Aunt Fey Changed Me Into A Girl - Chapter 2

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If you think the school’s bad, just wait until you have to flip burgers for forty years, with some eighteen-year-old manager screaming in your ear that you aren’t doing it fast enough.” I looked down and saw that he was still wearing his little gym shorts, which were so tight that the bulge of his package was apparent.

It seemed highly inappropriate, seeing as he taught mostly children. I looked away quickly. “I don’t fit in there. I’ll retake the courses online. It’s not a big deal,” I said. He laughed and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your GED online? You’ve got six courses that could cost you thousands of dollars and take you years, assuming you’re capable of teaching yourself all the material. There’s a reason we have schools with teachers who spend years in college. It’s not meant to be something you can just figure out on the Internet.” “Whatever. I can do what I want,” I said, feeling like I was being attacked. I wanted him to go away.

I didn’t want to be reminded that I was going to fail. He was looking at me as if I didn’t know how horrible flipping burgers was; he had no idea that I’d already done it for months. I knew how awful it was. I knew what it was like to have some pimply-faced manager screaming in my ear. I hated it. I was glad to be away from it. And maybe he had a point. Maybe I didn’t want to do that for the rest of my life. Maybe it would be nice to have some other options.

But what could I do? I couldn’t just show up for school and have everyone mocking me. He was staring into my eyes as if he was trying to figure out my hand in a game of poker. “What’s wrong, son?” he said. “The kids pick on you?” My heart fluttered. “So what if they do?” I said. “I was picked on in high school too. It sucked. But look, I’m going to give you a secret, a little trick that will make you immune for the rest of the school year. It might not win you any friends, but it will keep the bullies far, far away from you. Come back to school and go to the receptionist in the office.

Tell her that you’re coming out as gay, or bi, trans, or whatever the kids are doing these days. The school has a zero-tolerance policy on homophobia. If someone even looks at you the wrong way, even outside of school, they could face expulsion. It’s an immunity I wish I had back in high school.” “You’re gay?” I asked. He shook his head quickly. “No, of course not. I’m married with kids. But I would have lied for the immunity.

Just come back to school and finish your courses. You’ll be glad that you did.” He turned around and started heading for his car, leaving me standing in the doorway with a fluttering heart. It wasn’t a bad idea. I didn’t know anyone in the school, and I didn’t care if they gossiped about me behind my back because they would never see me again or even hear from me once I was back in Toronto, which would hopefully be in just a few months.

Maybe I would go back to flipping burgers, but at least with my diploma, I could quickly be promoted to manager. At least it wouldn’t seem like I was at a dead end, even if I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t go back to school the next day, but I thought about it. I found myself toying with the idea of going back. Maybe I could come up with a new name. I wondered if anyone would remember me from the short period of time that I was there almost two months before. If I told the receptionist that I was gay, I could also tell her that I was going by Kyle now, or Roger anything but Kenny, so that my name wouldn’t be forever tied to the new gay kid at the school. But I wasn’t gay. The thought of coming out as gay made my heartache.

I didn’t want people thinking I was gay, even though I knew they couldn’t make fun of me to my face. Though maybe people would just be nicer to me if they thought I was gay. Those girls invited me to eat lunch with them strictly because they thought that I was a homosexual. I could put on a pair of fake glasses and wear a baseball cap to school every day. I could sit in the far back corner and get by with the minimum amount of work. I didn’t exist to anyone in that school now, and I would cease to exist in a few months after graduation. So what did I have to lose? I could do anything by anyone. I felt a warmth glowing in my chest.

I could be anyone. Why was that thought so appealing? Why did that get me so excited? For the next few months, I could live without social repercussions. I was essentially leasing a temporary identity that I could do anything with, like a rental car that wasn’t rented under my own name. I could crash it as much as I wanted, as long as I didn’t hurt myself too badly. I was sitting in the café, sipping from my thermos, trying to think of a name, when a woman walked in.

She was wearing a short white dress with little frilly cuffs that sat gracefully on her upper arms. She had beautiful curly hair and bright, stunning eyes. I loved the way she had her makeup done, with long flicks of eyeliner and a bit of pink blush on her cheekbones. And her shoes were to die for white, to match her dress, with little gold buckles on the many little straps.

The woman was exactly what I wished I could be. Right down to the small details, she was dressed how I would have dressed if I were a woman. A cold dread suddenly filled my gut. I looked away and shook my head. What the hell kind of thoughts were running through my mind? Why was I admiring a woman’s wardrobe and wishing I were her?

Since when did I want to be a woman? Since when did I have deranged thoughts like that? I took my thermos and started my long hike home. Now I needed the fresh air, and I needed to be far, far away from that pretty woman. I didn’t like what she was doing to my brain. I didn’t like that I was slowly losing control over my own thoughts.

It was that same afternoon when I noticed my breasts for the first time. I was getting undressed to get into the shower when I caught my reflection in the mirror and saw that my flat boyish chest was no longer flat. I had two subtle lumps, which jiggled slightly when I hopped up and down. At first, I assumed they were man-boobs from Aunt Fey’s butter-rich cooking but I didn’t have fat anywhere else on my body.

And my nipples seemed to be larger and perkier. I cupped my subtle lumps. They were soft. I’d never felt a woman’s breasts before, but I imagined they felt something like this. Nausea began to swirl in my gut. I let go and shook my head quickly. “They’re just man-boobs,” I said to myself. And that’s probably all they were. Though when I got out of the shower and went to put on a pair of shorts instead of the jeans I’d been wearing all week, I noticed something different: my hips were suddenly wider. I could hardly squeeze into my shorts, and once I had them on my body, they looked strange: stretched out at the hips, making them look baggy around my thighs.

They were unflattering, even though they’d been my go-to shorts for two years. I took them off and then stood in front of the mirror, completely naked. I couldn’t help but notice that my ball sack was smaller, and my cock was a bit smaller as well. I reached down and cupped my whole package. It fit neatly into the palm of a single hand. Had I always been able to do that? Was my body going through changes? For years I’d been expecting a growth spurt, but this was the opposite of what I thought that I would get. I thought I would get taller. I thought my cock would grow an extra inch or two. I thought my shoulders would get wider not my hips! My heart was suddenly racing. What if there was something wrong?

What if my body was producing the wrong hormones? What if I was actually born with both girl and boy parts, and my parents never told me? I saw that on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy some girl finds out that she was actually a boy. Apparently, it’s a real thing and happens all the time. Maybe that would explain some of the strange things I’d been noticing lately. Maybe that would explain the smaller frame I’d always had. I didn’t go to school the next day. Instead, I walked to town, sipping my coffee from my thermos, and then I walked back to the house.

I didn’t even go into the café. It was a long, pointless walk, and I only made the walk because I was hoping that the fresh air would force some of the strange thoughts and urges out of my head. But the thoughts and urges were still there when I got back to the house. Aunt Fey was gone, out for the day as she usually was. So I decided to try on some of her clothes. But before getting dressed up, I got into the shower and shaved my legs and crotch, and armpits. I knew I would look stupid in all of those skirts and dresses if I had hair all over my legs and armpits. As for the crotch, I was just curious to see how I would look clean-shaven. I kind of liked the look.

I started my dress-up session with a pink satin dress. It was soft and light and I could hardly feel it on my body. I liked the way it made my bum look, especially once I had my feet stuffed into a pair of black strappy heels. The heels fit surprisingly well. Apparently Aunt Fey and I had roughly the same sized feet. I did a few walks around the house, feeling the light dress dancing on my skin. I could even feel my soft chest lumps bouncing up and down with each heeled step. When I was getting changed into my second dress, I took a moment to check the lumps out in the mirror.

Maybe I was going crazy, but they looked even bigger today as if they’d grown a few ounces overnight. Is that even possible? The second dress was a blue floral dress. It extended down to my calves in the back but only my thighs in the front. I loved the way it swayed when I spun from side to side. And I really loved the way the deep cut down the chest made it look like I had real cleavage. The fabric was so soft that my nipples were obvious bulges. I ran my fingers through my hair, wishing my hair were long, so I could curl it and feel it cascading down my shoulders. With the blue dress, I wore a pair of brown heels, which were a bit beachy, with braided straps. They were comfortable and easy to walk in. I set up my phone on a table to take a few pictures as I made a few poses.

Then, as I admired the photos of myself, my stomach turned. I was looking at pictures of myself wearing women’s clothing and women’s high heels. My legs were shining, hairless, and worst of all: I actually kind of looked like a chick in the pictures, even with my short hair and makeup-free face. I quickly deleted the pictures and got undressed. “What the hell are you doing?” I said aloud many times as I got Aunt Fey’s room back to the way I found it. I looked at the time and realized I’d been playing dress-up for nearly three hours already.

Maybe I really was losing my mind. But even if I was losing my mind, that didn’t explain the wide hips and the sudden existence of breasts on my chest if that was what they were. I was a man I’d always been a man, even if I’d never been good at manly things like sports or cars or construction.

I was still a guy. I couldn’t let this sissy crap take over my life. Though now I was starting to toy with the idea of going to school as a girl in my head. Would everyone make fun of me? Maybe behind closed doors, but not to my face. Like the gym teacher said: I would be immune if I showed up as a transgender. And then I could spend the next few months dolled up, trying out different makeup styles and wearing different outfits. Maybe those girls would even accept me as a friend, the way they did when they thought that I was gay.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, I could have some friends. The idea brought a smile to my face, but it also brought a churning dread into my gut. I was actually considering the preposterous idea or was it an amazing idea? My heart was pounding and I found myself looking once again inside of Aunt Fey’s large closet. I found a plaid skirt and a cute grey sweater. The outfit went perfectly with a tiny pair of black flats. It was the perfect schoolgirl outfit sure to get the attention of at least a few boys. My heart stuttered again. Why did I care about getting the attention of boys?

Why wasn’t I rejecting this idea like it was some terminal disease?

Why did I feel so strangely excited? Maybe because I knew no one knew me. I could make up a new name and then cease to exist five minutes after graduation. As I looked into that closet, I was looking at complete freedom: a life I could do whatever I wanted with, with no repercussions. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.