We Can Work It Out: A MORFS Universe Story
By Terry Volkirch
I'm dreaming again. Everything seems so real but somehow I know it's a dream.
I'm walking through my school like I own it. Everyone moves out of my way as I
carve a path down the middle of the hall. After what seems like a mile, I
finally come to my destination. It's not a location, it's a person. It's her -
Jill, the love of my life.
I smile and say hi but she gives me a blank look.
"Do I know you?" she asks.
"What? Yes!" I sputter. I'm confused. I expect her to know me. We met in my last dream. Then I look down at myself and gasp. I'm a girl in this dream. When we met before, I was a boy. It's no joke. She really doesn't recognize me. That was too much. I woke up and hugged myself to control the trembling.
As my mood progressed to a dull heart ache, I ever so slowly looked at the clock on my night stand and noticed it was late morning already. I went to bed early and got up late. I must have needed the sleep. After shaking off the memory of the dream, I turned and sat up on the edge of the bed, taking my time to fully wake up.
There was a new set of clothes, including another blue sport bra, hanging on my old wooden chair at my computer desk. I knew the bra must be a new, clean one because I vaguely remembered leaving my dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom last night. My mother always tossed my dirty clothes in the laundry hamper so the old bra was well on its way to the washing machine. I made a mental note to be better about cleaning up after myself and got up to dress.
The clothes fit well enough. The black jeans were a little baggy but comfortable. I didn't know it at the time but they'd be the last pair of baggy jeans I'd wear for awhile. After some intense girl watching at the mall, it would be plain to see that the current style was tight jeans. They emphasized each and every feminine curve and would cause me more than a little embarrassment. The dark green polo shirt I put on was also looser and much longer than the going style. It would be given away along with the jeans. I added a pair of black socks and then put on the same white sneakers from yesterday. The white shoes looked funny with my black pants but I didn't have much choice. They were the only pair of shoes that would fit.
Breakfast was a delight that made it easy to forget about my unpleasant dream. The smell of bacon and scrambled eggs permeated the air and quickly lured me downstairs. A fork full of eggs was on its way to my mouth before I even sat down. I didn't have to add salt and pepper. Mother always thoughtfully added seasoning as she cooked it. She knew exactly how I liked my eggs.
I was halfway through my meal when the doorbell rang. My mom dutifully answered the door and returned to tell me I had a visitor. It was Greg - a neighbor friend who lived a couple houses down from mine. She told him I'd be out to see him after I finished breakfast. Okay. I guess maybe I would talk to him, though I wasn't crazy about the idea.
Greg was about my former height and slightly pudgy, with dark brown hair and dull, gray eyes. He was another math and science geek. That's why we got along so well. There was one thing about him that I didn't like however. He was obsessed with girls. He'd stalked one girl until her brother put a stop to it by giving Greg a well deserved broken nose. You'd think my friend would've learned his lesson but he didn't. He moved on to obsess about one girl after another, careful enough not to step over the line with stalking but annoying each one nonetheless.
I wasn't looking forward to seeing him. I didn't want to be his next fantasy girl. Luckily my eggs and bacon kept me from dwelling on the subject. Nothing would keep me from finishing my favorite breakfast.
Greg sat on my front steps with his back to the door, waiting for me. He turned when he heard the front door open. "Gah!" was all he could get out when he saw me. Apparently, I was another one of his potential stalking victims. His eyes fixed on my breasts and didn't let go. It was a pathetic display of teenage lust.
"C'mon Greg. It's still me," I scolded. "Though I go by Bobbi now."
He still didn't say a word. Only his eyes talked, and I didn't like what they were saying.
"That's enough!" I shouted. It startled him enough to get him to listen to me, and now that I had his attention, I took full advantage of it.
"Go home, Greg," I growled. "Go home and lock yourself in your bathroom with one of your dad's porno magazines. Get it out of your system, and after you're done, if you're nice enough to keep your eyes on my face, maybe we can have a conversation."
With that, I went back inside and shut the door on yet another former friend. I made my way to my mother's comforting arms. There were no tears this time, only a numb emptiness that could only be filled by a nice long hug.
"I never liked him," my mother said after a time, while still holding me. We spoke quietly into each other's ear, neither of us ready to end the hug.
"He's nice enough to talk to about technical things," I countered. "But I find him creepy and sad now."
"Maybe he just needs the right girl," mom said without thinking.
"But not me!" I blurted out. I knew she didn't really mean me but I couldn't help it.
"No, dear," mom agreed. "Not you."
I reluctantly broke our embrace and looked my mother in the eye. It was time to continue my girlhood training. There were no excuses. I felt better than ever - physically anyway.
"Mother," I said. "Forget about Greg. It's time to shop."
"Greg who, dear?" my mother said with a twinkle in her eye as she pulled away to grab her purse.
Thankfully, Greg was gone when my mother and I left the house. We escaped to the safety of our car and sped off to hit the stores.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" mom asked when we were well on our way.
"It's a little late to ask that now, isn't it? We're nearly there." I laughed.
"I'm just being polite, dear."
We spent the rest of the trip chatting away. I surprised both of us by confessing that I was looking forward to getting new clothes. I'd always secretly admired and even envied the variety that girls got to wear. It was time to make a dream come true.
I wish I could remember more of that first shopping trip. I learned a little about styles and I got a good start to my new wardrobe, but mostly I just get vague feelings of happiness and contentment when I try to remember. The whole experience was a blur so why try to describe it in excruciating detail. Suffice it to say that I discovered the joy of shopping.
On the drive home, my perception of time returned to its normal slow pace and I had time to reflect on my experience at the mall. I loved every minute yet now it bothered me that I liked shopping so much. Shouldn't I have been more reluctant? I hadn't been a girl very long. I wasn't all girl, was I? That's what really bothered me, deep down - that I'd always wanted to be a girl.
I really needed to talk with Gwen soon or I'd turn into a nervous wreck. I toyed with the idea of talking to my mother but I didn't think she could relate to what I was going through. This was a job for a professional. So now the only problem was keeping myself from dwelling on the subject. Until I could get some therapy, I needed to keep myself distracted. That's when I remembered my missed opportunity.
There was one thing that disappointed me at the mall after all. I never took the time to figure out my sexual orientation. I was too busy learning how to be a girl to even think of sneaking peeks in the changing rooms. I didn't think of lusting after anyone. I just studied what the girls were wearing and ignored the boys. My experience with Greg probably soured me on the idea of lusting anyway, and I have to confess that I was excited about getting new clothes. After all, I was shopping for clothes, not a date. That's what I kept telling myself.
It was the middle of the afternoon when my mother and I returned home. We'd only had a light lunch at the mall and I was hungry again already. I was anxious to help prepare dinner so I could sneak some food. Unfortunately, it was too early to start cooking. I was shooed out of the kitchen and encouraged to change my clothes instead. That's when my own private fashion show began.
Half a dozen bags were dragged up the stairs to my room. They were literally stuffed with clothes so they were a bit heavy for me. It made me think about how much upper body strength I lost because of my change. It was the first time I truly missed my old body since I took stock of myself in the hospital. It scared me to realize I was so much more excited about new clothes than I was sad about losing my manhood.
In spite of my nagging desire to start trying on clothes, I paused to reflect yet again on my behavior. It was becoming a bad habit. Was I adjusting that well to being a girl? I had to confess that I've always been very sensitive - even effeminate - and the competitive nature of boys has always perplexed and repulsed me to no end. Then there were all the science fiction and fantasy novels I've read. The large wooden bookshelf in my room was crammed full of them. They took me to faraway places and made up for my lack of a social life, but my favorite stories always contained a strong romantic theme. I lived vicariously through the main character who always seemed to get the girl and live happily ever after. That wasn't really a masculine trait, was it?
I was driving myself crazy. Every question led to more questions, and few answers. I couldn't handle it. Luckily I thought of something that always helps me deal with my problems. I write them down.
I dug a pen and paper out of my computer desk and began to write, and what began as a couple sentences turned into a long list. I added my lost friends, my love of shopping and more. I also wrote a note to ask about my disturbingly easy acceptance of my new gender and though it was difficult, I even added the fact that I was attracted to myself at the bottom of the list. I didn't have to let Gwen see everything. I'd just read from the list, and if I felt comfortable enough, I might tell her all of it - eventually.
My mother had made a therapy appointment for me on Monday, just after lunch. I also found out I had a post-MORFS exam at the hospital later that same afternoon. All MORFS survivors were required by the government to be tested for special abilities to make sure they weren't a threat - to themselves or society. So Monday promised to be a very interesting and very busy day. Until then, I had something else to keep me busy. It was fashion show time!
My first set of clothes really wasn't all that girlie. It consisted of some rather plain underwear, jeans, tops and two skirts, though one skirt doesn't count. It was part of my school uniform. I forgot about the uniform until I pulled the pleated, navy blue skirt out of one of the bags. I didn't like it at all, but at least the white blouse I got to go with it was nice. I could probably wear the blouse with other things.
My other skirt was nice enough - nice and short. It was bright blue with a few narrow, horizontal black stripes. My mother called it an a-line skirt. She insisted I get it and now I was glad I did. I liked the freedom of movement it gave my legs. I tried walking up and down the hall outside my room to get a better feel. At one point, after turning quickly at the end of the hall, the skirt lifted up and out as it twirled. That was so cute I found myself doing it every time I reversed direction. I was so focused on my skirt, I didn't notice that my mom had come upstairs.
"Having fun, dear?" she asked with just a hint of a smile.
"Oh! How long have you been there?" I asked, blushing brightly.
"Never mind," she replied. "I'm sorry I interrupted, but I'm glad to see you enjoying yourself." With that she walked into her bedroom for something and soon returned back downstairs.
I didn't move from my spot until both my mother and the embarrassment were gone. My family agreed it was a good idea for me to embrace my girlhood but I was sure I was enjoying myself more than any former boy had a right to. While it's true I wasn't happy with much of my life when I was a boy, I have to wonder if I could've ever been truly happy as one. Was I meant to be a girl? Was it fate? Destiny? Lucky wish fulfillment? I had to remind myself of my upcoming appointment with Gwen to free myself from brooding once again. With a fierce shrug, I returned to my room to try on more clothes.
I mixed and matched almost everything to create some cute outfits I hadn't thought to try at the mall. I had a good baseline so picking out flattering color combinations wasn't a challenge. My mother and the sales clerks helped me pick out what they thought would be complementing colors. Purples, blues and pinks seemed to go best with my lavender hair and purple eyes. Certain shades of green and yellow worked too. I lost track of the number of outfits I tried and I lost track of time. Two hours felt like 15 minutes so I knew I was having fun.
It might seem backwards but I left the lingerie for last. I wasn't sure I could handle being topless for an extended period of time so I'd kept my sport bra on. The thought of being alone with my bare boobs made me nervous. I got some help with bras from my mom in the dressing rooms at the mall so I didn't think about it then. But now it was time to fly free a little.
I got five basic bras to add to my two sport bras. The five bras were all the same style but in a few different colors, and thanks to my mother's excellent tutoring, I had no trouble putting them on. There was a lot more to them though. There were many more styles to try for one thing - something I'd find out about soon enough. I also learned rather quickly to be careful about color. I wore a purple bra under my white school blouse and gasped when I looked in the mirror. I could easily see the bra through the blouse. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
The novelty of trying on the same style of bra wore thin rather quickly so it was inevitable that I'd end up inspecting my bare chest in the mirror, and I'd be lying if I said it was just curiosity. I still found boobs incredibly arousing and my own were no exception. The feelings of arousal were back, after having lain dormant since seeing myself at the hospital. It was a little disturbing to be attracted to myself so I quickly put on my new blue bra and blue short-sleeved top to go with my jeans and trotted down to help with dinner. I hoped my feelings meant I was attracted to other girls, though that could prove to be a problem in my conservative home town. I just wouldn't feel like myself if my sexual preference changed. I expected to stay pretty much the same inside, even in a very different body.
My blue clothes matched my current mood as I joined my mother in the kitchen. Mood swings had dominated my afternoon, leaving me emotionally drained. It must have shown on my face too.
"Are you okay?" mom asked.
"Yeah," I sulked. "I guess I still have a long way to go. I've been up and down like a yo-yo."
"Well that's understandable after all you've been through. It's probably a bit natural too. I was pretty moody sometimes when I was your age."
My mother cocked her head at that. "For what, dear?"
"For everything," I said as I moved to hug her. Talking helped me deal with issues but hugs were better. Hugging seemed to recharge me emotionally. I was so grateful to have such a loving mother.
The rest of the day passed quickly enough. My father came home from a neighbor friend's house. Every Saturday he goes to help one of his friends with some project. I'm not sure what he does but he always comes home with greasy hands and clothes. Mother calls him a grease monkey and they always laugh. I don't get it. Parents are so strange sometimes.
We had another nice dinner and bonding session afterwards, and before I knew it, it was time for bed. I was relieved to feel clean enough to skip a shower. Nudity would be easier to take in small doses and I'd had enough for the day. I turned out the lights to change into my pajamas and slipped into bed for a long, sound sleep.
* * *
Though I was quite moody yesterday, the weekend was worse. I was on a nonstop, three day emotional roller coaster ride. An obvious downside was that I continued to be disturbed at how much I liked being a girl. I was also mildly depressed as I prepared to give away my old male wardrobe. I bagged up all but a few favorite old shirts and helped my mom take the bags to a local thrift shop. It felt like a funeral for my old self.
On the plus side, there was more quality bonding with my parents, and I still had more clothes to buy and wear. I was anxious to try more skirts and the thought of my first dress left me breathless. It seemed crazy to me but I couldn't wait to get a dress. Before the shopping could continue however, my mother insisted on a side trip. She brought it up Saturday morning while she was helping me get ready for the day.
"I'm sorry Bobbi," she said in the middle of brushing my hair. "But I can't take it any more."
"What is it? What's wrong?" I turned to ask. I was seated at my computer desk with my mom standing behind me.
"It's your hair, dear."
"I thought brushing it might help but it still looks like...," my mother trailed off. I started noticing that she did that when she was really bothered by something. I had no idea what it could be though.
"Is it falling out or something?" I was getting concerned now.
"No, dear. It just needs styling," she continued. "It looks too... spiky and messy... like you've been wrestling... you know... in bed."
She was being too subtle for me so early in the day - I wasn't a morning person - but I finally started to understand.
"Oh. You mean with a boy," I said casually, before it really sunk in - followed quickly by me screeching, "Mother!" I couldn't help it then. Boys were the last thing on my mind so I laughed until I cried, in spite of my mother's disapproving look.
She was right though. Looking like I did would probably attract more bad boys than I could handle. It was time for a change so I steeled myself for my next lesson in femininity - hair styles. I was sure I'd enjoy the lesson, but that would probably mean more anxiety about the enjoyment. I couldn't win.
* * *
As we pulled up to the hair salon, I noticed they did nails too. That got me wondering what my hands would look like with painted fingernails, which then led to thoughts of makeup and jewelry. With a heavy happy sigh, I left the car and didn't look back. I was hopelessly lost in Girl Land.
The shampoo was heavenly but then I had to select a style. Luckily there weren't many to choose from with hair as short as mine. It didn't take me long to settle on a simple bob. It was easy to care for and it would be easy to grow my hair longer. I didn't really care so much about my style now as I just wanted to grow my hair long. I'd always wanted long hair and never had the nerve to grow it - before now.
I didn't have my nails done but I thought it would be nice to come back in a week or two and finish what I'd started. Hair and makeup should be enough for now anyway. My mother didn't know it yet but I resolved to start with some light makeup today. I remembered seeing someone getting a makeup lesson at the mall yesterday and figured I should do the same.
I wanted to surprise my mom with the news after we got to the mall but I couldn't wait. I thought it would help me fit in much better at school and I was so proud of making the decision that I told her in the car instead. It was lucky we didn't have an accident.
"Absolutely not!" she shouted, with the car swerving wildly as she turned to look at me. "You're too young!"
"What?! All the girls my age wear makeup!" I shouted back out of pure reflex. I didn't occur to me that here I was - very recently a boy - fighting to wear makeup. If I would've thought about it more, I probably would've laughed at the irony. As it was, I was determined to experience the art of makeup.
"Look mom," I continued in a more reasonable tone of voice. "I need to fit in, remember? Virtually all of the girls in my classes wear makeup. The ones who don't are usually ignored or insulted. Is that what you want?"
"No...," mother replied. She trailed off so I knew I had to keep going. She was still bothered by the idea.
"I'm almost 16. It's not like I'm a little girl." That got a snicker out of her. "It's also not like I'm gonna go boy crazy any time soon if that's what you're afraid of." That's all she needed to hear.
"Okay then, dear," she said. "We'll see about a little makeup."
* * *
Shopping was a happy blur once again, though makeup wasn't too exciting. My mother was true to her word - I got very little makeup. I never realized she could be so old fashioned. All she'd let me have were mascara and some lip gloss. It wasn't enough to warrant a makeover lesson.
I remembered to try some lustful girl watching. It didn't seem proper to spy on them in the dressing rooms but I saw plenty everywhere else - enough to know that my sexual preference hadn't changed. That pleased me to no end. It was nice to know there was at least one thing about me that hadn't been changed by MORFS. I did a little guy watching too, just to make sure. Guys did nothing for me except make me uneasy when they leered at me.
My fashion shows were the high point of my weekend. The skirt twirling continued, followed by the modeling of my first dress. I got a royal blue silk shirt dress that sent me into the stratosphere. My first high-heeled shoes helped elevate my mood too. They were my first pair of distinctly feminine footwear.
I thought the low point would be fretting over my feminine behavior, but I was wrong. What upset me the most were my dreams. I continued to dream about Jill, and it was really frustrating. The dreams progressed so that Jill remembered meeting me as a girl and we became best friends - but only friends. I yearned for more but couldn't have it, so of course the dreams ended up on my list of issues to talk about with Gwen. My list grew by several lines before Monday rolled around. It'd take several sessions to resolve all my problems at this rate. I couldn't wait to get started.
To Be Continued...
The entire MORFS Universe can be found at http://morfs.nowhere2go.org/