorts that really earned the name, and a baseball cap with the Jugs logo on the front. All in all, the standard Jugs uniform.

For the first time, Charles regretted his company’s policy. “I can’t believe I have to wear this… this candyass getup.”

He emerged wearing less clothes than he every had in public, his anger steadily building.

His temper quickly cooled when he saw the three beautiful young women waiting to greet him. “Hi, I’m Holly.”

“I’m Jenna!”

“And I’m Katrina.”

Charles paused for a moment, before answering the only way he really could.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Charli.”

Even on the first day, it was clear that Charli was terrible at her new job. She constantly mixed up orders, dropped plates, and scowled at customers.

She couldn’t understand how this job could be so difficult. He was used to running a multimillion dollar corporation! She rationalized that the prosthetics must be throwing off her balance. And she was constantly distracted just by seeing her own body. And of course she wasn’t going to smile at these goddamn perverts!

During that first bath, Charli had learned that, even though the prosthetics kept her from getting herself off the usual way, sticking a finger in the prosthetic pussy allowed her to just barely reach the tip. Since then, taking a bath had become a nightly ritual. He had made his peace with it. Isn’t this what any man living with a beautiful girl would do?

At first, she wondered why no camera crew was following her around. One day, she asked Stacey (who was still keeping track of her regular workouts). She told her that the studio had figured out a way to include hidden cameras in the prosthetic breasts. But she assured her they were only recording during working hours. Still, she became more careful taking her nightly baths.

After about a week on the job, Charli hadn’t improved. That Friday, Ted, the manager, called her into his office.

“I’m sorry, Charli,” he said. “I really wanted this to work out. When I first saw you, I thought you would make a great Jugs girl. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“What do you mean?! You’re firing me?” Charli started to laugh uncontrollably. This was the first time in his life that he had ever been fired.

“Welll…” Ted grinned. “There might be one way you could keep your job.” He stood up from behind his desk to reveal a bulging erection protruding from his unzipped pants.

“No… No way.”

“Well then,” Ted said. “I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone that Charli Edwards, the dumb little girl, just couldn’t cut it at the easiest job in the world. What could she ever hope to accomplish with that brain?”

“Wh-what!? How dare you?” Charli shouted. “I’m a goddamn business genius. I’ll show you.”

She knelt down and started vigorously sucking Ted’s cock. Ted grinned. “Good girl.”

After about a minute, Ted started to shake and moan. He wrenched Charli’s head back. “’I want to finish in you.”

Charli climbed up on Ted’s desk, pulled down her shorts and spread her legs obediently. Stacey’s daily training had made her so much more flexible. It’s not like this prosthetic cunt was really hers anyway. And there was no way her pride would let her lose a job that any dumb slut could do.

Ted slowly entered her. She was resigned, and even bored, at first—until he hit the back, where the tip of Charles could feel it. Charli couldn’t help letting out a moan. Finally, after all those efforts in the bath, this was the release she had been looking for.

“Hey, boss?” Katrina said, knocking on the door and then opening it to see Ted pounding away at Charli, Charli panting and moaning in ecstasy, her large breasts bouncing up and down. “Um… I’ll come back.”

Back at the studio, Ben stared at the footage they were receiving.

“We’re gonna win a goddamn Emmy.”

Alex stared at the mirror, trying to size up his potential cosplay.

I think having my hair like this should work. And I think that plucking my eyebrows helped. I should probably watch some makeup tutorials though.

Anime Expo was next week, and he had some friends visiting from Northern California to attend. Last year, at his friend Jazz’s suggestion, he had thrown together a last-minute cosplay and kind of regretted it. People didn’t even seem to realize he was in costume, and he felt vaguely embarrassed comparing his low-effort exercise shorts and black jersey, with the number 10 taped on, to all the professional-looking and polished cosplayers rocking skin-tight outfits or giant foam swords. He didn’t even have a wig or anything, figuring his messy auburn-ish hair was close enough to the character’s orange.

This year, though, he’d been planning this for months. He already bought all the necessary props on Amazon and Ali Express, except for some mild hot-gluing to assemble the skull hairpin.

Jazz kept suggesting that he crossplay--apparently she was into some League of Legends streamers who did that or something--and she insisted that with his skinny body type, almost neck-length hair, and smooth and hairless complexion, that he would make a great girl. He had decided to ALMOST, but not quite, take her suggestion.

I mean, technically Ruka is a boy. Well, in the main timeline at least. So it’s TECHNICALLY not crossplaying.

He adjusted the black wig for one last check before packing stuff away into the box under his bed. He had a vague paranoia his mom would walk in on him and think he was a weirdo, even though she was usually pretty cool about things. Even though she was technically Japanese (well, second generation), she didn’t know anything about anime beyond knowing that Pikachu was a Pokemon, or what Totoro looked like.

He briefly wondered if he should have snapped a pic to send to Jazz, before deciding it would be funnier to surprise her the day of.

---

Alex fidgeted and checked his phone once again. This IS where they had agreed to meet, right? The street corner near the LA Convention Center really smelled like piss and he was getting tired of waiting for Jazz to show up. He shouldn’t be surprised though, she was late to everything, especially if she was doing makeup beforehand.

FINALLY, he saw Jazz, her boyfriend Connor, and her girlfriend Alicia approaching (look, these were San Francisco Bay Area techies, where every other person lives with a polycule with multiple partners).

Jazz was wearing a gakuran and an over-the-top spiky wig. He wasn’t actually sure off the top of his head what anime that was from, although probably some battle shonen he hadn’t gotten around to watching. And it looked like Connor was doing Sebastian from Black Butler, AGAIN, while Licia had a pretty decent Aqua from Konosuba.

The three of them exchanged hugs before heading towards the con. As per usual, it was really hot out and layered, dark costumes weren’t helping. That was part of why Alex hadn’t actually changed into his outfit yet, even though he had already done the (minor) makeup beforehand. That, and he didn’t want to weird out his mom, or have his sister call him a weeb again. Weebs really were the most oppressed minority.

“No costume? You said you actually had something planned this year” Jazz scolded.

“Just wait a little, jeez. It’s in my bag, I’m just waiting until we get into the center and then I’m gonna find a bathroom and change.”

After waiting in line for a while--but not THAT long, compared to the schmucks who hadn’t preordered tickets--they finally got into the blessed air conditioning paradise of the con proper. A giant cardboard display advertised some new microtransaction-filled fantasy gacha game, screens played trailers for upcoming seasons, and cosplayers of all shapes, sizes, and quality milled around. After agreeing they’d meet by the artists’ alley--Jazz wanted to buy some pins from some webcomic artist--Alex ducked into the nearest men’s room to change.

He decided to check that he hadn’t sweated his makeup off or anything. While he was checking in the mirror, some random guy walked into the bathroom, did a double take, and then briefly walked back out before re-entering. Weird.

Anyway, it looked like the makeup was fine. It was basically just mascara, lip gloss, and blush anyway, because he didn’t really know how to do anything more ambitious, plus his skin generally looked fine as is. He stared at his eyebrows for a moment, wondering if he had overdone it with the plucking. Like, after Anime Expo was over, it was just going to look weird, especially when it was growing back in. But then he remembered his embarrassment at his half-assed cosplay last year and decided it was probably fine.

With a bit of difficulty, he changed in one of the stalls, managing to pull the kinda tight red pants up one leg and then the other while trying to stand on one leg at a time. After adding the black camisole and shirt, he headed back to the sinks and put on the wig cap and wig.

Heading to the artists alley, he felt a weird combination of embarrassment and pride. A few people stopped him to say they liked his cosplay, and one guy even took a photo. Definitely a different experience than last year, even if he wasn’t as flashy as some of the other cosplayers.

He found Jazz midway through buying a giant, stuffed pink bear with X’s for eyes. After grabbing it, she turned and finally noticed Alex.

“Whoa! Nice job, dude. No offense but that’s way better than last year’s.”

The group wandered around for a while looking at different stalls. Alex was almost tempted to buy some posters, but they were awfully expensive and he didn’t even know where he would put them. Then they split up, with Jazz and Licia heading to a panel with some voice actors, and Connor attending a workshop on making realistic prop weapons. Alex decided to go check out the tabletop gaming area. He hadn’t played Dungeons and Dragons for a while--the group he was hypothetically in hadn’t managed to meet for like a month--and just in case he had brought a prebuilt character sheet in the side pocket of his messenger bag.

He ended up joining a short fifth edition oneshot, with a group of four dudes who all already seemed to know each other. The Dungeon Master was a friendly, lanky guy named Stephen, who shook Alex’s hand when introducing himself.

One of the other players, Thom, was kind of being a creep and kept having his rogue uncomfortably hit on Alex’s female warlock.

“You want me to hit you with an eldritch blast, dude? It’s a cantrip, so I can go all day.”

Thom tried to wink, although his other eye didn’t actually close all the way. “Oh, and I bet you can go all night too.”

“Knock it off,” Stephen said. He turned to Alex. “Sorry about that, Thom has no clue how to behave around women. THIS is probably why we never have any female players.”

Uhhhh. Did Stephen mean my CHARACTER is female? Eh, maybe he just misspoke? I mean, it would be one thing to use female pronouns if I was dressed up as a girl, but technically I’m not even.

Alex’s train of thought was interrupted by an orc attacking the party, and he forgot about the subject in the ensuing heat of battle.

After the game was over, Stephen hung back. “Hey, so do you live in the area?”

“Yeah! Well, in the suburbs, like the South Bay, but it’s not that far. Depending on traffic.”

“Oh cool, I live in Culver City, south of Santa Monica. I might actually be trying to get a Pathfinder campaign going soon, if you’d be interested? We can exchange phone numbers or whatever. Don’t worry, Thom isn’t invited.”

“Sure, sounds cool! Uh, you can send me the details later. Do you have Facebook or Discord or anything.”

“Nah, I usually just prefer texting. Here, let me just enter my number, that’ll be easier.”

Awesome! I might actually get to play on a regularly basis.

After meeting up with Jazz et al again, wandering around some more, watching some trailers, and getting hot dogs from one of the food trucks parked outside, it was getting late enough that the crowds were beginning to disperse.

“Hey, Alex, you wanna come back to the hotel with us? We’re having a lowkey room party, just us and some people I know from back when I volunteered. Don’t worry, I promise they’re all cool.” Jazz winked exaggeratedly.

“Uh, sure. I can get changed at the room, right? Just wanna get it over with before I head home, plus it’s getting kinda sweaty in these pants.”

“Of course you can, sweaty.”

Alex groaned at the pun. Why were like 90% of his friend group bisexuals who loved terrible puns?

She was living in her parents' house. Not earning nearly enough money. She sometimes felt that the pronoun was undeserved, she hadn't done enough to earn it. Hormones for a year and her appearance basically hadn't changed. People in stories always changed extremely. Transformed beyond recognition. They got desirable female figures, dyed their hair blonde, wore makeup and dresses. Even the nonfiction stories the press seemed to pick up, the people they seemed to be interested in, were like that. Look at these before and after pictures, it's amazing how much the person changed. She looked the same. Still wore t-shirts, hoodies and jeans, they were just from the women's section now. Her hair had gotten longer. She kind of wanted to cut it—she liked the aesthetic of short hair on women—but was afraid it would make (even) more people see her as male. If she dyed her hair it would be some color like red or blue, but she was too much of a coward. Unlike stories where a “new gender” made people brave. Didn't want to draw attention to herself. Didn't want bleach to damage her hair.

She had been going to college, at a school known for being liberal. She came back after summer break, some a few more months of hormones and wearing female clothing. After someone called her “he”—how dumb was the guy, she gave a female name and had visible (fake) breasts—she ran away. Went home. Cancelled classes for the semester. Couldn't deal with it. She was theoretically going back but not looking forward to it. Maybe it'd be better next time. Yeah right.

She was really thin, probably underweight, and 6'2”. Maybe 6'3”. People sometimes said she should be a model but a. they were people who knew she was trans and were very nice and she paranoidly feared they were patronizing her and b. it meant she basically wasn't to grow any boobs. Straight up and down. Best that could be said for that was that it was androgynous maybe.

She remembered a time at what was supposedly a support group, supposedly for trans people. The facilitator, also a trans woman so she should have f**king known better, insisted on using “he” because as she said, “you look more male to me.” Or something like that. Who could remember exactly what someone said a year ago. Maybe it was less than a year. More? She couldn't remember.

Back when she first realized she was trans—realized she was female—she thought transitioning was gonna solve her problems. Her social problems, her self esteem and body image problems. If she did have body image problems; it's not that she thought she was too fat, just that she disliked looking in the mirror. Anyway it hadn't, if anything she was more awkward because now it actually made sense to expect people to dislike her, to be weirded out by or flip out at her. Not that that had happened. She felt worse about her body because it was not only ugly, but the wrong sex. She needed to gain weight to have boobs. She looked terrible all the time. Even if other people disputed that.

She didn't like the term “passing” because she was real liberal and it involved certain assumptions, yet she was still basically obsessed with the concept. It felt like the people who knew who from the past would never really think of her as female, just adapt to using a different pronoun out of kindness. Humoring the crazy person. It didn't help that people slipped up when they were distracted. It made it feel like “he” was how they really thought of her, and they just papered over their true, unacceptable thoughts with tolerant, enlightened word. She only wanted people to think of her as female—they didn't have to think she was cis—but it felt like trans women would secretly seen as men as long as they were seen as trans. She knew there was nothing wrong with being trans but was still problematically happy if someone didn't realize. She didn't want random guys in public to hit on her but was worried that it meant something that they didn't. Although that was probably because she didn't go outside much. Not interacting with people was easier.

She had been reading weird stories—stupid stuff, really—since she was very young. Stories about people “changing gender”, crossdressing or having their body magically transformed. Changing gender was in parentheses because she didn't want to imply that having your body changed to the opposite sex meant your internal sense of gender was changed. That was a problematic implication for real-life trans people. The idea that someone put into the body of “the other sex” (in quotes because it implies there are only two binary sexes) should just stop whining and get used to it. Behave how someone with that type of body was supposed to behave. Then again, it was magic, or sufficiently advanced technology. Who the f**k knows what it would do to your brain. But she was very careful, a good liberal. If she hadn't met someone before she was usually careful to call them “they”. She didn't want to make any assumptions. Way too many people had called her sir for her to want to do that to somebody else.

The first time she remembered getting an erection—yes “she” and “erection in the same sentence that way sounds very funny, very interesting and unusual, laugh it up, asshole—was from reading books with crossdressing. At the time she thought they seemed to make her have to go pee, except it felt good. In retrospect most of those books were meant to be funny. She didn't think it was funny at the time. She stilldidn't think it was funny.

She actually never crossdressed—well back then she would have considered it crossdressing. Even though she wasn't religious she thought of it as sinful. And taking people's clothes was creepy. In fact men dressing as women was creepy. She used to be really worried that she was an incurable pervert, that she had done this to herself by reading all those weird stories and now she wasn't turned on by normal sex. Sorry, “normal”. Even though she never remembered a time when when she was turned on by that. She was afraid she was ruining herself, corrupting herself past any chance of having a normal relationship.

Not that anyone ever suspected anything. She wasn't bullied at school—she was tall, got good grades and according to other people she was handsome. Her stepdad maybe thought she was gay because she never dated but that's about it. She never thought asking someone out seemed worth the risk of rejection. Rejection was something she was terrified of. She also didn't ask friends if she could come over to their house. Always waited for them to call. She didn't want to bother anyone. Annoy anyone who secretly disliked her. She had changed her mind on those things though. Honestly, she wanted a relationship, she just wasn't sure what gender she was attracted to. Maybe she was asexual, demisexual, something else. Maybe she was straight, gay, bi, pan but was too messed up about her own body to imagine sex with anyone.

She spent most of her preteen and teen years on the internet, reading every story she could find. It was escapism. She still spent far too much of her time that way. The only difference was that now all the stories upset her, with their worlds of people who were seen as female with magical ease and problematically limited notions of femininity. Or maybe that should be femaleness. People in stories seemed to start as nerds and turn into cheerleaders. She started a nerd and was still one, and wasn't planning on changing. She was still the same person—honestly, she had always been pretty tolerant of differences between humans and was an atheist so didn't have any religious objections. She had never cared that much about men being stereotypically masculine and women being stereotypically feminine. Despite reading all those stories she hadn't really thought about real trans people—she had just kind of assumed everything that didn't seem like (her) real life was fiction, or at least not thought about how it applied to the real world. Accepting trans people didn't require any changes to her belief system, unlike some people. She just wished she could accept herself.

“Hey, I have something to tell you… I’m sorry I didn’t mention this earlier. I really hope we can still be friends once you know… but if not and if you’re weirded out I can understand...”

“...I think I’m a girl.”

Ian laughed. “God, I thought that you were actually going to say something big there, Allie. You had me going for a little. I was genuinely nervous.”

“...what?”

This was not at all the reaction Allan—Allie to friends—was expecting.

“...uh, maybe you heard me wrong? I, uh, was coming out to you… y’know… as a girl?”

“Yeahhh, Allie, obviously you’re a girl. Jeez, you’re really committing to this.”

“No, what? I mean, I’m a gu—people think I’m a guy. And I’m telling you that I think I might not be. Because you’re my friend.”

Ian scoffed. “Who exactly are these mysterious people who think you’re a guy, Allie?” He gestured up and down his friend’s body. “I mean, I know you’re a little… ummm...”

“Scrawny? Shy?”

“...Noo, uh… never mind. But, like, did a stranger say something weird to you? Because I know I have some other female friends who get misgendered by randos because they have shorter hair. I have this one friend that some white lady thought was a twelve year old—”

“NO! Ian, you’re not listening to me. Just like everyone always does! EVERYONE thinks I’m a guy, okay? I basically am one, at least physically. I don’t have boobs, I have a male name, etc. Why do you not understand that I’m telling you something new about myself?!”

Ian winced. “Aaand there’s the thing I was trying not to mention earlier because you’re obviously sensitive about it. You know they make padded bras, right? Lots of girls use them. Umm, not that I’d know… but, y’know, sometimes it’s obvious. Y’know, like when a girl walks into school suddenly—”

“Suddenly?”

“Never mind, you get the point. Also, since when is your name male? I mean, I know it’s a little weird, but everyone calls you Allie anyway. And having a weird name hardly makes you a guy. I mean, like, Ashley used to be a boy’s name back in olden times. Or like Lindsey, there’s still this one senator. Or I know this one girl named Clancy, and since when is that even a first name—”

“Okay, my NAME is not the point. And I go by Allie because I never liked how the full name sounded, and it looks weird written down.”

“—oh, and you said EVERYONE thinks you’re male? I really think you’re extrapolating too much from one person. I mean, sure, you have kind of short hair and—y’know—but whoever this was must have someone missed, like, that you have pierced ears, and like your face shape, and your voice and like intonation, and how you move… not to mention your clothes. I mean, I guess you don’t really wear dresses and sometimes they’re kind of baggy, but there’s way to much in the way of purple and sky blue and like denim shorts to really make that much of a mistake.”

Allie gave up. Hopefully the next time she came out to someone would go better.

The Imitation Game
By Vilastis

“STOP IT!” Cassie yelled at her infuriating younger brother Caleb.

“STOP IT!” he yelled back.

She really hated when he did this kind of thing. And her parents didn’t fucking care. Even though he was fourteen now they still saw him as a cute little kid.

“Seriously, stop it!” She clenched her fist.

“Seriously, stop it!” He clenched his fist.

A grin spread across Cassie’s face as a new strategy occurred to her.

“I’m a girly girl!”

Caleb swallowed nervously before repeating, “I’m a girly girl!”

“Oh, you are, huh?”

“Oh, you are, huh?”

Cassie walked upstairs to her room, Caleb following at a short delay. She sat down at her vanity and pulled out a tube of lipstick. Caleb paused for a moment before he reached out and grabbed a similar color.

“Time to get pretty!”

“Time to get pretty.”

A few minutes later both siblings had fully made-up faces. Next Cassie grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.

“Hey, Mom, we’re heading to the mall!”

“Hey, Mom, we’re heading to the mall!”

“Yes, I know, your sister just told me,” their mom shouted back, annoyed. “Be back by three, Caleb, you have basketball practice. Cassie, make sure your brother doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Yes, Mom!” Cassie silently rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Mom!” Caleb rolled his.

At the mall Cassie walked into Claire’s. “Hi, I’d like to get my ears pierced,” she said to an expectant employee with a nametag reading “Denise”.

Denise was squinting at Cassie’s earrings, confused, when Caleb parroted, “Hi, I’d like to get my ears pierced.”

“Oh, okay, sure, honey! Which earrings do you want?” Cassie pointed to an especially girly pair of glitter hearts, and Caleb followed. “Great choice!”

“We get more and more boys in here,” she confided to Cassie as she led Caleb to a chair. She swabbed a solution onto his ear.

“What school do you go to?” Denise asked Caleb. “Sou—” he started to reply but then suddenly yelped. “Hey, I wasn’t ready!”

“I find it’s best to just go ahead quickly. Like pulling off a bandage!” Denise said, pulling the piercing gun away from Caleb’s ear.

Caleb sulked as Cassie paid for the earrings and a cleaning kit.

Next the two headed to Forever 21. Cassie picked out a short, floral-pattern dress—after making sure it was available in both her and Caleb’s size. Caleb groaned as he grabbed one off the rack and headed into the women’s changing room after her. A store employee looked at him slightly strangely as he passed but didn’t stop him.

He started to head into the same stall as Cassie before a store employee stopped him. “Miss, we have a strict one person per stall policy.” He groaned in annoyance and entered the adjacent stall.

Cassie finished changing into the dress and examined herself in the mirror. Meanwhile, Caleb was having trouble figuring out how to put his dress on. Did you pull it over your head or put your feet into it? After several aborted attempts he figured out that his legs wouldn’t fit through the neck hole.

Cassie, satisfied, exited her stall. She looked around and didn’t see her brother anywhere. Maybe they wouldn’t let him come in here? I better check the main store? she thought.

Caleb exited from his stall, his cheeks hot with embarrassment, to find his sister gone and her stall empty. She must have finished up. I better go look for her.

Leaving the dressing room distractedly, Caleb crashed right into a boy around his age carrying a stack of clothing, knocking him over and sending black jeans flying everywhere.

“Watch where you’re going, dude,” Caleb snapped before he remembered he was trying to only talk when his sister did. He reached down to help the boy up.

“S-sorry” the boy said, bolting to his feet and running his hand over his hi-top fade.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked Caleb, seemingly recovered. Caleb remained silent.

The boy waited a little bit. “I’m Neal. It’s nice to meet you.”

More radio silence from Caleb.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” Neal said. He turned to leave. Just then Cassie showed up.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked Caleb.

“Who’s your friend?”

A wicked grin spread over Cassie’s face as she remembered the situation. Neal just stood there looking confused. “Is this your sister?”

Cassie looked Neal up and down. “You know, you’re pretty cute.”

Caleb gulped audibly before repeating. “You know, you’re pretty cute.”

Neal started glancing around nervously and drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Thanks!” he said. “I think you’re a little old for me, though,” he said, addressing Cassie.

Cassie pulled out her phone and tried to offer it to Neal. He glanced at it in her hand without reacting.

Caleb thrust out his phone. Neal gingerly took it and entered his number. His lips quirked irrepressibly upwards.

“Shit, I gotta get going,” Neal said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Caleb just stood there in a daze as Neal waved and walked away.

Caleb and Cassie walked in the front door at about two thirty. Their mom yelled from the kitchen, “Is that you, Caleb? You need to start getting ready for practice.”

She started to walk into the front room before freezing at the unexpected sight of her two identically dressed children.

“Cassie, I thought I asked you to keep your brother OUT of trouble!”

Think Like A Girl
By Vilastis
Two friends make a strange bet that goes off in, well, a pretty predictable direction considering what website this is.

“I bet you can’t can’t ride down those steps on your crappy old bike”

“You’re on, dude.”

Taylor lined up the path he would follow, his eyes narrowed in concentration. His bike surged forward and started bumping down the steep steps at top speed. Taylor whooped with exhilaration as he flew down the steps. Suddenly, his front wheel smashed into the railing and he fell off, landing on his side and skidding down the last few steps.

“Ah man, I knew you couldn’t do it,” Dave crowed. “Now you’ve gotta do whatever I say.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taylor groaned. “Just don’t make it too embarrassing.”

Dave paused in thought. “Hmmm. Yeah. No, not that. That? Oh yeah, I’ve got it.” He leaned over and whispered in Taylor’s ear.

Taylor stared at his friend in shock. “Dude, why the fuck is that your price? Are you some kinda faggot?”

Dave laughed and scratched his nose. “Nah, dude, I just think it's funny.”

“Why do you want me to act like a girl?! Super gay, dude.”

“Jeez, dude, it's not like you have to crossdress or anything. You only have to think differently. I bet no one will even notice. It's only a week anyway.”

Taylor was steaming all the way home, but he knew he would do it. To not follow the terms of a bet would impugn his honor as a man. Not that he would have phrased it that way.

“Think like a girl. Think like a girl,” Taylor mentally chanted to himself. He stared in the bathroom mirror. Definitely a guy.

“Like, oh my god. I look, like soo hideous without makeup,” he tentatively said in a ridiculous falsetto. No, that didn’t seem right. Dave wasn’t specific about what kind of girl anyway.

Taylor closed his eyes to steel himself, then opened them again. If he really tried, he could maybe see the person in the mirror as being a girl.

Some girls wear hoodies and have short hair, he thought. I’ll just half-ass it. It’s Dave’s fault for not being more specific

He looked at his—no, her—reflection. Her. H—She needed to remember that. Thank god hi—her name was gender neutral. She stared at the mirror.

You know, I look alright. Hmm, I wonder if I would look better with a pixie cut.

The next day at school, Taylor was still kind of pissed at Dave. Why would he ask gu—girl to do something weird like that. She still walked with him to homeroom, but instead of talking to him like usual just silently sulked.

Dave noticed something was up. “Hey, is something wrong, Taylor? You don’t seem like yourself today.”

“Yeah, I don’t seem like myself. Myself, you know. A GUY. Thanks to your stupid bet.”

“Uh, jeez dude—ette. Dudette. Sorry if I went overboard with that. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Taylor pouted. “Come on. I can’t do that. That would impugn my honor as a m—woman.” I’ll be darned, he did say it that way. Well, flip me over and call me a flapjack. Maybe he’s been reading more. Er, I mean she.

After that, Taylor relented a little. Dave noticed with mild curiosity that she was carrying her books held up to her chest. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and wisely refrained from commenting.

At lunch, Taylor and Dave sat, alone, at the same table they always did. Taylor was steamed again, but this time it wasn’t at Dave, much to his relief.

“There’s this guy in my math class that just keeps on talking. I know the answers too but the teacher keeps on calling on him. God, guys are the worst sometimes.”

Dave nodded in indifferent agreement, wishing to avoid becoming the target of her ire. Then he had a sudden urge, and against his better judgment decided to prod her a little. I mean, what are friends for if not lightly mocking each other? No, seriously, what are they for? Ugh, I might need to get new friends.

“That’s just what the world is like for women, babe. It sucks, but what are you gonna do?” Dave spouted in a brave but foolish gesture.

“Yeah, well just because the world is like that now doesn’t mean we can’t try to change it,” Taylor grumbled. “I mean, if men like you played a bigger part, maybe we could really make a difference.”

Dave nodded blindly and wisely changed the topic to video games. A little ironic as a topic, if you ask me. What’s that, no one asked me? Well fine, see if I’m available the next time you need a narrator. Hmph.

Dave and Taylor hung out after school, like usual. Taylor was setting up her crappy old console, an Ibis PlayMaster. Most of them were recalled back in the nineties due to being a fire hazard, so I understand if you haven’t heard of them. Don’t look it up.

Dave was about to close the door so they could get down to some hardcore gaming, when Taylor paused, seeming uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?” Dave asked. It felt like Taylor had been really moody lately.

“I’m not sure you should—you know—close the door. It’s just that people might get the idea.”

Dave was a little pissed. He honestly hadn’t expected Taylor to take the terms of the bet this far. “WHAT idea? What idea are people going to get? Please explain it to me.”

Taylor tried to say something but Dave interrupted. “What, that we’re two gay guys? Just a couple of REDACTED (I, the narrator, don’t approve of this language)?’

“I’M NOT GAY!” Taylor yelled. “IF I LIKED YOU IT WOULDN’T BE GAY. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MADE ME DO THIS, OK? ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR ONCE.”

Dave stood up, his face cold. “I think I need to get home now.”

After he was gone, Taylor lay on her bed and squeezed a pillow as if trying to choke the life from it. Dave had been her best friend since second grade.

Taylor and Dave avoided each other at school the next day. It wasn’t hard. They didn’t share any classes except homeroom. Taylor sat alone at lunch. Stupid Dave.

Stupid emotions.

She glanced at where he was sitting, then intentionally looked away.

Dave sat alone. He snuck a quick glance at Taylor one time.

Was she wearing eyeliner?

Later that day, Taylor walked into the women’s room without thinking about it. A girl inside took umbrage.

“Aren’t you a guy? You can’t be in here.” Taylor just looked at her with a sneer and ignored her. The girl didn’t say anything else.

God, just because she had short hair and didn’t wear as much makeup as some other girls. Honestly, she was kind of sick of it. Maybe she should get a makeover or something.

The next day they still didn’t sit together. God, maybe it’s true that boys and girls can’t just be friends, she thought. Wait, that sounds like we end up dating. I don’t even know if I like boys. I might like girls, I should keep an open mind.

From the other table, Dave stared, incredulous. Taylor had gotten a haircut that, while shorter, made her look a lot more girly. He wouldn’t be surprised if other guys started moving in her.

He mentally slapped himself for thinking that. They had been friends since elementary school, for crying out loud.

I wonder if I should go back to being a guy. I mean, thinking like a guy. Urgh, I don’t even know what I mean. I feel like this has been causing problems between me and Dave. Maybe I can just make the whole thing go away.

She heard the front door slam down stairs. She poked her head out. It was Tara, one of her older sisters, getting home.

She walked downstairs, still just wearing her pajamas. “Hey sis.”

“Hey.”

The two of them sat on the couch watching TV. It was the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

Taylor eventually shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something? You know, just some guy—I mean, just friend, advice?”

Tara chuckled. “Jeez, lil bro, it sounded like you were about to ask me for advice dealing with guys. I don’t think that’s something you need any advice on.”

Taylor beamed a glare of pure hatred into her sister’s forehead, to no apparent effect.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you what? Oh, lil bro?” She glanced at her sibling. “Yeah I guess you’re not really that little any more. Taller than me now! When did that happen?”

Taylor didn’t like being reminded of her height. “Don’t call me bro, either.”

“Fiiiiiine,” Tara moaned, acting like it was the biggest chore ever. “If you’re gonna get all pissy about it. Okay, TAYLOOOORR?”

Good enough.

“Okay, so if a guy spent a lot of time with you—you know, you’ve known him for a long time, and then he comes over once and then he just starts avoiding you all the time? What would you do?”

Tara cackled. “I’m sorry you’re FIGHTING with your BOYFRIEND. It’s probably just a lover’s spat.” She paused and looked solemn for a moment. “Seriously though, bro, if you’re gay, I’m chill. Just putting it out there.”

Taylor groaned. “I don’t know why I thought asking YOU was a good idea.”

Taylor and Dave started talking again after a few days, even if it was more awkward than before. You can only be angry for so long and the two didn’t have a whole lot of friends. They just sort of ended up gravitating towards each other.

Apparently, in her absence, Dave had made a new set of friends. Dave tried to get them all to hang out, but Taylor couldn’t stand them. They seemed to do nothing but play first person shooters, and some of them just casually said horrible things about women. Taylor had never liked FPSs; knowing she could die at any moment really freaked her out.

Taylor had been trying to think more masculinely again, so they could just go back to their normal male friendship. Is that a word? Masculinely? My spellcheck is coming up. She felt a little bad about it. The week of the original bet was up tomorrow, so technically she was cheating a little. The thing is, she was having a little trouble with it.

She had been trying to wear a little bit of makeup—you know, not much, maybe just a little bit of eyeliner and sometimes lipstick. She was just trying to fit in a little better with the other girls. She—he—was over that now, though. Time to be tough and manly.

She—HE—marched over to the table where Dave had already sat down with his new friends, legs far apart in a wide, manly stride. She felt a pang of sadness remembering how it used to be just the two of them sitting together, but shook it off. Men didn’t feel emotions, and they pretended they didn’t if they did.

“Hey, bro,” she said to Dave, nodding and trying to deepen her voice. It seemed to have gotten higher over the last week for some reason. Dave cracked up.

“What?” she asked in her normal voice, offended.

“I’m sorry, that was just… I can’t even…” He wiped the tears from under his eyes, his speech still periodically interrupted to chuckles.

One of Dave’s dumb new friends—she thought he was named Ray?—leaned over and stage whispered to Dave, “No offense, man, but your girlfriend is terrible at acting.”

‘She/he’s not my girl/boyfriend!” Dave and Taylor blurted simultaneously. Taylor blushed, her cheeks turning red as she backed away from the table. “I’m… just gonna let you dudes eat alone,” she said, then fled to the relative safety of an empty table.

“That was the most tsundere thing I’ve ever seen,” Ray observed. Dave smacked him in the back of the head.

At the safe isolation of her private table, Taylor was trying her best not to think about things and just focus on eating. She couldn’t believe they laughed at her. She made a good guy. God. She had been one until a week ago! Wait, no, that made it sound like she wasn’t one now—which she definitely was. HE. Dammit.

Her complete and successful focus on eating was suddenly broken by a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, half expecting it to be Dave coming to apologize. Make that hoping. Of course it wasn’t.

Standing in front of her was Amy, a girl she had talked to a few times before class on the days she was avoiding Dave. She didn’t know Amy that well, but she seemed pretty cool. They had a lot of interests in common.

“Are you okay?” Amy asked gently. “You look kind of down. And I, um, saw it looked like you were fighting with Dave again. I hope things are okay between the two of you.” Okay, so maybe she had complained to Amy about Dave a little. A lot. Come on, it was just really on her mind at the time.

Taylor sighed. “It’s okay. He can just be kind of insensitive sometimes, you know? And his friends are jerks.” She forgot to count herself as his friend.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “A lot of guys are just like that. It sucks.” She patted Taylor on the shoulder, technically violating the school’s zero tolerance policy.

Taylor suddenly thought of an important question, but before she could ask it the bell rang.

“Hey, dude,” Ray asked Dave as they were walking through the hall. “The winter dance is coming up. Can I ask Taylor? You said you’re not dating her, and she’s pretty cute. If not a great actress.” He chuckled at his own wit.

“Uh, no! No, you can’t do that,” Dave stammered.

“Why not, man? You can’t just, like, claim her. God, just ask her out already, or let the rest of us have a turn.”

Dave had no idea how to respond.

*Bleep bleep* went the PlayMaster as Taylor collected five coins.

*Bloop bloop* as Dave stole them.

“Hey!” she said.

They were almost to the end of the level. Without moving his gaze from the screen, Dave said “Ray wants to ask you to the dance.”

Taylor yelled, “WHAT?!” Onscreen, her character fell in a pit and died.

“I win!” Dave shouted.

“You gotta go to the dance with me,” Taylor pleaded while following Dave down the hall. “Pleeeeeease.” She glanced up at him with what were meant to be puppy dog eyes. It looked more like she had been staring at the sun for too long.

Dave finally relented. “FINE. Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around?” he mumbled.

“YES!” Taylor wrapped Dave in a tight hug. “No touching!” a passing teacher shouted. She gingerly released him.

“Ray just won’t stop asking, and no offense, I know you guys are friends, but I can’t stand him.”

Dave sighed and brought his fingers up to the fridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I know. He’s not great with women.”

“Not 3D women, at least.” They both laughed, though Dave instantly felt bad.

“What did you just say?” Ray asked, appearing seemingly from nowhere.

“NOTHING!” they both shouted.

“Oh, and Dave finally asked me to the dance, so there. You have to stop asking now.” She stuck her tongue out at Ray triumphantly.

“Well, we could always go for a reverse harem—“

“SHUT UP, YOU DAMN WEEB,” Dave and Taylor chorused. (Let me just reaffirm that the views held by the characters are not necessarily held by me, your gentle narrator.)

The dance was pretty swanky, at least by school dance standards. Blue and white sparkling streamers hung from the cafeteria’s ceiling, while below slow music and mood lighting reigned. Taylor had to spend her entire allowance for the last three months on a dress. She hadn’t realized how goddamn EXPENSIVE these things are. Good thing she had been saving up for a new bike.

“You know, that week was up a while ago,” Dave observed as the two awkwardly swayed back and forth.

“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it,” Taylor said. They were silent for a moment.

“You know, you’re my best friend,” Dave told her.

“And you’re mine.”

The two danced together a little longer in the dim light. Whatever they wanted to talk about, there would always be tomorrow.

Tit Man
By Vilastis

Jack finds himself changed after a school field trip to a high-tech bio lab.

This was an attempt to write something different, and more explicit, than what I usually write. Note: There’s some, um, not great language later on.

“And this is the lab where we work on new technologies,” the scientist leading the tour announced. Jack's interest was immediately attracted to a tank with what looked like two hemispherical blobs of flesh floating in it. “What's that?” he asked the labcoated tour guide.

“That,” she pronounced, “is an experiment in selective cloning. We encourage stem cells to differentiate into specific organs. Hopefully this will one day allow us to grow donor organs with a lower incidence of rejection.”

“It looks like tits,” Jack observed. The researcher winced. “It is... breasts. The idea is to help women who have had mastectomies. Unfortunately, the experiment is currently unstable and...”

Jack had stopped listening. He was kind of obsessed with boobs. If there was a big pair, he didn't even care what they were attached to. He lingered behind the rest of the group and then stuffed the cylindrical tank into his backpack, dumping all his books on the floor in the process. His own pair of boobs to look at and even feel at any time! It was even better than having a girlfriend.

The researchers didn't notice it was missing until it was too late.

As soon as he got home Jack eagerly pulled out his score. He started by staring at the boobs while masturbating. Then he unscrewed the top of the tank and felt them. They were so soft!
It was amazing. But the liquid they were in, though it looked like water, smelled gross and chemically. He pulled the boobs out and carefully set them on the counter, pouring the tank into the bath and then running the water for a little.

He was struck by sudden curiosity. Unlike most boobs that were attached to someone, he could manipulate these however he wanted. He squished them onto either side of his dick and rubbed them up and down. They were so soft and squishy and still coated in liquid! It felt great!

Then he held them up to his own chest, where boobs would be if he had some. He laughed—it was kinda gay, but when else would he see what boobs looked like from first person?

It was then that things went wrong. Jack tried to pull the boobs away from his chest, but they were somehow stuck. Maybe the weird chemicals burned through my shirt and then got dry and sticky, he thought. Then he started freaking out that the chemicals might give him cancer or something.

Jack pulled really hard and was surprised by how much it hurt. Must really be pulling on my chest. He pulled his tattered shirt up above the breasts and then gasped.

“Sweet mother of-!”It looked like the boobs had somehow attached to his body... become part of him. It must just be some really good glue. He pulled again and was surprised by the moan that came out of his mouth. If he didn't pull too hard, it actually felt... good. Really good.

Not really consciously he started massaging the breasts. How did it even feel so—it must be pulling on his nipples, but his nipples had never felt this good. Another moan erupted and he was surprised at how feminine it sounded. Shit, maybe he was turning gay.

He pulled himself away from the pleasant stimulation and started to look for solutions. Rubbing alcohol and nail polish remover didn't remove the glue, just stung his skin. He even tried paint thinner out of desperation but quickly regretted it and washed it off when it began to burn. Curiously, it felt like it even hurt the boobs—like he could fell what happened to them. It must have gotten under the seam.

He really didn't want his parents to know he had stolen some top-secret experiment. Knowing them they'd think nothing of narcing on him. He didn't want to go to juvie!

Finally he ended up ordering a bunch of glue removers off of Amazon. His mom would probably be pissed he ordered one-day shipping for a bunch of things but whatever. This was kinda important. For all he knew he was getting cancer right now.

But for now he better find some more short term solution. He finally settled on wrapping the boobs tightly with a cloth to try and hide them. It looked okay as long as he wore a baggy shirt over it.

His parents didn't seem to notice anything at dinner. They just asked about how the field trip was. Now he just had to get the day at school tomorrow and the solvents would arrive.

The first four periods and lunch were fine—it's not like anyone paid a lot of attention to him or hugged him or anything. His chest hurt but he figured it was from being wrapped kinda tight. Then came the class he was dreading. P.E.

He told the gym teacher he had a headache, but she wasn't buying it. Shit. He'd faked being sick too many times before. Some boy who cried wolf shit.

He at least managed to sneak into the bathroom and change in a stall. One of the kids who liked to hassle him was waiting outside the bathroom.

“Hey, why don't you change with the rest of us? What, you too good for us? Or you just don't want us to see your big gay pussy?”

The mockery wasn't even coherent but it was still uncomfortably close to the truth.

He just ignored the guy and went on to class.

Today was volleyball. Lots of jumping up and down. Normally he liked volleyball day because he could watch the girls... jiggle, but today he was kinda nervous. Made it hard to enjoy it.

SHIT FUCK SHIT! Halfway through the first game he felt the cloth strip coming loose. He tried to go to the bathroom to adjust and was stopped by the teacher. Shit, he hated this bitch.

He went back to playing v-ball and tried to do as little physical activity as possible. His teammates got mad when he missed some easy saves but he managed to get to the end of the class without the situation getting any worse.

...when he bent down to get the ball, his shirt caught on the net...

...and tore wide open in the front.

He dropped the ball and managed to pull the two halves together in front off him, but not before he saw Ryan—the ass from earlier—shooting him a wide, knowing smirk.

Shit. Hopefully he hadn't really seen anything.

Ryan cornered Jack as he was leaving his last class. “Well, well, well...” he drawled. “I knew you were a pussy but I didn't realize you were an actual girl.” He laughed. “What are you, a tranny? Got some breast implants?”

Jack winced. “I don't know what you're talking about. Frankly you sound crazy.”

Ryan suddenly thrust his hands forward and grabbed Jack's... chest. Jack moaned involuntarily. Ryan grinned.

“See, I told ya. I know boobs when I see them. And I definitely know when I feel 'em”

He continued to massage the boobs—no, Jack's boobs. Jack could no longer deny they were real, they were his. No prosthetic could ever feel this good. His knees became weak and he sank down to the ground. Ryan loomed over him.

“If you don't want me to tell anyone... it's gonna cost ya.”

Jack cried out “ah.... aah...ahh...” as Ryan rhythmically squeezed his breasts and thrust into him from behind. Finally, he couldn't last any longer and squirted everywhere.

“Bad girl,” Ryan scolded. “You're not allowed to come before I am.

Jack was dressed in long blonde wig and short pink sheath dress pulled up around his waist. His red lipstick was smeared. His boobs thrust out above the dress's cups. Ryan was filming, like he always did, though it's not like he even needed the blackmail material anymore. Jack had always loved boobs, but never more than on his own chest.