《An Original Transformation》 An Original Transformation - Part 1 An Original Transformation Part 1 I was young when I first learned about sex transformations. My parents allowed me on the computer, and I found my way to a video website. After some random browsing and searches for cartoons I watched, I happened upon a video of a man with a blanket around himself. Wide-eyed, I saw his muscular limbs change into soft, slender arms. His hair went from short to long and back again. It was like a magic trick. This was the excuse my parents used when I asked them about it. I accepted their answer, but I still watched the video when I got the chance. Before long, I found more videos like it. Instead of blankets, they involved foods, charms, and other objects. But the form was the same. A man became a woman, or a woman became a man. The variations were so captivating that I kept watching. Eventually, my parents noticed what I was doing. They sat me down and had the sort of chat no kid wants to have. Their stern faces and sharp words pushed me to shiver and hide my face. In crumbs they doled out to me, I learned of the world beyond mom¡¯s homeschool lessons and the small private school I¡¯d started attending. ¡°The sanctity of what it means to be a man or a woman is under fire!¡± It took me a while to piece it all together. They called it a blend of ¡°witchcraft¡± and ¡°perverse science¡±. I listened with a twinkle in my eyes, hearing beyond the growls and finger-wagging. It was like old promises of Santa Claus had been given back to me. The world seemed strange and new again. I was forbidden to look further, and a heavier block was placed on my computer. But my parents couldn¡¯t be everywhere at every time. I would sneak a glance at samples of silver cheese. Focusing on a cereal box while looking past it, I saw the blur of a small young woman become a lanky, muscular man with shiny hair. I was about to watch a boy barely older than me sample a piece before my mother dragged me off for another lecture. Before long, I knew enough from library books to get around any blocks my parents put on my computer. I learned the rules. Transformation tech was regulated but common. There were safeguards for children that could be maintained or overruled by family. Most parents transferred authority to their children at age fourteen. At which point, it became like a membership. You had to give permission. That was as far as I understood it at the time. Fourteen felt like an eternity away. But I soon came up with a plan: The long game. I made sure my parents saw a model son who took care of his homework, squawked all the right phrases, and got all the right praise. It earned me a degree of privacy online, despite the fact I¡¯d long ago subverted their meager efforts to block content. Aside from a forest of transformation enthusiast sites, I found my way to strange science fiction movies, quirky novels, and, randomly, soccer groups. I had the appearance of a well-rounded individual. I could talk about anything that came up. I impressed my parent¡¯s friends. But lurking beneath the surface was a vault of esoteric rules about transformation usage and methods which bubbled through my neurons. As the years went by, transformations became less of an oddity. Recreational methods were limited by design and I could¡¯ve put together an encyclopedia on those limitations. I knew medicinal methods would be out of reach for me, but it was interesting to read about therapeutic transformations for the very young with body identity concerns, alongside the elderly given young forms. Of course, it didn¡¯t mean eternal youth and I could tell you exactly why, if you had an hour or so. At my original private school, people talked about transformations like everyone was doing it. It was always the cousin of a friend who got an exception and ate a special food. Everyone tried to hide their giggles. Eventually, I parlayed my academic success into a transfer to a more open school with college credit options. The first week, I saw more transformations take place in front of me between classes than I imagined possible. I watched a girl tie a ribbon in her boyfriend¡¯s hair which turned him into a long-haired, blond girl. I watched the new girl¡¯s smile, halfway between calm resignation and amusement. A few people looked their way but no more than at a couple sharing a sudden kiss in public. My pulse thundered as I tried not to stare. I kept glancing with little jerks and stops to the point I nearly collided into a mass of bright-pink hair. The hair dashed back with the smell of orange, chocolate, and almonds trailing in its wake. Standing before me was a girl who made my neck tingle as though I¡¯d touched a live wire. Looking at her gave me a rush which echoed like my first transformation video. Later, my mind would put together the details but right then all I could understand was the darker-than-cotton-candy-pink at the top of her hair with long dark locks over her shoulders and spiraling out from her roots. Her eyes looked like cut glass as they flicked away from me and I noticed a glinting silver stud barely bigger than a snowflake on the side of her nose. She brushed her hair back with a fingerless glove and said, in a squeaky, small voice just a shade from being a cartoon character, ¡°Sorry. Counting cracks. Umm¡­bye!¡± With a quick flutter of black boots and glossy dark pants bearing a Decepticon buckle, she snuck by me and back into anonymity. As her gray hoodie dwindled away, I glimpsed a Hello Kitty figure and a purple blob that looked like no cartoon character I¡¯d ever seen. The moment lingered with the slowing of my heart and that unique aroma swirling in my nose. It was the kind of moment which never crossed my mind before but immediately burned through my brain. My next class was just a cacophony of sounds and people. I leaned against the wall and avoided the old poster tacks. Ripples of conversation about the soccer logo on my backpack were nearly enough to clear my head. But each flash of bright color caught my eye, even a can of pink lemonade at the bottom of a trash can. If that had been it, I might¡¯ve forgotten her, only to see the beacon of her hair during random lunches for a fleeting second. But she sat right in front of me during history class. I clutched the table and breathed as the aroma returned. She slipped sideways into her desk and half-heartedly raised a gloved hand to say a small, chirpy, ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Oh, hey.¡± All I said. Any other words oozed ridiculousness and pain on my tongue. I managed a polite smile and my best effort not to stare. Her backpack didn¡¯t look like it came from a store. It had uneven double stitches and the rough look of black denim. Its colorful adornments were a rainbow blur from my angle. I kept wanting to look at her despite shifting my eyes away. I¡¯d seen plenty of girls at my other school. I¡¯d even been on a few dates with ones my parents smiled about when I introduced them. There was nothing wrong with them. I liked a few of them, especially when they weren¡¯t sealed up in their sky-blue collared tops and long, tartan skirts. They made sense. I tried to catch up on the class introduction as it flowed into the roll call. My name came first. ¡°Zack Devoe?¡± I darted my hand up, answered in the affirmative, and flicked my eyes over the girl. She was crouched over her desk with a pen, her silver nails shifting like sparkles. ¡°Fleur Embrey?¡± Her hand launched into the air before creeping back. She stated ¡°here¡± twice, once with a squeak that nearly overwhelmed the word and then with it digging out of her throat before she coughed. Fleur. It sounded like a name I might¡¯ve read once in a book. I watched Fleur while trying not to watch her. I noticed how she took notes. I couldn¡¯t tell if they were a messy scrawl or an attempt at artful chaos. She often massaged her arms. Regularly, she took out a slim pair of glasses, just to read something specific, before returning them to a soft case. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. If Fleur had arrived in my world with a rough, gravelly curse and a scowl before slipping a cigarette between her lips then maybe I wouldn¡¯t have noticed her. But she sat before me, inscrutable. She hopped up during pauses in the lecture to fan the textbook before the teacher and ask questions that vanished beneath the murmurs of side conversations. If I was bold then I would¡¯ve leaned in with an academic question while she was working. As it was, we didn¡¯t properly talk until a random study pair placement for the first quiz. All the desks turned chaotically with skull-scratching groans. She looked right at me and then down at her paper. ¡°You want to start on Ancient Greece? I was skimming the part on laws and the courts.¡± Her voice came out so small that I needed to lean forward to catch everything. I flipped through the last part of the textbook I could remember. She rubbed at her glove. While she exhaled a high-pitched treatise on Aristotle which seemed to go beyond what I was reading, I was relegated to single words and little sounds. After a few minutes, she stopped and clutched her hands together to squeak, ¡°Uh¡­sorry.¡± I assured her it was fine and there was a stutter of silence as the rest of the room came rushing in. I pushed it back by saying, ¡°Study questions¡­might be helpful.¡± She vigorously agreed and went to work drafting her first one. I came up with a couple myself, but I was outnumbered both in amount and complexity of questions. I noticed her hand trembling as she set her pen aside. ¡°Are you alright?¡± My own trembles hit my neck in the silence after my question. Fleur leaned back and flexed her wrist. She shifted in her seat with her gaze down. Then she tried on the weakest version of a smile followed by undulating words rising just above her sounds so far. ¡°Oh. Of course. It¡¯s nothing.¡± The words weighed heavy long after she had spoken them. I leaned forward and clutched the edge of the desk. ¡°Alright. So¡­¡± Gripping the paper covered in her words, Fleur announced that she could type everything up and email it to me. ¡°That¡¯s cool, but how about we go study somewhere this weekend?¡± It was beyond the scope of a study pair for the class, but if I didn¡¯t ask then, that would¡¯ve been the end of it. Fluffing her papers, Fleur kept quiet and then offered, in less of a squeak than normal, ¡°Sure. Where would be good for you?¡± I let her choose and she immediately suggested the new library branch which had opened up on the west side of town. A few careful questions revealed that she didn¡¯t live far from me. After exchanging emails and restoring our desks, I said one last thing. ¡°I like your buckle.¡± She glanced down as though the buckle was as much of a surprise to her as it had been to me when I first saw it. Cautiously, she let go of a bigger smile than before and told me, ¡°I love Soundwave¡­¡± Digging into the mental mire of a thousand webpages ago, I asked, ¡°Is he the one who turns into a tape recorder?¡± Those would be my fateful words. I learned more about the character than I imagined possible as Fleur whisper-spoke her way through the details. Her voice lost the tight squeakiness as I listened. From there, I tagged along with her to her lunch club nestled beside the tallest oak on campus. It would¡¯ve been nice to say that I instantly made lots of friends there. But the taller blond girl would drift off into her own little world or bicker with her brother, who didn¡¯t so much eat lunch as try to bounce things off the gymnasium¡¯s windows. Conversations with the one playing sim games on a small tablet were often brief. Tim, the only one I really befriended, could always be found laughing about some poster on his classroom wall. When he mentioned his mom¡¯s boyfriend was leaving her, I waited too long for a punchline. It was there I began to unravel details about Fleur. At first, they came in ancillary fragments. How she¡¯d been really sick growing up and did a lot of TV watching which led to a menagerie of favorite cartoons. Her parents were small business owners of a salon and medical supply store adjacent to one another. I noted eagerly that her favorite books were ones I¡¯d never heard of. And I was watchful when she would rub at her gloved wrists. She arrived at our library study session in a pink Soundwave top, which accented her brilliant hair, and a pleated skirt. She curled close over the textbook notes as we wound our way through the questions. I wasn¡¯t sure if leaning close or keeping back would be more comfortable, but she held a smile near to her lips either way. As our study session entered a lull, I set aside the tingling of my thoughts and simply asked her, ¡°Why pink hair?¡¯ Her quick answer was, ¡°I like it. It¡¯s pretty.¡± But her words squeaked in on themselves, so I gave her a studied look. Carefully, she elaborated. ¡°It¡¯s¡­not something I would¡¯ve done before. Before now. There¡¯s so much more. I mean. I didn¡¯t really have much boldness when I was younger, you could say.¡± I leaned forward to invite her to say more. Her eyes darted nervously. She sought out the questions for a quick refresher. I offered, ¡°I¡¯ve been in love with transformations for a long time, but I¡¯ve always been quiet about them because of my parents.¡± I immediately saw that Fleur¡¯s mouth twitched and she brushed her hands just short of rubbing them. She showed me a smile but with discomfort behind it. Her swift words were, ¡°I see. I¡­well¡­I hope you¡¯re able to express yourself more and more¡­¡± I resisted more scrutiny and Fleur stopped rubbing her hands when I did. We plowed through the study questions, but I knew I wouldn¡¯t remember them a week after the test. What I did remember was how Fleur hopped up and went searching for books during a break. I watched the titles she lingered on and the ones she presented to me with squeak-less delight. What lingered with me wasn¡¯t anything about long-dead civilizations, but how I did actually know several of the books Fleur had mentioned to me. It was because they were lists of fiction that involved transformations. Some of them were written before widespread transformation use. Others reacted to the shifts during. And still more were recent and had accepted it as part of the background of life. None of the books stated this upfront on their dust-jackets or in their online synopses. I¡¯d found them through forums and archives for enthusiasts. I could¡¯ve marked her selections as coincidence but, with everything else, I found myself watching and wondering over Fleur more and more. But I let her lead our conversations, especially whenever a thought about transformations popped into my head. Such thoughts only trailed behind as Fleur leapt to music and movies as she rubbed her back. They were selections that even my parents would admit to listening to and watching. The classical and the lyrical. When she put me on the spot, I had to admit that I didn¡¯t really listen to much and I could barely name a single group. Except for one made of performers who not only used transformative aides on stage but also slipped them into the steam machines of live concerts for the audience. I glossed over that one when talking to her. As with the books, Fleur showed smiles and radiant words in the bounty of what she enjoyed but kept the same feeling when listening as well. She may have held up her favorite works, but she didn¡¯t push them on me. Another note which made me smile with her. Our conversation flowed back into the last of our notes, until I asked one particular question. I wasn¡¯t even sure what triggered it. It had to be about the divine in Aristotle. A rare note of intrigue in an otherwise antiseptically-phrased chapter. An Original Transformation - Part 2 An Original Transformation Part 2 Fleur went a bit beyond the scope of the book. ¡°Aristotle¡¯s god is the ultimate philosopher. Totally perfect and contemplating and outside of any human conception.¡± ¡°What do you think?¡± My simple little question. At first, Fleur looked to her notes, as though I was quizzing her. She reiterated something before about how this informed other works by Aristotle. I smiled but shook my head as I clarified, ¡°No, I¡¯m just asking personally. What¡¯s God to you?¡± She gripped her hands and gave a sigh. I would¡¯ve accepted it if she pushed me into a different topic, but she took a breath and relaxed. ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m an atheist.¡± She said it without a quaver in her voice, steady with my gaze. While her shoulders clenched, she didn¡¯t show any other signs of tension. I ran through her words in my head a few times, parsing them to make sure I didn¡¯t misunderstand her meaning. I¡¯d run into people at my old school who had questions of faith. I¡¯d run into those who reconsidered their denomination with a sweaty shiver like they were cheating on a loved one. I never imagined I would meet an atheist. If I followed my parents¡¯ example then holding out a cross while reciting verses and backing away, as though from a rabid beast, would¡¯ve been the next appropriate course of action. I did flinch and Fleur seemed to notice as she lowered her head gently and brushed at her hands. It took me a moment to find words. I asked for a bit of clarification, but it amounted to ¡°Are you absolutely sure?¡±. Fleur¡¯s responses were as steady as if I were asking her if she was sure her top was pink. In retrospect, I would¡¯ve stuffed a sock in my past self¡¯s mouth. Fleur kept a smile all through my questions, though she was clinging by her long nails to the edge of it. She told me, ¡°I didn¡¯t decide who I am and what I believe in a day. It¡¯s taken a lot from me over my whole life. No matter how it makes you feel, unapologetically, this is me.¡± As a nudge, she bent over her notes, and I focused on that. We both attempted to study for the rest of our time at the library but Fleur¡¯s words were slower and softer. Mine came in shorter sentences where I might¡¯ve explained myself in detail before. Fleur also accepted any answer before jotting something down. We finished the rest of our notes in half the time. We could¡¯ve parted ways there with a copy of the notes and answers but, as Fleur was quietly stretching, I happened to mention a friend from camp when I was young who made everyone think he knew Bigfoot. My story led into her story about an uncle who thought certain trees were secret aliens, as well as his often extensive advice in Christmas cards to recognize the leaves of real trees from aliens. That led us to our most comfortable topic, cartoons we loved. We had a certain amount of overlap but each of us gushed about works which the other had never heard of. More fervently than anything we gleaned about the Ancient Greeks, we each knew we had to trade/lend copies of our favorite works. The uncertain ground was where transformations came into question. I had several favorite shows where it was casually part of the plot but Fleur¡¯s choices apparently did as well. Mulling with a soft rub of her wrist, Fleur told me, ¡°It¡¯s okay. I mean¡­it¡¯s not the thing. It¡¯s me. I just¡­ there¡¯s a lot of stuff which¡­I¡¯m not even sure what to say about it. But¡­please don¡¯t restrain what you love just because of me.¡± I immediately answered back the same. Whatever Fleur had inside her, her loves and her joys, I felt captivated to learn more. No matter what. She held a warm look close to her face but didn¡¯t say anything else as we finished our study session. The days and weeks would go by and we would talk at the easiest convenience. We each had separate online services but we migrated where necessary. It was hard to talk at school with Fleur torn between wanting to take notes and wanting to detail Cybertron. Lunch wasn¡¯t any better as the distraction of food never made things smooth. Our later library sessions were patrolled by hawk-like, voice-stealing librarians, so they never got more animated than a quick pattern of whispers. Our homes were never an appealing option, although I was often eager to see Fleur¡¯s home. She wound up seeing mine first. We had a project in history which couldn¡¯t be completed at the library alone. I¡¯d told my parents just the right amount about Fleur, highlighting her studious nature and how she¡¯d helped me maintain my great GPA, so that they had no objection to her staying over. The initial meet and greet was both unsettling for me and a relief. Unsettling because I met up with Fleur dressed like one of the girls at my old school, with her hair and piercings made as subtle as possible. Her voice was slight and courteous. The relief came when my parents treated Fleur like an old family friend. Every nod and smile from them came imbued with the implication of meddling matchmaking. At least, it meant they left us alone for the evening. In private, Fleur loosened the tight straight lines of her clothes and settled down. She clutched at her hands despite the ease of her body. I asked her if she was alright. She didn¡¯t give me a nod or a shake, only the words, ¡°I¡¯m used to presenting myself in certain roles. But I don¡¯t like it.¡± I mused on that as we went to work on the project. Over time, I had little moments like that where the mystery I felt around Fleur only deepened with vague comments and little gestures. In the early days, I tried to lead her to details, but she always turned away. As the weeks passed, I accepted this as part of her allure and made guesses I kept to myself. I learned what Fleur liked. I knew what made her smile. I felt the pace of an idle conversation with her. In turn, she would make little references to transformations (such as ¡°if you have that strawberry yogurt then you¡¯ll become the redheaded lady from their TV ads¡±) in passing which left me with a smile. I crafted transformative tote bags in my mind which mended clothes and switched them based on what you imagined (in retrospect, it may have already existed somewhere at the time) to Fleur¡¯s delight. After some time of the unexpected which Fleur brought into my life, we settled into the steady and the familiar. I conceded that I might never understand her. Little did I know her secrets were about to burst through on a quiet Sunday when I finally took a trip to her house. It was as nice as her quick details and fragments alluded to. Her parents, who were out at the time, left a presence from the d¨¦cor which led me to pine for such a family. I noticed something was amiss in the slow way Fleur shut the rumpus room door and pressed her hands together to the point of pain. Her eyes lingered on a mottled patch of carpet before she took a breath and met my eyes with quivering uncertainty. I sent her a look of ease. Still, it took her several moments more before she found words. ¡°I¡¯ve been hiding from you, Zack. I have. I¡¯ve been hiding myself. And it pains me every day that such a large chunk of me is invisible. But it¡¯s still too raw. I¡­what I¡¯m about to tell you¡­I beg you, with all my heart, that you tell no one else. It¡¯s only for you.¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. A rush of fear and exhilaration filled my thoughts. Fervently, I told her, ¡°Of course! I never talk about what you say to anyone else.¡± In whole truth, I didn¡¯t really have anyone else who I talked with quite like Fleur. Not even my pastor. I tried to settle myself with a few long breaths. I reiterated my promise with trembles which fed back on themselves. We both trembled. Then our eyes met and slowly, carefully, the pressure went slack. We both settled into our chairs, with me close enough to touch her. As she went to scratch at her wrist, I put my hands between hers. Goosebumps spread up her arms, but she didn¡¯t blush. She stopped and started the first sounds out of her mouth. Despite every overture she or I could try, what it took, in the end, was her gritting her teeth and muttering a frustrated grunt to blurt out, ¡°My birth name was Maxwell.¡± Her eyes turned away, but I followed them. I pursued them with a smile and a calm gaze. Those words were enough for me to understand, but I let her unravel the rest of them, which came in fits and starts. ¡°I¡­oh gosh. Okay. Well. Uh¡­I¡¯ve. See. When. So like¡­I¡­it¡¯s so difficult.¡± I tried in her place, ¡°You had the permanent version of transformation?¡± It was something I ran across early on in my explorations. Sites involving it usually outnumbered the kind I wanted to find. I sometimes read them. I could¡¯ve anticipated some of what Fleur told me, but I let her tell her story with as much encouragement as I could offer. ¡°Yes. I may have to close my eyes, but I¡¯ll get through it¡­.¡± She did so and it seemed to help with her nerves. She continued, ¡°When I was a little kid, I was a regular boy. Normal. No weirdness. Normal childhood. My parents have always loved and encouraged me. My problems started a few years ago, around puberty. I had sudden health problems, worse than anything when I was little. Serious depression and a lot of dark feelings about my body too. I just felt like my life was slipping away and I was changing into a monster.¡± Resting her hands, one on top of the other, she said, ¡°I¡¯d get hives all over, like my body was agreeing with my self-loathing. My hands really had it bad, to the point I would scratch them every single moment, like I wanted to tear the flesh off. It¡¯s still with me as a nervous habit but I had zombie hands before. I started wearing gloves as a way to keep myself from scratching.¡± I cast a sympathetic look at her hands. She was brushing them but not scratching as she told me more. ¡°It was actually one of my therapists who got me started on a whole-body transformation¡­ It was grueling though. I absolutely needed to prove I wasn¡¯t just some depressed preteen. From there, I needed to prove there wasn¡¯t another underlying problem. Fortunately, my therapist was very professional and had handled some cases like mine before, although I was the youngest he¡¯d ever recommended. There was a lot of paperwork. They started me out with temporary transformations different than the kind you opt-in for. I¡¯d take these pills every few hours which made my body more like a girl¡¯s before reverting. It took all my willpower to hold off for the right time to take each pill.¡± I didn¡¯t know what else to do but touch her hand, listen, and watch her, even when her eyes jittered about too nervously to keep near mine. With a little sound, she asked me, ¡°Is there¡­anything you need me to explain?¡± I shook my head and assured her that I¡¯d run into just about all this on the internet. She tried on a quick smirk, as she noted, ¡°The benefit of a transformation fan friend¡­¡± I smiled back at her. Her pills scaled up in effects until they made her fully female for a limited time. ¡°This had to be documented too¡±, she added with a sigh. ¡°Documenting both the harshest and best of the effects. The hardest thing was when I had to stop taking them to prove those effects too. But it helped prove my case. I finally got approval. It was kinda scary on the day it happened. It was an outpatient procedure. They hooked me up to a special IV and gave me a mild sedative because permanent ones are quite painful. I didn¡¯t remember much, except that I woke up in a pink gown feeling like my life had finally begun.¡± I had to know more. I eagerly asked her questions about how it felt by comparison and what things were challenging and strange and which things were familiar. I tried not to launch all my questions at once, but I trembled in my seat. Fleur leaned back and clutched her hands. ¡°There¡¯s so much to say. I¡¯ve saved some things to a private journal. Only a few people have ever seen it, like my therapist and some friends from junior high. I had it more open before, but I found out one of my friends was not as trustworthy as I thought. I returned to the same classes after a long time away for therapy. Most people didn¡¯t even remember the other me and it would¡¯ve been fine, except for that betrayal. I had my classes moved a few times, but it didn¡¯t help. Those were dark times and, eventually, I had to do at-home coursework until high school, when I was able to transfer to a school far enough away from my old one¡­¡± I winced. With all the transformations that happened casually and for sheer amusement, it bewildered me that a medical transformation would be so discriminated against. And not by my parents, by those our age who were the swiftest adopters of recreational transformations. Fleur awaited, skittish and tense, for my response. At any other moment, I would¡¯ve resisted being so bold, but I found myself giving her the biggest hug I could give. She blushed as I released her and said a quick apology. Fleur assured me, ¡°No, it was wonderful.¡± We still moved about like delicate china to one another. I learned that Fleur¡¯s name, which she picked herself, was actually taken from that book I remembered reading when I was younger. I also got a promise to get a look at her journal ¡°eventually¡±. More than anything, I assured her that nothing had changed between us. Actually, that wasn¡¯t completely true. Whereas I had found her captivating, mysterious, and alluring before, I added to the mix a raging crush and a feeling she was the sexiest human being I could ever imagine. This feeling wasn¡¯t tempered in the least when she exposed her childhood photos to me. I noticed the dark rings of her eyes back then, but I still saw only Fleur. She watched me when I gave her these responses, and I noticed her watching. I saw how she tensed up before a new piece of information, then marveled at me, like a complex bit of a study note. I was just glad such moments concluded with her trying on wider and deeper smiles which shimmered in even the darkest of rooms. At school, plenty of people talked about us and how we hung out together, but for reasons which merely made Fleur blush instead of cry. To the average classmate, we were a quirky pairing of a punk rocker girl and a choir boy. We let them talk. An Original Transformation - Part 3 An Original Transformation Part 3 The lunch group receded, splintering into their own factions which we sometimes visited. We kept constant to one another. At times, high school had all the desolation of an arctic tundra with feral wind gnashing across the wilderness. Days came and went with new confusions and stresses like needle pricks till we could only lay our heads down next to one another and rub our eyes. The years passed as steady as breath. We looked back on each day with a grimace for the silly things with a snicker of distance. My parents regarded this all without suspicion and often praised me for cultivating a girlfriend as they drifted between prying questions about how close we were and pressing statements about how we should be closer. For me, the time when I could opt-in to transformations was soon coming. I tracked the date like the grandfather of all Christmases. When it finally came, I found myself frozen at the prospects. I hovered over the website options now open to me but still beyond my meager charge card account. My random conversations with Fleur about transformations continued as steadily as her own breathless ones about each new prospect for Transformers, though sometimes dimmed by hollow adaptations. Her clothing often shifted rapidly. I even accompanied her on a particular buying spree. A lot of her fashion choices came across as amateurish, even with my uninformed gaze. A lot of what she wore that first year was an orgy of random choices never before afforded her. I delighted when she held a skirt against herself and then pressed it to me with a raise of her lips. She didn¡¯t go further than that, but it was enough for me with everything else I learned. I found from her journal that the actual change wasn¡¯t as eventful as I hoped. None of the theatricality I remembered from the old videos was to be found in her writings. A lot of it was more complaints, pointing out shortcomings and concerns. Breasts lost some of their mystique in the depths of her notes. Other portions felt no different than something I might jot down on an average day. Still, the moments of those first days clung to me. The girl with the crown of pink in her hair, even as she tested frosty-blue and a bee-like yellow. She was still the contradiction even once her actions had long made sense to me. I needed it as I needed my opt-in for transformation. For a time, I hoped to be struck from a random, unmoderated change even as I trembled at the prospect. However, classroom changes had been regulated to the point that they no longer happened by chance. At the end of a week of testing and trying not to think about the fact I was wide open for transformation, Fleur watched me with her dense gaze and said, ¡°Let¡¯s find you one this weekend.¡± Before I could ask her what she meant, she added, ¡°An original transformation. One just for you. It¡¯s what you want, right?¡± I curled my lips a bit. ¡°I guess. I don¡¯t have too much preference.¡± She leaned towards me with a soft snort. ¡°Oh? You sort videos of changes by five factors of quality and have written extensively about your favorites and their flaws and yet you¡¯re willing to roll the dice for yourself?¡± I couldn¡¯t sell a nod. I did a little rubbing of my arm but with more of a scratch at my elbow. I offered, ¡°You didn¡¯t really have a method.¡± ¡°Method never mattered to me. They could¡¯ve dunked me in water or put me inside a giant monster to be excreted so long as the result was the same. You¡¯re about method though. And I know it would bore you to be tapped by a prop wand or drink a pink beverage. Soooo¡­this weekend, let¡¯s go find your first.¡± Her words weren¡¯t the sort I imagined might thrust me into a world of transformation but they were also words I wouldn¡¯t have imagined the day I met her. Our weekend resolved around an extended pilgrimage to the sprawling, cresting orgy of strip malls on the other side of town. We passed restaurants with specialty items and ignored black-windowed smoke shops which traded in more than just tobacco and nanites. Fleur¡¯s pink had been extra-bright for the last few weeks. Her fingerless gloves were constant, but I noticed her nails hadn¡¯t lingered on them with a rough motion for a long time. We took the bus because neither of us had our unrestricted licenses yet. My parents had taken to giving me the silent treatment with slow, steady headshakes ever since I opted-in, so a car ride was out of the question. Fleur¡¯s parents offered to drive us, but she insisted on the bus. Our first stop was a shop near a bookstore where bath products and fragrances were sold. I marveled at an area of the store where an older man sprayed his woven, tan hair and it fell in blond waves across his shoulders. He tried a few others, his feminine shape showing through his jeans and t-shirt before a special spritz shifted his clothes into a slinky red dress. I inspected it carefully. Fleur scooted close and smirked at me before noting, ¡°That could be you.¡± A twitch went down my spine as she held onto the smirk. I changed the subject, asking, ¡°Uh¡­how about you?¡± ¡°No interest in blond hair.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I fussed with my fingers, adding, ¡°I mean, about, trying a switch.¡± I could predict what words Fleur would use. I¡¯d heard her recite them so many times. ¡°Been there, done that. I¡¯m happy.¡± Her words were a little softer than usual. It was my special evening, after all. Smiling at her with a familiar shoulder bump, I answered with a whisper we shared, ¡°I know that well. You¡¯re beautiful. You¡¯re a girl for life. This is just for fun. Be something you¡¯re not for a little bit.¡± My words struck, though she tried to shrug them off. She glanced away but, instead of rubbing her hands, she fanned them and concluded, ¡°I¡¯m just an observer. Your chaperone.¡± I confirmed this with a nod, ¡°Still, feel free¡­¡± She focused on the items and the blond with a cleared throat. ¡°So¡­this is our first¡­how about it?¡± The blond toyed with her outfit, shifting it with a tester till her time ran out and her clothes reverted. The rest of her stayed for a moment longer. I¡¯d seen many transformations like it. Every cosmetics company ran at least one niche social media ad explaining the benefits for couples, roleplay, all that. It wasn¡¯t bad, but it just wasn¡¯t what I had in mind. A bit too random but also too controlled. Fleur made a little X in the air to show this one was crossed off our list. The end of the road was the specialty store, Newid¡¯s Wares, inhabiting the old electronics and music wholesaler which shut down when I was a kid. If nothing else worked out for me, then they were sure to have something I could settle on. But I didn¡¯t want to settle if I didn¡¯t have to and Fleur¡¯s eyes glinted with shared eagerness. I stopped by a full mirror to examine myself. I had my navy trilby on with the Decepticon button I kept for Fleur to the back end. It was the only hat I ever enjoyed wearing. Every other one I picked up off the shelves and tried on felt weirdly snug, even grotesquely large hats more suitable for clowns. My full, curly brunette hair certainly didn¡¯t help. During the short time I was a part of a science fiction club with Fleur, several members insisted I was destined to dress up as the fourth version of a time-traveling alien from a TV show not even Fleur had seen. I brushed at my lime shirt and posed a bit. Fleur gave faint applause. I never really thought much of my body, certainly never to the degree that Fleur¡¯s older journal entries spoke with bitterness and venom about herself. Sure, I could frown at the weird texture of my blue eyes. I could gripe about the lean droop of my shoulders and how Fleur didn¡¯t have much trouble dressing me up in convincing drag one very odd November ago. But I didn¡¯t turn away from the mirror in revulsion at what boyish to manly aspects I had. Fleur led the way onward to a coffee shop. She pointed out a special Irish cr¨¨me which would leave me with a foreign accent and shimmering red hair, along with more obvious changes. I hadn¡¯t really seen that kind of change documented before or even written about on the forums. That said, I knew that accent changes would mean some mental nanites and that was a bit deeper than I was prepared to go on a first time, despite the barista¡¯s assurances there wouldn¡¯t be any lasting effects beyond an hour. Ultimately, we debated it back and forth and even got a few other cultural options before we both decided on normal warm tea and sat on the couch in the back. Sipping, Fleur noted, ¡°Could¡¯ve been fun.¡± Her eyebrow wiggle and smirk were always a relief when I looked back on the early days. I¡¯d watch how red her wrists got when I fanboyed over some new option or style. Eventually, it all came to a head when she broke down crying during a late lunch. I tried to comfort her. I tried to recant my offerings, but she vigorously shook her head and stared at me with bright eyes. ¡°I would never want to deny who you are. Because¡­¡± While we were alone, people still passed along from time to time. She left the rest of her words to a nod and a glance. She slipped into mentions of the things she loved and added, ¡°¡­I would be a hypocrite. But it¡¯s still raw.¡± We were left without words and without sight of the path ahead. We spent time apart without really intending to. The solution came from Fleur. She happened to join my forum and tracked down some new finds before even I could see them. And then she ¡®turned¡¯ them on me. She detailed her own imagining of a bow tie transformation, manipulating her hands with a smirk. From that point on, I didn¡¯t really have to follow the forums because I knew Fleur would catch any scraps. Along with a varied diet of classic cartoons and transforming robots, transforming humans became part of Fleur¡¯s language. Soon she was talking about Nakagawa Katsumi, the animated mascot of the Nuhaizi Corporation''s Japanese branch, like she was an old friend. She even had a collection of super-deformed Katsumi plushies. I often joked that she took on her characteristics from time to time with her fervent imaginings of how to change me, as the character did in commercials which we found fan-translated. Truly, Fleur had become the perfect guide for my journey. But I had thus far ignored her advice. Though she wore a playful smile as we sipped our drinks, I could tell she was looking around the room with more anxiety than normal. Softly, I assured her, ¡°If it doesn¡¯t happen tonight, then that¡¯s fine.¡± An Original Transformation - Part 4 An Original Transformation Part 4 She gave a slow, resigned nod and took to fussing with her bright hair instead of her covered wrists. I leaned back and breathed in the blended aromas of the shop. Half of it was a sticky sweetness pushed out to cover up older, mustier scents. I continued, ¡°Or we could try the carts next. Like the free sample vendors at markets.¡± According to my research, they typically weren¡¯t the highest quality of transformation tech, same with how similar carts often sold holiday gift and food sets fluffed up for appearances but underneath was just propped up by cardboard. It might not be bad to try a sub-par transformation the first time so that when I tracked down a good one it would be a better contrast. I pitched the idea to Fleur, and she mulled on it as she traced the hot edges of her tea. ¡°Makes me think of when I first¡­was myself. I went shopping. One of those big tropes of stuff online. I wanted to indulge in all the stuff I¡¯d never done before. Get stuff done.¡± Her eyes snapped to the baristas and the random people milling about on the other side of the caf¨¦. They were sure not to hear but Fleur still spoke in private tones with vague phrasings. I leaned closer and offered a smile to her. She kept her flat expression as she reminisced, ¡°I was going to do curls with little bows. I can¡¯t imagine how it would¡¯ve gone. Fortunately, the hairdresser talked me out of it. It was a crazy time. I tried everything.¡± I had a sense of that. Fleur had kept some photos and her journal had nice descriptions. The fancy hair period was my favorite, but she cursed that one. She noted, ¡°I¡¯m not saying just trying stuff is wrong, but I regret I didn¡¯t have more help. I embarrassed myself a lot. I¡¯m just saying this is pretty big for you too. You¡¯ve been waiting so long for this. And I want it to go perfectly, whenever and however it goes.¡± I smiled and told her, ¡°I know it will. And, even if it doesn¡¯t, at least I have you.¡± Fleur dipped her head and kept a faint smile to herself. Between this quiet moment and when we left the caf¨¦, we finally had an idea of what we might be able to do. It came as a bit of musing aloud from Fleur. Despite her busy schedule with classes leading into college and her aspiration to be a psychologist, she still found time for video games. Typically, they were just games based on shows she watched but those often just made her clench her controllers till they cracked. I always commented when she posted them online. Recently, she¡¯d taken to playing different genres. An off-hand comment about character stats led her to propose, ¡°If only there was an armor which changed your physical attributes piece by piece.¡± From there, the piecemeal plan began. Fleur took out her phone and started searching for partial transformative agents. It was something I¡¯d noticed before. People would buy girly face transformative stuff and then use it to play pranks on sleeping roommates. I had videos like that saved in bulk. But Fleur had something different from this idea. The main problem was that even piecemeal products had a built-in time-lock. It was part of managing nanite products. Lasting changes only occurred with core genetic alterations like with Fleur¡¯s. So that would mean we might buy a wig which would give me real, long hair but it was likely to revert before the evening was over. It would be challenging to balance it all, but it wasn¡¯t like any transformation I¡¯d seen attempted. Fleur¡¯s fingers flew over her cell''s touchscreen with renewed purpose and clear, unblinking eyes as she put together a list of products we could acquire which would be within our budget. Partial transformational products would be cheaper, but we¡¯d need to assemble it all. Fleur put together a tentative ¡®treasure hunt¡¯ list we could use. She explained, ¡°I had to guess, but I¡¯ve already done my research for tonight, so that helped. Each of these items should have extended transformation cutoffs. Because they¡¯re partial, the rules are not quite as strict as on other stuff. First off, we make your cute hair even cuter. There¡¯s a salon down the street next to the supercenter.¡± That sounded like a good first step. We discussed color along the way once we got going. I wasn¡¯t so much into making a choice as I was grateful to see Fleur¡¯s energy back up. I lingered at the door as a mass of harsh and pleasant odors wafted from inside the salon. It took me a moment to realize that the salon was actually the same one from Fleur¡¯s account of her failed fashion first efforts. One of the hairdressers recognized Fleur and gave a quick little wave. She was older, with her graying hair cropped close. Her right eye was clearly prosthetic. It was strange to see with how much nanites could do to fix injuries. I didn¡¯t inquire, because it would be rude. Fleur delighted in explaining the situation to her. The hairdresser folded her arms and looked me over from top to bottom. I turned a few times. She noted casually to Fleur, ¡°You¡¯ve never brought a boy around. Should I take anything from that?¡± Chuckling, Fleur told her, ¡°He¡¯s a friend.¡± At one time, I would¡¯ve given a spasm of a frown at those words. We got asked those sorts of questions more and more with how we hung around so comfortably. Eventually, I started to wonder why Fleur didn¡¯t think of me that way...at least a little. I wasn¡¯t the most handsome guy around, but I took care of myself. I thought I looked decent when I dressed up. And I also imagined I¡¯d make a nice lady, to which Fleur often agreed. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Fleur¡¯s answers to these questions were of the hand-rubbing variety, at first, as she struggled for answers. I thought it was hidden attraction. But it was rarely so simple. First off, Fleur¡¯s world-view, while something I quickly got over, made her hold her tongue when we hung around people I knew from before. They always made assumptions about Fleur one way or another. That she was a bad girl who was going to lead me astray or that she was good at heart, rebellious, but just needed to be fixed. Never mind that I knew many of them had drifted into indulgences and bad habits beyond anything Fleur ever suggested. But the appearance they put on was culled from social mores of centuries past, which I recognized the more I spent time with Fleur. All these expectations led us to push away from romantic answers, even though I would still find myself curious. Secondly, Fleur still had weekly therapy about her self-identity. She sometimes shared what she talked about with trembling teeth, but other things remained private. I¡¯d gathered that her sexuality and romantic inclination was not easy for her to put into words. While I could tell our transformation discussions were thrilling to her in ways that others could express better, she didn¡¯t want to change me for sexual reasons. Nor did she seem especially interested in men or women physically. The posters on her wall revealed more about which Decepticons she still loved. The conclusion I came to was that she had lost so much time growing up as the gender she felt comfortable in that, despite her fully-developed body, she still hadn¡¯t reached psychological puberty. It was a little frustrating but, considering I looked at her and envisioned her naked just as often as I imagined myself body-swapped with her, I had my own stuff to work through too. So far as answers, we still let people formulate whatever theories they liked about our alleged secret romantic liaisons. The hairdresser gave a little glimmer with her gaze but went to work looking through her selection of wigs. After some vetting, I wound up with a straight, blond wig not too long but groomed and lovely enough to give a feminine look. It was nothing like my regular hair, which was the point of picking it out against the rest. As well, it was discounted and would offer us the longest period of transformation to collect the other pieces. I tensed up as the hairdresser prepared the wig and sat me down at the nearest chair. I stared into the mirror with the stark lights above as Fleur lingered behind me and the hair settled onto my head. I was quite glad my pants were loose, lest I embarrass myself with a rush of feeling. The wig itself just sat on my head. I didn¡¯t even feel the tingle of a special shampoo or any other sensation. One moment, I felt the warmth of a wig disconnected from my hair, and the next, the separation was gone like an edit in a film. My head still felt as warm but a tug and a brush revealed the lengthy, silky locks were now rooted to my head for the next several hours. With the drag Fleur had put me in previously, the wig wasn¡¯t too much of a surprise. I¡¯d been prepped for it. And, to me, it wasn¡¯t really, technically a part of my body which had been changed by the nanites. Still, I couldn¡¯t resist running my hands through it. I crossed my legs as the hairdresser offered up something to change the look of my hands and nails next. Fleur rejected it. She already had something lined up for that. Going outside gave me a rush, but I didn¡¯t catch any eyes drifting over me. And I certainly looked more like a guy who took care of his hair than any vision of girlhood. But Fleur was set to change that before long since we were now on the clock for the wig. Next on her list was a necklace at a store nearby which would change my voice. The store catered to the kind of clothing Fleur preferred. They even sold a few studs, like she was wearing. I knew there were piercings which transformed but Fleur didn¡¯t even bring them up. Despite the effects of such being temporary, it still meant I would have extra holes in my body that I would need to explain to my family. Fleur selected the metal necklace, which was (appropriately) a yin swirl with the yang part left empty. It was only a few dollars and even if it didn¡¯t provide a bit of temporary transformation, it was nice enough that I would¡¯ve adored it anyway, especially as something Fleur chose for me. I didn¡¯t clench up or react as much to the necklace as I did the wig. I tried out a simple, ¡°Thank you.¡± Not enough of my voice to get a feel for it but enough to know it had changed. ¡°I really like it¡­I do. Yeah¡±, I added. The words slipped from the ambiguity of the familiar into a tickling strangeness. I remembered the few times Fleur had made videos on her phone. No matter how much she looked into the mirror with hand-settled calm, her voice stammered in them. She seemed to notice what I was thinking because the next thing she did was turn the same phone right at me. She resolved simply, ¡°For posterity.¡± I folded my arms and smirked, countering, ¡°Only if it¡¯s both of us.¡± She tilted her head forward with her jaw tightened. She looked at the black-ice swarm of the camera lenses. She didn¡¯t need more than a moment to lean close to me as she aimed it right at us. Her smile was as tight as her jaw. She snapped a few seconds of video with us both looking goofy as I held up the necklace and quoted, ¡°More than meets the eye.¡± An Original Transformation - Part 5 An Original Transformation Part 5 Talking with Fleur highlighted the difference in our voices, despite how feminine they both sounded to me. While Fleur¡¯s voice had that original squeak in the background, only striking when her emotions spiked, mine sounded more mature. Fleur didn¡¯t mind. As a tease, she played up a child-like parody of her voice which I couldn¡¯t copy. Threading the puff-ball trees which surrounded the wrought-iron outdoor benches, we made it to one of the last arcades left in the entire county. All that kept it going seemed to be the quirky transformation games in their lineup. At the front, Fleur pointed out the dancing game marked as partially-transformative. It was easily the best bang for our buck, as two dollars would change my height for the rest of the evening, until I fell asleep. It would also adjust my clothes. I stood on the dance pad with my first genuine butterflies since the salon. I shifted my weight as Fleur put in the quarters. On the one hand, this was a huge step. However, it still didn¡¯t feel like I was turning into a girl with this. My hips and waist would hardly change at all. No one would see me as anything more than a short guy. Still, I felt a warm rush as I watched the silhouette of my on-screen, female avatar diminish. Though Fleur teased me to select the shortest end, she held a pleased expression that I stopped at a reasonable height which left me slightly smaller than her. I took a deep breath with the blinking conformation circle and selected it again. The transition was slow but woozy. I felt like I was crouching but with my legs still extended. When I was done, it was freaky to feel the shifted eye-level. Fleur appeared as though she''d grown in just a minute. She patted me on the head with smirking amusement and cheered me on in my game. The game itself felt like an afterthought. The challenge was daunting as I had to adapt to where my legs and body now reached. That was the point of the game and, because I¡¯d changed my height so much, it was easy to rack up a high score. Not that any of the other high scores were anything but ¡°AAA¡±. I put in ZAF for ¡°Zack And Fleur¡±, which earned a pleasant smile from her. Walking, especially on dance-sore legs, led me to stumble a bit. ¡°How is it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a midget.¡± ¡°Nuh uh¡­you¡¯re just economy-sized. Fleur-class size.¡± ¡°I like that. And it¡¯s not bad. Just takes some getting used to.¡± Fleur offered her arm for stability and led me over to a machine dispenser towards the back of the arcade which gave out temporary face tattoos. As I adjusted my trilby, Fleur selected a little, feline version of the Decepticon logo in a pale, pink color. It was barely bigger than my fingertip but I knew it would erase the boyish fuzz from my chin and soften its shape. Using a damp towel from the meager gender-neutral bathroom/storage closet at the back of the arcade, Fleur applied the tattoo to my face. We used a mirror on the wall to watch the change. This time, I felt tingling. Some transformations added that to tell users that it was working. But, aside from the sensation, the change in my face was subtle. The most obvious shift was my nose, which stretched down instead of flaring out. The little bump also vanished, a remnant from banging my face hard on the pavement when I was three. Otherwise, I just looked like I¡¯d gotten a fresh, close shave. Arching her eyes, Fleur seemed to invite more of a reaction from me. I turned to the side. As a whole, I definitely looked androgynous but no more than Fleur had managed with me on our own. I prodded the tattoo, which looked pretty good for a cheapie one. Fleur stood beside me, looming slightly over me. She gave a wide, curling grin as she clutched my hand. ¡°No dancing?¡± Her question came out with her words receding by the end, though she still wore her grin. ¡°These little legs have danced enough.¡± Her eyes drifted over our images in the mirror before she finally concluded, ¡°You¡¯re disappointed¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s not it. I guess I just didn¡¯t realize how much my face looked like a girl¡¯s already.¡± Grin bouncing back, she rocked me and said, ¡°I could¡¯ve told you that. Lucky. I had constantly-inflamed stubble.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Lifting up her phone, Fleur took a close-up picture of my face and flipped between the first still of our little video and the new image. There was a clear difference and I admitted as much. Reflecting a kind gaze, Fleur told me, ¡°We can give it another try, if you want¡­¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s good.¡± Fleur added, ¡°But not great. Not what you were expecting.¡± I looked Fleur in the eye, her gaze tinted by the bright colors of the neon lights above the skee ball games. ¡°I¡­I just figured I¡¯d be prettier.¡± Passing me a flutter of a smile, Fleur whispered, ¡°You are such a girl. Come on, I have body makeup on my list. We can take care of that next.¡± Once we were out of the bright lights and vacant aisles of the arcade, Fleur clicked her boots across the rough patches of pavement. She puffed a breath and said, ¡°Seriously though. It¡¯s like when we¡¯re hanging out around school. Remember those girls I talked about who called me a ¡®ghost¡¯ because they¡¯re into tanning?¡± It was some months ago. I dismissed them swiftly and so did Fleur. I loved Fleur¡¯s bright, pale skin. Fleur puffed out her lips. ¡°I¡¯d always rather take the shit other girls give me than the alternative. But people can suck so much. They get inside you.¡± I nodded to her words and reached for her hand. She let her tension slide off as she announced, ¡°So, that means you¡¯re already a cute girl, like Katsumi tells everyone. And you¡¯re gonna see it all with a look of total surprise before this night is over.¡± The pleasant shivers returned as Fleur led me to a small drugstore adjacent to the main strip. Compared to the other stores, this one had its transformative products clearly marked by red and blue bars and the sort of warnings previously reserved for alcohol and tobacco products. Our area, as my parents would vigorously and often point out, was lax about regulation. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The wig only had a tag with the nanite class and the duration stamp. The necklace had been in a section with products like it. And the dance game and tattoo dispenser both had warning labels and stickers, though I barely noticed them. At the drugstore, it was hard to miss the transformation areas. Like regulated drugs, they were in locked glass cabinets with air holes. I¡¯d seen more stores use this method, especially for expensive products they didn¡¯t want customers messing with. Still, the locked-up bouncing balls felt ridiculous. One of the store workers unlocked the cabinet for Fleur and she selected a fairly-priced container of makeup with a color we both liked. After paying, we used the gender-neutral bathroom in the back (it reminded me of an online statistic that the number of gender-neutral bathrooms had skyrocketed in recent years and virtually outnumbered all other kinds). Fleur didn¡¯t mind handling the necklace, she applied the temporary tattoo, and even fussed with the dancing game a bit with me. But she had me open the container of makeup. From the directions on the side, I could tell why. The product primed itself according to whoever opened it. That meant that if she opened it then it would be locked to her. The only way around that was a bunch of calls to customer service to reset the product. There were products which reset themselves according to who handled them from moment to moment instead of just the first time they were opened but those were more expensive. Once primed, it was safe for Fleur to handle it. I reminded her of this, but she still just stared at it. She stretched her fingers out and took a breath. She pushed back her gloves a little. I rubbed a little gob on my hand. I watched as it smoothed a bit but no more than with any common hand lotion. The difference happened a moment later when my skin tingled and shifted like I was flexing it without actually moving. The effects rippled outwards from where I touched. As before, the shifts were marginal, barely more than how much my flesh would move with a massage. But it stayed there. The gap between my thumb and index finger looked different. On the other end of my hand, I caught the tip of my ring finger receding, probably the most noticeable change. I flexed my hand a few times. It didn¡¯t feel different, but it definitely looked different. It looked more like Fleur¡¯s lovely hands. As I reached out for my second round, Fleur darted a hand out to stop me. She looked down at the makeup and said, ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯m not afraid.¡± She flexed her jaw, slipped off a glove, and finally plunged her fingers into the light-toned makeup. Keeping it as a mass at the edge of her hand, she nearly threw the makeup at my arm. She curled her lip back. I reached a hand over to massage the mass into my skin. Fleur hovered her hand with some remnants still on her fingertips. My arm narrowed slightly as my muscles and veins lost some of their previous definition. Again, marginal changes. I was about to reach for another gob when Fleur darted over and scooped up another load. This time, she didn¡¯t plaster me with it. She pressed it against my skin and rubbed it down the length of my arm. She still scoured her fingertips with a paper towel afterwards, but she didn¡¯t stop. The rubbing on my shoulders felt nice but it was hard to get to other skin without removing my clothes. Fleur smiled slightly and announced, ¡°We¡¯ll save the other stuff for other things.¡± As a final move, she told me to close my eyes and applied a light coat across my face. When I opened my eyes, I still noticed the little temporary tattoo to one side, like a playful decoration. But I also noticed that my features looked a little nicer. They hadn¡¯t really changed but my skin looked brighter and healthier. Fleur remarked, ¡°It¡¯s a good cover. Like it?¡± I smiled at her and regarded myself. I didn¡¯t look like myself anymore. And it wasn¡¯t just the wig. I was effeminate by this point. Perhaps I¡¯d be seen as a flat-chested tomboy in the right situation. Especially if you didn¡¯t pay attention to my narrow figure down lower. It was captivating to see my image so altered. ¡°Thank you for helping me put it on,¡± I told Fleur. She rinsed her fingers softly and dried them. She slipped her glove back on and told me, ¡°No prob. Soooo¡­we have a couple of choices for next. We¡¯re actually down to just a few things but the big ones.¡± I gave a little smirk, as I repeated, ¡°Big ones?¡± ¡°Definitely! You¡¯ll be a jiggling girl.¡± We laughed together. At the end of her laugh, Fleur looked down at herself. She had developed just a little since we first met. I would be lying if I said I never thought about Fleur with bigger ones or a different figure when I lay in bed at night. But then I thought about Fleur in all sorts of ways. She gave me a look and I reached over for her gloved hand as I told her, ¡°Let¡¯s get to it.¡± Our next didn¡¯t take us far. In fact, we didn¡¯t even need to leave the drugstore. The balls. I¡¯d noticed them before. I eyed the kickball, but Fleur pointed me to something smaller. I remembered the name from a nostalgic special for fads from decades ago, but this was a generic version of that just called a ¡®sports footbag¡¯. It looked a bit fluffier than most I¡¯d seen. We also wound up getting a small, random kickball for a dollar, but it didn¡¯t have any special properties. Far from the crowds and cars of the main section of the strip, we made our way to the edge where no one ever bothered to park. Freshly-planted elms with stakes as tall as them ringed the edge of the plaza. Beyond, the sparse scrub of the land, which hadn¡¯t been cleared for future shopping areas, flowed in low-blanketed shadows. The few amber lights of the parking lot did little to halt the advance of evening. An Original Transformation - Part 6 An Original Transformation Part 6 Under the glow, Fleur¡¯s dyed hair appeared a deep red. She kicked the ball over to me and we booted it back and forth. Sometimes, I accidentally sent it sailing over her and she had to go hunting for it. I¡¯d let it squib between my legs sometimes so I would have to rush after it as well. After a quick game, I tried the footbag. It was another one which locked to me personally but at least it was cheap. Thankfully, success at playing with it wasn¡¯t a requirement for the change. Otherwise, we would¡¯ve been there all night. Each good kick was mixed between either whacking myself in the face or accidentally booting the ball several feet. It was a good method because I was so focused on success that I didn¡¯t think about the minute but many ways the bag was changing my body. Each touch and kick blasted out nanites just for me. I staggered and stumbled but Fleur hung nearby to prop me up. I knew my feet were a little smaller and my legs felt different. The first big distraction was when my thighs felt different as I maneuvered them. I bent to keep my balance and my hat on my head. Following much failure and many stumbles, I found a position where I could consistently kick the ball straight up. Switching legs only happened once with a girlish squeal from me. My best was better than I expected for a first time. I dropped the bag with a grumble and was about to pick it up again when Fleur stopped me and gave me a little poke. I looked at her with a frown when I realized how much I¡¯d missed. First of all, I noticed my pants were a different, much closer fit. They weren¡¯t uncomfortable but they clung to me in a way I wasn¡¯t used to. I flexed around in them and said, ¡°The instructions didn¡¯t say anything about a clothing change.¡± Fleur bent her head to the side. ¡°I read these sometimes have that as a bonus. Too snug?¡± I shook my head. I ran my hands to my waist. It felt different. Trimmer. Not a bad change. My hips felt exaggerated in those pants but, as I touched them through the material, they didn¡¯t seem all that different. I¡¯d seen so many changes online. Most fell into well-worn clich¨¦s. A stocky man becomes an hourglass or at least pear-shaped woman. If I had to characterize my shape as I turned and stretched to get a look at myself, it would be a¡­what?...maybe a banana? My waist pressed in but not as much as I first thought and I did have a different shape to my hips but, despite the close knitting of my pants, they weren¡¯t extreme. My legs felt fuller and my walk seemed different, but it was all by incremental degrees of change. Like tweaking an imaginary slider on my body in one of the games Fleur had mentioned for her piecemeal inspiration. That said, I couldn¡¯t see much of my behind. Fleur took a few long looks before giggling. I wanted to hike my pants up higher, but they settled lower despite all my efforts to fix them. At least my flush feeling and nervousness didn¡¯t translate into anything else ¡®banana¡¯-like at that moment. I remembered that exposure to multiple nanite lines, especially transforming ones, could have various side effects. Fleur assured me I looked very nice and I wore a sudden blush. Standing there, I realized that the differences between her and me had been reduced to a few small but critical things. Arm locked in arm, Fleur kicked the ball against the slope of the pavement. ¡°Remember the game we used to play? Imaginary places?¡± I remembered. It was a string of games after a mutual friend had introduced us to fantasy card games. Fleur played them for longer than I did because they had a Transformers version. One day, we were going through a game when a card in particular made me wonder. I passed it to Fleur, and we started to wonder over it together. It was a small town in a deep marsh marked by glimmering crystal towers like beacons from a futuristic era. It was a catalyst. We tried to fill in the details. We even took up pen-and-paper games for a whirlwind month. But making the places was more interesting than whatever feeble quest or adventure which marched against the setting. So we broke off and decided to play a game of our own. We tried to imagine a setting and fill it with so many details till it felt like something which could stand beside our hometown of Brookville as a real place. As we booted along the hesitant kickball, Fleur spun together the little restaurants, gas stations, and horse ranches which clung to the edges of civilization into the last surviving harbors of a ¡°fantasy apocalypse¡±. The rest of the world had been ripped asunder in its comfortable splendor but the hard places, the raw and rough places, survived. The former blue of a gas station bleached against the hot sky, the rubble of pavement instead of the weed-dotted but comfortable black beneath our feet. Past that island were the Wilds, the domains of ¡°here be dragons¡± in the literal sense. Scrub and succulents provided an exotic reminder amidst alien vegetation which no longer played by any of the old rules. Fleur described each place in vivid terms, detailing how even the separations of the sprawl which had once been our home turned into different climes and species of human. The strip mallers on this side of town had been twisted by their need for things. Their slack and sloping flesh reached out for every possession, like a hoarder, till their skin was cloaked in a mottled rainbow of everything they saved, melded into their bodies. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Those who lived in the hills with their cliff-clinging micro-mansions didn¡¯t fare much better except for skinny wings for gliding and the arching, bony extensions of bats. They too resorted to hoarding but with plump nests crystallized with strange saliva. Not all had turned into fantasy abominations but even the normal humans had become idealized visions. Fleur built me up as though I¡¯d just stepped out of a comic book. She dressed me in a spiked helmet the same tone as my trilby. She flared my blond hair out in all directions as though it were moving even when I was standing still. I jiggled but with a hardened bustier to protect me from the ravages of this new land. She painted me partly as an assassin but a heroine. Some dark past invading at the edges of every bar I visited, spying for scarred, hooded figures only wearing a human form so they could destroy the last of us. I presented Fleur as an energetic barkeep, a fair wind in the angsty assassin¡¯s gale-force existence. I flattered her as well and we looked to one another, returning to the world of lights and commerce but still feeling ourselves within a private realm where all that mattered was a single moment shared after the doors had been locked and the lights brought low before the angry nights. The real night of laughs and a dozen half conversations flowed over us like sketches from another world as we freed the kickball to find its own way. Gently, gingerly, I leaned towards Fleur. I tilted her head towards mine, stretched my toes, and kissed her softly on her cheek, just barely avoiding her warm lips. I¡¯d done it before, though only once at a time. Each time, it passed without any other comment from either of us. This time, Fleur let herself have a little smile and bumped my shoulder before saying, ¡°Well, enchanting assassin of the night, how about a massage to release all your long, tired hours at work?¡± I blinked to myself as Fleur gestured to a set of pay massage chairs sheltered in a glass partition in front of a trinket store which sold chairs like them. We each settled into one. Fleur set hers for a deep but transformation-less massage while I paid a little extra to smooth down my shoulders as the rough, robotic motions tried to pinch out the tiredness. It failed but I felt better with how my shoulders looked with the rest of me. Our next stop was the most giggle-inducing. Across one of the busiest intersections in town was DD¡¯s Pastries. My parents had picketed outside of it once. This evening, it was rather quiet. The inside was sparse with a design area and a computer off to one side. It didn¡¯t have a lot of seating aside from a couple of bar-style tables and chairs. A fridge unit offered self-service with some specialty items in the front. From the back emerged a clerk not much older than either of us. She wore a peach, long-sleeved top and a pink apron nearly as sharp in color as Fleur¡¯s hair. Her nails glittered brightly, as decorated as the pastries around her. Her long, pale-brown hair was cinched up in a tight bun. As she walked around the display unit to help us, I noticed she had on a lightly-colored skirt which reached nearly to her sandaled feet and fluttered like the drapes in Fleur¡¯s bedroom. I also noticed how her chest curved generously, despite the cloak of multiple layers of clothing. Fleur showed her phone to her and she directed us to what they had in stock. The clerk pointed out an inconspicuous little cupcake to one side, explaining in a voice higher than Fleur¡¯s old, nervous tones, ¡°It¡¯s a strawberry ice cream in chocolate cake blend. Don¡¯t mind the size. It¡¯s fully programmable.¡± I fought against a flush of warmth in my cheeks. Smiling at us, the clerk asked, ¡°One for each of you?¡± Fleur shook her head and gestured to me. ¡°Just for my friend.¡± The clerk clicked at her keyboard as I tried to breathe my way through the butterflies. She was calmly professional, ticking through all the stuff about allergens as well as nanite sensitivity. Then, she asked, ¡°Are you currently using any nanites?¡± I had to nod. If I¡¯d been alone before this petite woman with just the words in my mouth, then I might¡¯ve stammered and hid. But, with Fleur beside me, I told her, ¡°Yes. Piecemeal nanites. My name is Zack.¡± The clerk beamed back at me and answered, ¡°Cool! My name is Malcolm.¡± I shouldn¡¯t have been shocked, but my eyes still arched up and regarded Malcolm again. She giggled and brushed at her apron, ¡°At work, it¡¯s Malina. Piecemeal nanites, huh? Sounds challenging.¡± Fleur unfurled our plans to her. Malina wore a cheeky grin as she reiterated, ¡°Cool! So, we better get your boobs ready as soon as possible.¡± She outlined the options while holding open a little take-home menu. ¡°You¡¯ll probably want a quick change but not too quick. I have a heavy-load version of the recipe which should last you all night. Heavy-load so far as nanites, not¡­you know¡­¡± A giggle escaped as she went back to work on her computer. It turned out the icing also offered an additional ¡°support¡± element which could be customized depending on how she arranged the decoration. I let Fleur recommend a comfortable design as she smirked and hinted ominously, ¡°You¡¯ll need plenty of support¡­¡± The rest was whispered between the two of them over by the counter. I waited and tried not to listen. The swelling was returning but I shifted to hide it as I gave myself a few calming breaths. An Original Transformation - Part 7 An Original Transformation Part 7 It only took a few minutes for the custom cupcake. It was not our most expensive purchase, but it was more than I could ever remember spending for a small confection. I didn¡¯t take a bite at first, even though Fleur sat across from me with a gaze to urge me on. I asked Malina about her job. She milled about the shop, cleaning up here and there as she answered, ¡°It¡¯s fun and easy work. My uncle owns the place. Sure, it can get boring but nanite special orders are always neat.¡± I picked up the fork and angled it towards my plate. I asked, ¡°So, you¡¯re Malina all the time you¡¯re working?¡± She nodded as she pushed her broom around a corner. ¡°As soon as I put on my apron. It works fifteen hours and I wear it from when we prep to open to when we close up at night.¡± I traced over the top of my cupcake as Fleur started to pout. I asked, ¡°So¡­umm, are you really different when you¡¯re Malcolm?¡± Malina rounded up some random glitter into a dust bin which had fallen from a display. ¡°Not really. Oh, aside from the fact I¡¯m like six and a half feet and solid muscle¡­¡± She giggled to herself in such a way I wasn¡¯t sure if she was kidding. I dipped into the icing along the side and asked one last question, ¡°If you had a choice, would you rather be Malina all the time?¡± Resting her broom, Malina crossed her legs and leaned back against the fridge. ¡°Kinda personal¡­ Not that I mind. I¡¯m Malina. But I¡¯m also Malcolm. I¡¯m happy with how things are. My significant other wants more Malina time on weekends though¡­¡± She cast a wink our way and added, ¡°You better eat up for as much boobie time as possible.¡± I fought the shiver again, shut my eyes, and licked the icing off the top before biting into the rest of it. The icing itself was amazingly fluffy, almost as light as meringue but with a creamier flavor. The decoration on top was tart but only briefly so. The cake itself dissolved with each bite as I got to the cold ice cream in the middle. The strawberry was rich and fresh. It tasted genuine, like I was a bite away from an actual, not-frozen piece of strawberry. I finished it down to the wrapper and leaned back. The shivers calmed. I was past the point of choice and anxiety. I¡¯d done it. My stomach gave a regular rumble as I looked down at my chest. I didn¡¯t have to wait long. The first signs of a change came with a cooling sensation in my nipples, much different than the burning and tingles I¡¯d seen described in online accounts. They didn¡¯t hurt. Soft fabric, which hadn¡¯t been present a moment ago, snaked along my chest. It was in the supportive design Malina had placed on the cupcake. The sliding motion made me shift and take a long, slow breath. This was more like what I expected all along. Sitting with my legs together, I watched this sort of change I¡¯d seen in POV camera footage countless times. The rush came in that it was my flesh beginning to press against the front of my shirt in an unfamiliar way. It formed a ridgeline in the cloth which made it harder for me to see down to my stomach. I tried to breathe normally but I began to cough. Malina hustled over with a plastic cup of water and I downed it in a gulp. Fleur had her phone up with the camera spot aimed over the upper half of my body. After all the videos of changes I¡¯d seen, after all I¡¯d imagined, I was going to be the transformed person in this one. It sent a jittery tremor through me which worked its way to a warm sense of relaxation. When I was finished, signaled by one final, cool ripple of sensation, looking down felt strange. Despite how prepared I expected I¡¯d be from visualization and video and daydreams, it didn¡¯t matter. Looking down and seeing the outline of a bra through the familiar patterns of my top gave me a shiver. Seeing the form of my body that bra supported¡­it¡­well, it wasn¡¯t as big as I¡¯d expected. Still, the reality of it was hard to perceive except in careful fragments. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that my shirt was changing as well. The lime color shifted into a pleasant shade of pink deeper and more mellow than Fleur¡¯s hair. As well as the color, the sleeves shifted to the elbow and the material felt softer. The cut also changed so it flowed all the way down to my low pants. When that was done, Fleur gave a cheeky grin and said, ¡°Surprise! Well, little surprise. I remembered that you always liked it when I randomly wore tight, fitted Transformer t-shirts to school. I couldn¡¯t get the logo because of all the licensing bullshit it takes but maybe you can just pin your hat button on there?¡± I soon learned that Fleur had added a note on her phone when she showed it to Malina for the clothing change. Sneaky. But I really did like it. I was just still reeling from what was underneath the shirt. Fleur helped me to my feet as I took in all that had changed. My chest, as an emphasis on top of everything else, made me feel the other changes anew. I stood as a different person aside from one final remnant. As I fussed with my top and made new wrinkles where none had been before, Fleur fished out a little triple-sealed baggie and set it on the table. It was no bigger than a ring box but lumpy with air bubbles. ¡°One last surprise¡±, Fleur explained. ¡°It¡¯s a gender changer for a phone charger. They had it for sale online and I¡¯ve been holding onto it for a few days.¡± I looked at the little opaque baggie and then back at Fleur before asking, ¡°But we didn¡¯t decide on the piecemeal approach till tonight¡­¡± She leaned her head and nodded. ¡°True but you forget I¡¯ve been making plans for a while. And it was really cheap. I was going to spring it on you at the electronics store if we couldn¡¯t find a better one in stock. But you look so uncomfortable that maybe we should finish it now.¡± Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. I repeated, ¡°Uncomfortable¡­?¡± She gestured without words to my lower half and mentioned, ¡°You know....and stuff.¡± I failed to hold back my blush. A pair of customers came in through the door of the pastry shop. I retreated to my chair and crossed my legs again. Fleur kept a sympathetic smile as she said, ¡°Although no place is perfect¡­¡± Malina returned from the back and dealt with the customers quickly. They didn¡¯t buy any special creations but the Danishes they left with looked tasty. Malina hung around and gave me a look as she asked, ¡°Sooo? Did you like it?¡± Aside from gesturing at my empty plate, Malina gave a tug of her apron. Another futile adjustment of my shirt only heightened the ridge between¡­my breasts. ¡°It was tasty. I¡¯m just still getting used to it. And I like the shirt.¡± Malina nodded. ¡°I was curious about that. Looks good on you. So, what¡¯s next for you two?¡± Fleur opened her mouth slightly then closed it after a look at me. I could¡¯ve simply explained we might take it easy. I could¡¯ve said any number of things. I could¡¯ve waited for Fleur to speak. But I picked up the little package Fleur set out for me and explained, ¡°Just one more thing left and that¡¯ll be it.¡± Malina noticed the item in my hand and squeaked out, ¡°Awwwwww! It¡¯s always fun to watch someone¡¯s first time¡­.If you don¡¯t mind me watching.¡± We hadn''t explicitly told Malina it was my first time, but I was aware I looked like a newbie, so it was probably easy to guess. I told her I didn¡¯t mind. Digging slowly, I fished my phone out of my pocket. It was nothing compared to Fleur¡¯s. Its screen barely displayed colors, it only took photos above a black blur in extreme daylight, and it had several cracks from where I had dropped it time and again at school. But it had lasted ever since mom got it for me after hearing the horrors of how children without cell phones were in danger of some random doom the news had mentioned that day. A quick inspection made me wonder if there was even a spot where I could put the attachment but Fleur had done her homework (as she always did) when it came to what would work with my phone. The attachment was such a small thing. So inconspicuous. The directions said I needed to ¡°hold the phone¡± once the attachment was done. The change would start with a slight delay, underwear would be adjusted, and the phone battery level was not a limitation on change time. It had the shortest duration of anything we¡¯d run across so far but that balanced out with all the time we¡¯d spent getting to this point. My nipples made themselves ¡®friendly¡¯ against my altered clothes as I felt a shiver all through my body. All before I¡¯d even put the wee dongle into the slot. Attaching came as one simple press. I flipped the phone closed and nudged it back into my pocket as the attachment trailed behind. I waited. Fleur leaned forward and asked, ¡°Well?¡± I tried to think of my groin. It didn¡¯t seem like anything had happened yet. But then, except for when something was ¡®happening¡¯, I didn¡¯t really think about my groin all that much. It didn¡¯t feel out of sorts. I gave a little shrug and caught a faint jiggle up top. It took till I thought to adjust my underwear that I found out that I had already been changed for some untold time. The rest of the realization came a moment later. I swallowed and told Fleur, ¡°Yup. I¡¯m a girl now.¡± Her shoulders settling in relief as she smiled, Fleur told me, ¡°Finished photo time.¡± I tried posing but, in the back of my head, I felt strange that this last change, this critical change, had passed me by. Only when I turned to cross my legs in the seat did it become obvious how things had shifted. That feeling, along with Fleur¡¯s camera shots, brought out an all-new sensation. I felt distracted by a faint flush on my face. Beyond the shiver was a warmth and something else suddenly spreading. The sort of thing my family didn¡¯t talk about under any circumstances, although my mere existence testified that they knew enough about it. I had something different than the usual pressure pushing against my pants going on. It felt like nudging the warm end of a faucet. Even as I managed to keep it from turning further, it still felt like a stray trickle was carving a path inside me. Nerves and seeing Fleur looking at me pushed away the rest of the warmth and it almost felt like things were back to normal. Emerging from the back of the store, Malina hefted a tall mirror over to the front of the pastry display and propped it up. ¡°I forget why we have this, but if you want to take a look...¡± I slipped out of the chair and stood before the mirror. I was a woman. I still had my trilby, though it had drifted to the side of my head. It nested some of my light hair while the rest slid behind me. My face had enough of my features left to look vaguely familiar (like seeing a cousin), but it also seemed more girlish than ever. The accent of the temporary tattoo complimented my tight, pink shirt. I left my hands at my side. They looked natural on this body, especially flowing out of my truncated sleeves. Turning and shifting, I appreciated how my lower half fit with the rest of me. Looking straight into the mirror, I felt good in a way which didn¡¯t even bring back the warmth. If I had to compare it to anything, I felt like when I heard a beautiful hymn on Sunday. But it was more than beautiful words. It reminded me of the best of those times when the politics of my parents fell away, and joy welled up. I felt moved, connected, and serene. I cried softly and without sobs until Fleur noticed my tears and asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Smiling upon her, I shook my head. ¡°Nothing. It¡¯s beautiful. It¡¯s so beautiful.¡± An Original Transformation - Part 8 An Original Transformation Part 8 Fleur still seemed concerned, even as I gave her a big hug. She clung to me as I looked back in the mirror with the subtle redness of tears around my eyes. Only when my smile endured past my tears did Fleur partake in a smile of her own. Malina dashed around to give me a pat on the back and a smile of her own as she offered, ¡°It is! So cool! Awww¡­ It¡¯s really something to look in the mirror and see a different face. Honestly, that¡¯s about all I use this mirror for. Along with sexy posing.¡± I giggled with Malina and posed a little bit too. Eventually, Malina put the mirror back. The euphoria of the moment slipped into the realization I would be mostly a girl for the rest of the evening (with breasts and groin reverting last). It was a rough guess but Fleur¡¯s ¡°transformation calculator¡± app indexed the times of everything we¡¯d used so far and declared that I had a little over four hours of girl time. Dusk was quickly slipping away into night. I had no real sense of where to go next except I wanted Fleur with me along the way. I held her hand in mine, though hers was slightly bigger. Her fear had shifted to radiant calm. After trading emails, we bid farewell to Malina and left with a bell chime through the front door. Outside, my eyes latched onto every passerby. Most didn¡¯t notice me. The gaze of¡­other¡­women actually lingered the most. I reminded myself that they weren¡¯t seeing me the same way as when this evening started. I walked along with Fleur, one step at a time. There was so much to take in, so many words. I could¡¯ve added so much to Fleur¡¯s journal myself. Walking, mere walking alone was different. But it wasn¡¯t enormously different to the point I had to relearn it. It also wasn¡¯t a detriment, like if your leg is sore or stiff. No, it wasn¡¯t hindered. It was just shifted slightly, like through a pair of lenses. And that was just one difference. Walking rippled out to every other part of my body. I just picked up on little slivers of experience. The whole seemed so much to comprehend that I felt woozy to even try. But I loved it! I loved it so much. It was beautiful. That was the only way to translate it. I knew it wasn¡¯t the same feeling as when Fleur changed. That was joy too but a different kind of joy. Relief, realization, and release. This was incredible but like a discovery which reflected back on me. I was still myself and I was different too. It was so hard to put together. I stammered it out in little bits as we walked. Fleur listened but she also quietly pointed out teen guys who looked my way. I re-adjusted my top to little effect. It was a surprise to see others looking. It was strange. But then looks were always strange. Fleur had pointed out girls at school who gave me long looks. I always figured they were just puzzling over the two of us or maybe something on my hat. I adjusted my hat. Now we were a punk rocker and¡­a what? How did I look to their eyes? An average blond, teenage girl in a hat? Maybe we looked like part of a band. Fleur smirked at that as I mimed my role as a lead singer and Fleur played air guitar. We were on the other side of the busy street when Fleur announced her final plans for the evening, ¡°I think we should at least stop at Newid¡¯s Wares. I saved a note about these really cool t-shirts they have and some of the best root beer in town.¡± As I suspected, the t-shirts were Transformers-related and I knew Fleur¡¯s dad loved root beer. Still, I raised an eyebrow. We were done, I assumed. Unless¡­did Fleur intend to transform too? She clutched her hand behind her and cast a look over her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve been gathering the courage. I mean¡­you¡­shouldn¡¯t be alone. And maybe¡­I dunno. Maybe knowing it¡¯s a change on my terms won¡¯t be so bad. Maybe I¡¯ll be a pretty boy...like you usually are.¡± I assured her that she didn¡¯t need to feel obligated, but Fleur tickled at my shoulder and said, ¡°It¡¯s not that. It really is something I should face. I¡¯ve heard it from my therapist a few times. Dealing with old wounds and stuff.¡± She stroked her wrist through her gloves in slow, circular motions. I reached for her hand with a sympathetic smile. The wind kicked up along the way, as it always did, but not strong enough to tug at my hat. It was still a harsh wind which flicked bitter grains of sand at us. The night had added a cold scrape to the air. I leaned against Fleur and she leaned back. I wished for a longer-sleeved shirt and, hopefully, I¡¯d be able to get one at our next destination. I remembered the store which used to occupy the unassuming box building of Newid¡¯s. It was a defunct chain which sold us three TVs when I was young, none of which lasted more than a year before suddenly refusing to turn on. I noticed a little warning by the sliding doors which mentioned a ¡°stray nanite cleansing¡± around the entrance/exit way. I¡¯d read about it, but I¡¯d never seen one before. But then our area didn¡¯t even have a store with an escalator, so that wasn¡¯t saying much. Fringes of the internet I¡¯d ventured to once or twice spouted that such cleansing methods actually tampered with nanites, causing them to last permanently. Such conspiracy theories usually revolved around Nuhaizi Conglomerate and a supposed ¡°fasco-commu-feminazi secret agenda which seeks to wipe men from the planet¡±. No surprise, the stuff my parents watched on TV often repeated the same lines. I¡¯d been told so many times by them to avoid Newid¡¯s explicitly because they bought more Nuhaizi products than anyone else around. To stand at the front of their store put a rebellious grin on my soft face. I noticed a little area off to the left marked ¡°Returns and Complaints¡± before Fleur tugged on my arm and led me down a nearby aisle. I¡¯d wanted to browse and dream before but my opt-out didn¡¯t even let me approach the door. Fleur had visited and given me fantastical, mythic accounts. As with other things from this evening, I was a little disappointed that it was a nice but normal-looking store. Still, I felt a warm thrill that I was a girl sailing through the aisles. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. We had some fun in the clothing section as Fleur pointed out fashions and held them up to me. My giggles turned to a nervous, downward gaze when she held a two-piece bikini against me. I had to take a breath. I could barely imagine wearing it. So much of me revealed. I¡¯d seen a little bit of myself, felt more, but imagined all sorts of things. Whether it was right for me to look was a topic the two of us had debated back and forth in the lead-up to this evening. Fleur often made faces when I brought it up. ¡°It¡¯s your body. Go streaking, if you like.¡± I was ready with factoids and news snippets about how certain things done with a transformed body were still being debated because it was a transitory state. Nanites were legally-required to inhibit pregnancy, which didn¡¯t really solve the kind of complaints my parents had. More ¡°no consequence sex¡±, they¡¯d point out. No way to win. I knew a lot of my issues came from my parents, even if I didn¡¯t sound or act like them. Being this girl we¡¯d cobbled together from more than a half dozen things was a revelation of joy. At the same time, I didn¡¯t envy the next time I had to go to the bathroom before the four hours were up and I wasn¡¯t sure about the outfits Fleur nudged me to try on, mentioning, ¡°They¡¯re inactive till you buy them, so no worries.¡± Part of me wanted to just get the clothes on sale, the root beer, and leave. But I didn¡¯t have any good reason to hurry. We still had two hours till the last bus on this side of town. Even then, Fleur¡¯s mom was willing to pick us up if we needed a ride. Fleur¡¯s nudges of clothing diminished as she sighed. I looked away. She tried a different tactic and offered me coats and jackets in colors that flattered my top. These I didn¡¯t mind, I especially latched onto a pale-gray hoodie which flowed over my changed body. That was only the beginning. I was inundated with layers and different hats and jewelry and little add-ons here and there. For every combination Fleur considered good, she snapped a picture with her phone. While I didn¡¯t budge about the clothes underneath, I looked at the bikinis with less fear by the end of our dress-up time. Ultimately, we settled on one of the hoodies. It was warm enough to block the wind and cheaper than the special shirts. Fleur bought two of them so we could have matching clothes. She rubbed the material of hers with a focused gaze. The root beer was along a wall on the far side with domestic and foreign drinks of all varieties. I noticed many had Chinese symbols. When it came time to pay, waiting had begun to catch up with my altered bladder. I clenched my lips and stared at the actually-gendered women''s restroom over by the Returns and Complaints area. Fleur used the store bag to consolidate the items we¡¯d bought which weren¡¯t attached to me along with their instructions and receipts into one place. She noticed my expression and nudged me again. ¡°Let¡¯s go together.¡± I felt the same sort of heady nervousness which had come in waves the whole evening, but I held off the associated, squirming sensations which threatened to leak out of me. The restroom itself was quite nice but simple. A redheaded older woman finished up washing her hands and exited beside us. I expected more. Perhaps some dramatic music? Any film which involved this trope in transformation cinema exaggerated nervousness. I could¡¯ve asked Fleur for help but, to be honest, I knew more about how to deal with this sort of situation from blogs and videos than she could offer me. I picked the stall on the end and moved quickly. My knowledge really helped because I framed it like a carefully-cut instructional video. Still, the paradoxical icy chill of warm liquid leaving my body, through a path it had never taken before, took it beyond that realm. I stepped out, washed my hands, and gave Fleur a sudden hug. ¡°I never realized what you go through¡­¡± She giggled to that, remarking, ¡°We take the benefits and the challenges with our girl stuff.¡± Walking out, I found myself drawn again to the Returns and Complaints section of the store. Despite my interest, Fleur acted first, leading me over for a look. The hallway winded around until it came to the typical sort of returns area any store had. Boxes and miscellaneous piled up here and there with mops and leftovers of other areas. Behind a long, white desk sat two girls. No. The one with hair closer to my natural color was definitely a guy. He sat there with a serene expression as he leafed through a heavy manual of some sort. The girl next to him, whose hair was closer to the hair I currently possessed, bent over the counter with the same enthusiasm I could muster for early afternoon classes before the bell rang. Both were dressed in the same radiant-blue, collared tops as everyone else who worked here. The brown-haired guy¡¯s nametag read ¡°Dee¡± and the blond girl¡¯s read ¡°Korri¡±. Our presence seemed to rouse them from their quiet moment. Korri sat up, brushed at her eyes, and folded her hands in front of her. I tried not to focus on the fact she matched up well with Malina in the bust department but with fewer layers to hide that fact. She had a nice ponytail which settled over her shoulder. The guy, whose hair framed his head like a helmet, slipped on a wide pair of glasses and asked simply, in a soft voice, ¡°Receipt?¡± An Original Transformation - Part 9 An Original Transformation Part 9 I had to give Fleur a careful look before I realized what he meant. Fleur explained, ¡°Oh! No, we¡¯re just looking around. We don¡¯t have a return.¡± Dee set his hands on the counter and gave a faint nod before asking, ¡°Any questions? Anything else we can help you with?¡± Those words lingered in the air and I contemplated them. Fleur¡¯s question came first, ¡°What¡¯s it like working here?¡± I noticed Korri flashed a look over at Dee, who sat there calmly before answering, ¡°Quiet. Here at least.¡± Korri chimed in, ¡°It wasn¡¯t always that way. When I started working here it was crazy every day until we got better nanite regulations.¡± Dee continued, ¡°Still plenty of troubleshooting but different problems. What system ever works perfectly all the time? We do what we can.¡± Fleur chirped, ¡°Are you hiring?¡± Fleur had a small and unfulfilling job over last summer but it didn¡¯t deter her from searching for another since then, despite how much time she sunk into everything else she did. ¡°Not right now¡±, Dee told her with a frown. ¡°But there is occasional part-time work, so keep checking.¡± With a swallow, I finally got up the nerve to ask a question of my own, ¡°Have you ever seen...umm¡­accidental permanent transformations?¡± It was a silly question. Such things were only the talk of internet forums. Even the first laboratory nanites had rules of conduct which shut them down if there was even the most basic chance of harm, if they went beyond their operating realm, or even if they didn¡¯t receive instructions. Dee cocked his head and glanced over at Korri before answering, ¡°We see all sorts of things on any given day and we work hard to make sure nothing happens to a customer they don¡¯t want to have happen.¡± I narrowed my eyes slightly. An interesting thing to say. I had another question, ¡°If I may ask¡­do either of you use transformative stuff that much?¡¯ Korri raised an eyebrow. I almost withdrew my question but Dee accepted it, offering, ¡°Quite a bit, especially since we got married. Recreationally.¡± Korri fidgeted, but scooted closer to Dee. We congratulated them even though we¡¯d just met and they¡¯d been married for years. In response to my question, Dee inquired, ¡°So, what about you two? If I may be so bold, I assume it¡¯s someone¡¯s first time. Apologies, if my hunch is incorrect.¡± His eyes lingered on me. I unraveled my evening to the two of them. I had to wonder if I was that obvious as a newbie. Korri smiled at points while Dee calmly listened. At the end, Dee noted, ¡°Quite an attempt, especially for a first time.¡± Korri added, ¡°I love those cupcakes, even though I¡¯m more of a frogurt...person.¡± Despite the gap in our ages, it was easy and pleasant to talk to the two of them. They invited questions I had no easy answers to. We might¡¯ve talked longer but a little blur of fluttering hair in a big red-and-blue jumper scampered across the tile floor, around the counter, and into Korri¡¯s arms while squeaking, ¡°Mommy!¡± Korri picked up the little girl, who didn¡¯t look much older than four, and hugged her close, whispering softly as she brushed her hair. Staring at me and Fleur, the kid said, ¡°Girls. All girls.¡± Korri chuckled and Dee turned to smile at the two of them. Apparently, she had Katsumi on the brain. Dee offered to answer more questions, but I could tell his mind was on his kid, so we said goodbye. Leaving the little jog of corridors hidden away from the rest of the store, I reflected on their happiness. I wanted to see Fleur smile like that every day. I took her hand in mine as we went through the sliding door with our purchases. She leaned into me and talked about how cute the little girl was. Any trace of dusk had fallen into the curtains of night. Even the moon was a faint sliver racing towards the horizon. Fleur offered, ¡°They were cute, but I think we¡¯re cuter.¡± My heart gave a quick little throb as I looked to Fleur¡¯s calm gaze and asked, ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°I know it. Come on. Last stop of this adventure is up ahead.¡± Along the way, I slipped on the hoodie for warmth but kept the toggle on the zipper switched to ¡°off¡±. It cut the cold. Fleur clutched the bag for warmth beyond what I could provide her. Our trek took us down the street, past a long, desolate road where a few auto centers had sprung up. The rest was leftovers of promised construction cleared into organized tiers which had since been overgrown with grasses and shrubs. A hotel loomed in the distance with the ¡®someday¡¯ promise of a local convention center. We arrived at a small park past an even smaller little league baseball field. I remembered the place from when I was younger. It was once the most expensive park in town because of its concrete playgrounds. No one ever used them. It had survived but now with bright, plastic replacements. Rolling mounds suggested that the old playgrounds had been buried, like relics from a lost civilization retaken by the Earth. We found a nice green knoll and took a break there, far from the dashes of ants we could see. I had trouble getting comfortable with my breasts settling against my chest and had to prop myself up. One of the baseball field lights cast a glow over us which was strong enough to read by. Fleur flexed her legs and leaned against me. She let out a deep breath and asked, ¡°Did you have fun tonight?¡± My immediate answer was ¡®yes¡¯. We reflected on everything. I reached for my wig-altered hair and cupped the yin which hovered above my breasts. I stretched my own legs, tired more from the steps we¡¯d taken than the game I¡¯d played. The tattoo felt more like a comfortable bit of skin than a rough attachment. But then all of my skin felt nice. Fleur¡¯s touch threatened to loosen my grip on that mental faucet. I could imagine sitting there kissing her, really kissing her. No smirk and a touch by the lips. A true lover¡¯s kiss like Korri and Dee probably shared. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But I trembled. As I tried to work through words, Fleur bent over and kissed me on the lips first. Not with the same intensity I dreamed over, but I held onto the kiss until Fleur finally released me. She blushed and dipped her eyes down before meeting mine again as she asked, ¡°Was that fun too?¡± I didn¡¯t know how to answer. Fleur leaned back on the grass and continued, ¡°For me, I liked tonight. I wouldn¡¯t change a moment.¡± I swallowed and said, even though it seemed rather silly to state aloud, ¡°You kissed me.¡± ¡°Yup. Want more?¡± Her question was so frank that it felt like she was offering me a snack. I gave a little nod and she held me again with another kiss on the lips. This one came with waves that crashed from my mouth and left a tidal influence below. I breathed as we lingered close enough for the warmth of our breaths to pass between us. I tried to think through signs and words but what pounded against me with each heartbeat was the feeling of Fleur so close to my raw, new body. She stroked me across the back of the neck and said, ¡°Bet you didn¡¯t expect all that. I didn¡¯t either. Well, sorta.¡± Kissing me again, this time with a press that enveloped me, Fleur whispered, ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to do that. I¡¯ve wanted to do this. This evening, everything. I¡¯ve wanted it for as long as I can remember knowing you. I explain it to myself as the "Touch of Katsumi" that I¡¯ve wanted you to be a girl¡­with me. And I¡¯ve wanted forever with you.¡± Everything inside me fluttered. I imagined that inside me. I imagined that perhaps the suspicious twinkle in Dee¡¯s comments meant something more. I imagined that I¡¯d put together just the right combination of non-medical nanites to create incidental, permanent change. I could see myself waking up in the early morning after a sleepover with Fleur to see my same body, unchanged from sleep. Fleur would be with me and offer support as we talked over what I could do about my parents. I¡¯d begin the process of learning what it was like to be a girl, what it was like to be me as I shared it with Fleur. I imagined moments of tears and moments of joy. I saw myself rising up against my parents as they spewed all their venom at me and at the makers of the nanites that changed me. It would be the conclusive beginning of the end in that house. I¡¯d spend more time with Fleur, as a friend and something more. The government would investigate me and keep the media quiet. I¡¯d have to jump through a few hoops and be careful in my senior year, but I¡¯d have Fleur. It would take us several days to find a name for me. The name I wanted eluded me right then, but I knew in such a world that the answer would come as easily as my new skin became my new home, wrapped in Fleur¡¯s embrace. I smiled back at her as her own smile eroded in the depth of her words. I told her it was okay. I shared a shard of my dreams with her. She offered a kind smile as she asked, ¡°But would you be happy? We¡¯ve been friends all these years and I know you love transformation, Zack. But I feel like you wouldn¡¯t be happy with forever as the girl you are now, same as I would never be happy forever as Max.¡± My smile dipped with hers. ¡°But I¡¯m happy. Right here and right now. Really, I am. And I¡¯m thinking about what it would be like to be a girl forever.¡± She gave a spasm of a wince as she told me, ¡°That¡¯s not a sacrifice I want you to make, especially for my sake.¡± I shivered with the itch of tears welling up inside me and told her, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Fleur rubbed my shoulder and told me, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for saying ¡®forever¡¯. Forever doesn¡¯t really exist. Let¡¯s just have tonight¡­for as long as it lasts.¡± I could¡¯ve let it go but every moment of bare skin in the wind was a reminder of my body. I couldn¡¯t get out of my mind how breathtaking the image in the mirror had been and how awed I felt to be laying there. I told her, ¡°Forever wouldn¡¯t be enough. Remember how I said once that transformation wasn¡¯t really a turn on for me like some people I¡¯ve met? It¡¯s like a spiritual thing. And I feel like I¡¯ve touched the face of something beyond me tonight. Something beautiful and life-changing. And I don¡¯t know what to do next¡­.¡± Fleur adjusted her gloves. ¡°You know what I would say about it, so I won¡¯t repeat myself. I don¡¯t understand that feeling, but then I didn¡¯t really get you for a long while¡­¡± I turned. I¡¯d felt inklings of that but figured it was a projection of my own feelings of the ever-enigmatic Fleur. ¡°Really?¡± She shrugged as she brushed down a patch of dense grass. ¡°I mean, I guess I get you now. You were denied the dream of transformation so long, kept locked away by your parents and their delusions. You crave the dream. But I have to ask you, does the reality of it match what your dreams envisioned?¡± She wasn¡¯t wrong. At the same time, it didn¡¯t feel that simple. It wasn¡¯t just that. ¡°Transformation is beautiful¡±, I told her. ¡°It¡¯s like a reveal. I¡¯ve told you that even in Max, I still see Fleur. Your transformation brought you closer to yourself.¡± Fleur leaned back against the softest part of the bag, which we both shared, as she looked up at the light-washed sky, her voice settling into her nose. ¡°If I¡¯d heard before that my body, my male body, looked like a girl sealed away ¡­I¡¯d be crying my eyes out. I¡¯d claw my skin till it hurt so much that I didn¡¯t feel any other pain. I¡¯d wrap myself up in blankets till I didn¡¯t have to see anything. You idealize it, but I¡¯m just grateful I live in a world where transformation has been advanced by science.¡± I should¡¯ve let it go. We¡¯d had these kinds of discussions before. It was like drawing maps in the sand on two separate islands of thought and, no matter how many we made, neither island felt any closer. An Original Transformation - Part 10 An Original Transformation Part 10 Still, I asked, ¡°Doesn¡¯t it feel amazing though that we¡¯re here? Not just that you¡¯re able to be your true self but that we shared in tonight from where we started. We literally ran into one another as I was thinking about transformation stuff on my first day of public school.¡± Fleur settled even more. ¡°Here feels nice. It¡¯s amazing to be here but that¡¯s life. That¡¯s chance. Think of all the people you didn¡¯t accidentally meet¡­ I know my psychologist has dozens of patients my age as well as many younger and older. Things turned out well for me. But others, those who have been through so much fighting to get approved¡­I cry when I think of them. It¡¯s not amazing for them. It¡¯s a struggle with the frail tracings of hope in the distance.¡± I bowed my head and looked away from Fleur. Still, so much of her life I didn¡¯t understand but I knew with all my heart I didn¡¯t want to see her cry. I was afraid that my feelings were leading her to that point. I clenched my mouth and didn¡¯t say anything but a softly-whispered apology. Fleur brushed my neck again. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I have the biggest, weirdest dreams of all. I want to spread it all around like Katsumi. I¡¯d take my psychologist¡¯s patient list¡­for a start¡­and just imagine a blast of energy from my fingertips and then no more tears.¡± She brushed at her forehead, staring at the glow of the park lights around us. Fixing her eyes on me, she explained, ¡°When I say forever with you, it¡¯s like the same dream. You have tears about your dreams. I could see your relief in the mirror. You wanted transformation and it was just so restrained that it¡¯s like you need forever just to catch up with it all. But I know it¡¯s not meant for you. And that¡¯s okay. We¡¯re not the same person.¡± It felt a little clearer listening to Fleur. She was right that I didn¡¯t really want it to be forever. It would be daunting. This was a different body than what I saw myself as. This was different than what I felt inside, but that was alright because it was a transformation, turning me into something that I¡¯d never been before. That wasn¡¯t a way to spend the rest of my life, especially if it made Fleur sad. ¡°What do you think of me as a girl?¡± I stretched out one leg a little in something resembling a pose. Fleur¡¯s anxiety seemed to fade away as she gave me an intentional gaze. ¡°I definitely approve¡±, she remarked with a smirk. ¡°And I especially love how you¡¯re still you but so cutely changed. If we had a little more privacy¡­.well, I¡¯ll leave that to the imagination.¡± Blush spread across the warmth of my face as I whispered little discoveries about my sexual feeling to Fleur and she teased back things she knew too. The imaginary faucet was slipping and all I could do was adjust my legs and let a current of thoughts carry me. In particular, I imagined Fleur as a man. Not as the Max I saw in pictures but as a guy who still carried the softness Fleur preferred, along with a feeling which kindled something inside me that *surely* nanites were responsible for¡­ Fleur pressed her head against the clothes in the bag. She said she would try being a man. She was nervously resolute and concluded the clothing would be the better one than the root beer because of the option of an immediate rather than time-delayed switch-off. I cheered her on as I felt the switch on my hoodie. I thought about what might happen if I decided to switch it on and take a long swig of the drink too. Likely, it would be nothing because my current nanites would take priority, causing the others to do nothing. Potentially, they could override the old ones and leave me with a different female body. Or they could regard me as a girl for real and turn me into a random guy. Beyond that were possibilities unknown. Fleur eventually stripped off her gloves, showing her hands as they trembled and clenched. She took a long breath and batted away a few random gnats stirred up by the strong lights above us. She pressed her hands together as though massaging invisible soap into them but resisted the urge to rub them. A sudden breeze carried the trails of mist from far off sprinklers along with smatterings of vicious dust. Brushing back her hair, Fleur made a slow process of preparation before abruptly slipping on the hoodie she¡¯d bought for herself. It fit her loosely before she flicked the tab. The shift was subtle but clear. Fleur¡¯s hair shortened slightly but still held a girlish cut with a swoop. Her cheekbones jutted but no more than hers sometimes did in the right light. Her chest flattened completely but her hips still spread like they usually did. As she was dressed, I wasn¡¯t sure if she had changed at all. Even a gently deeper echo to her question, ¡°How do I look?¡± didn¡¯t strike me as a huge change. She worried over the sound of it as I reassured her, ¡°You look very nice. Hardly even changed.¡± Though the male pronoun now applied, I kept the female one in mind because it still seemed right for her. I watched her hands. She didn¡¯t scratch but she held them like they were under a hot stream of water. She brushed at her elbows but kept her nails out of it. I encouraged her to breathe. She did, but not easily. Each breath was like a push for her. She looked ahead, at something I couldn¡¯t see and tightened her altered body before saying, ¡°I am still and always me. Fleur. I am Fleur no matter what changes happen.¡± She had a moment where she looked ill, but it soon passed as she settled back against the grass. She plopped down and nearly bonked herself with the bottles. She gave a little laugh and an ¡°Ow¡­¡± for that as I leaned close to her. It dimly occurred to me that I was a complete girl cuddling up close to a boy. An effeminate boy, at best, but I could tell from Fleur¡¯s expression, as she adjusted her pants, that she was just as complete. Chaotic little fantasies danced in my head. But I held the mass of them down to a simple question, ¡°May I kiss you?¡± Fleur looked at me with her eyes slightly darkened with discomfort. She clenched her fingers and then relaxed them. Her answer was a careful trace of a smile as she parted her lips. My kiss had no skill behind it, but I held her close and tried to not think so much. Shivers fought with my thoughts and slipped the grip on that imagined faucet. I thought more than I expected about what we each had in our pants. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. But I kept it to a kiss as I released Fleur. She shifted and wrapped her arms around me. One by one, the lights nearest to us switched off as the evening games dwindled. Plenty of lights remained in the distance for us to see by but they were far enough away for a handful of stars to resolve as more than muddy blurs. Cuddles eased into reminiscing about fragments of worlds we¡¯d half-created and left to live on their own. With some of them, it seemed Fleur was turning over something truly significant in her mind, like some great secret. I worried about it but only a little. I knew she would tell me when she felt right to do so. Eventually, Fleur called her mom to pick us up. Fleur as a boy lasted only long enough to show her mom before she flicked the tab and restored herself to normal. I fingered my tab but did nothing with it. She kept her gloves off for the ride back. We made chitchat as I filled in the events of the evening. For an nth untold time, I pined for Fleur¡¯s mother as my own. Once at Fleur¡¯s house, I had a little bit of time to myself. I kept the hoodie as I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. The mirror over the sink revealed no more than the one in the pastry shop had. But I was able to linger over my image and cup the tab. On a whim, I pressed it hard. I expected to see a sudden, unfamiliar boy or a random different girl. Instead, I saw the same person as a moment before. I tabbed the hoodie a few more times off and on while checking to make sure if the nanite confirmation light was on (it was). No matter how or how many times I tabbed it, my appearance didn¡¯t change. It had been a cheapie hoodie. Still, nanites from Vietnamese garment factories needed to be just as carefully-tested as those from any state-of-the-art clean room in a research lab. Likely, the nanites talked to one another and the ones in the hoodie wouldn¡¯t work till the mass of other nanites I had going in my body were finished I slipped off the hoodie and watched the way my clothes shifted underneath. I felt naughty. I was watching a girl changing clothes. I knew it was me, but the reminder still didn¡¯t hit me automatically. I brushed my hand a little but with nowhere near the roughness of how Fleur used to scour her gloved hands. After posing a bit more and ignoring the toilet, for the time being, I returned to Fleur¡¯s room and plopped down beside her. We took a few more photos and I sorta tried on some of her clothes in the same way we¡¯d tried on clothes in the store. I noticed her gloves were off and her nails were away from her wrists. Still, her hoodie was sprawled in a different room, like a cast-off skin. Random games and a quick movie rounded out the evening before I found myself getting drowsy before bed. By this time, I knew I didn¡¯t have much more than an hour before the nanites wore off. Fleur kept nudging me to shower, saying, ¡°It¡¯s your mountain to tackle.¡± I made stammered excuses, but she wasn¡¯t hearing them. She¡¯d gone further than I ever expected her to go and I owed her to at least take a few steps. I did deep breathing every step of the way. I tried to imagine myself as the people I saw in videos who gave uncommon reactions. The sort of confident reactions which felt more like acting, yet more genuine at the same time. It seemed like a good plan but standing before Fleur¡¯s bathroom door dashed it all away. Still, I had to do it. I kept the lights overhead dim and I worked by the spill of the outside street lamps. This also seemed like a good plan because I¡¯d do what I needed to do but without the wash of intimidating sights. I didn¡¯t consider how much my imagination would compensate. I didn¡¯t see the curve of my naked chest, but I glimpsed the darkest traces around my form. And I felt the cool, sharp air awaken even the most private corners of my body as I tried to fumble for the faucets. Blasts of scalding, numbing heat chaos with muffles of steam nearly made me scream, but my flailing fingers finally brought back lukewarm order. I kept my necklace in place, not sure if it had any instructions for getting wet, but I was able to keep it out of the stream. My temporary tattoo didn¡¯t waver or peel. My arms, however, quivered with every move. I tried not to think too much, lest the imaginary details overwhelm me. Still, despite it all, I knew I was cheating. Fleur had taken the most intimidating step and faced it. I knew she would be utterly disappointed if I didn¡¯t at least take a look and try to see what had changed. Waiting till the end of the shower, I wrapped up in the nearest towel and shivered before the shadow-traced mirror. Reaching a hand over, I slipped the towel to the floor with a blast of steamy chill and flicked on the light switch. After my eyes burned in their sockets and I blinked away the pain, I saw it all. I¡¯d seen enough to know. I¡¯d seen reactions which still made me nervous to consider, the kind of reactions that just tickled everything for me. But this wasn¡¯t an online video. This wasn¡¯t a story that someone posted online. This was me standing naked before the mirror. I watched the sharp-red points of my nipples pressing out from my breasts. I followed the sloping line of the edge of my chest. In my head, I could see the way my flesh had been before and other ways it could be. It was hard to be objective like when inspecting a quality transformation, especially when my eyes darted between my legs. I was a girl. That sentence alone was enough to stir a thousand wild thoughts and feelings. I kept trying to return to the distance that clothing provided me, a vision of a girl that passed over me in the mirror. But feeling the cold and the changes to my body as I looked at the girl reflected back at me, I couldn¡¯t separate her from me. Fear spilled into my bones like a high wave. It crashed through me, but the calm followed. Yes, I was a girl, but I was still me, like seeing two images superimposed. I was insecure, sentimental, obsessive, a boy who never got enough of the curve of a breast through a woman¡¯s clothes. At the same time, I was this beautiful and unique woman who had been created. And I had those same sorts of breasts exposed to the steam-settling air. An Original Transformation - END An Original Transformation End The ebb of the fear wave drew my hands to my bare flesh. I worked from my neck downwards. I learned my shape. I kept my hands from trembling across my breasts. I forged new pathways of excitement. By my feet, I looked upon my body with renewed ownership. The me who had woken up in the morning was still the me who was heading to sleep. The details were different but that was all. I used the toilet before I left, wrapped in the towel once again. I returned to Fleur with stories swirled in contemplation and curiosity. She dressed me in some of her silken clothes. They were loose on me, but I knew they would be tense and tight before long. At least I had this moment. We hung out together on Fleur¡¯s bed, talking about nothing in particular beyond Transformers and transformations. I tried not to watch the ticking clock on her wall and think of the meager minutes left with this body. Fleur was right, I didn¡¯t want forever like this. But I didn¡¯t mind just a little bit longer. I had enough to drift off to sleep with Fleur on the other side of the bed. When I woke up, it was over. I was bursting out of Fleur¡¯s loaner clothes with my curly hair dipping around my eyes and my boyish features restored. Even the yin necklace around my neck had timed-out and given me back my normal voice. It was late. I expected Fleur to be as asleep as I¡¯d been, but she was watching me. She didn¡¯t tell me when I changed. I stiffly fussed with the clothes in apology. Fleur fanned a hand as she told me, ¡°No worries. I can make you fit them again easily, because we¡¯ve still got root beer.¡± It didn¡¯t take long before I was downing my bottle and checking my reflection. In a way, there were no surprises. In another, it was a shocker because what I¡¯d gotten before in little bits and pieces assaulted me all across my body. Fortunately, I wound up small enough that Fleur¡¯s clothes were loose on me again. My breasts seemed a little bigger but not significantly so. The biggest difference was seeing my curly brown hair cascade over my neck. Although the change immediately left me wired, I regretted that I soon got drowsy again. So did Fleur, despite her best efforts to make this an all-night celebration. We shared the bed like sisters, which meant a lot of turning, bumping, and tussling for sheets. I nodded off with Fleur beside me. I might¡¯ve considered the root beer change to be a waste but sleeping as a girl was an experience which washed deep into my thoughts. Every natural motion was still familiar but changed. I didn¡¯t remember my dreams but felt there were more naughty details in one stretch than in a dozen I¡¯d had before. Morning meant experimenting with what we had left before Fleur put me in the hoodie. The end result was a girl-version of me which definitely looked like she could be Fleur¡¯s sister, minus a dye job. This immediately gave her ideas to order hair dye for me in all colors of the rainbow. But those plans would have a wait. We¡¯d depleted our savings from the night before and it would be some weeks before we could have the same sort of fun. I felt loss, but Fleur made up for it. She tantalized me with the possibilities and I had plenty of enjoyment with the hoodie, which I kept at Fleur¡¯s place after my parents tried to throw it out with the trash. We made a regular thing of buying good, discount transformation products. Not all of them were as special as that first night but they were always a joy to share with Fleur. I thought those times would stay forever. For several weeks, I noticed Fleur with random frowns when she figured I wasn¡¯t looking. I asked her about it sometimes, but she brushed it off as nothing, saying, ¡°I just have a lot on my mind¡­¡± Her grades were excellent, as were her test scores. Not that I did poorly, especially with Fleur as my study buddy. The last I heard of her plans was to finish up her prerequisites at the local community college for a fraction of the cost of out-of-state tuition. But, on a quiet evening at the edge of summer, Fleur bowed her head and released her full plans. ¡°I got an amazing offer from a Seattle university with a fantastic writing program. They¡¯ll cover everything.¡± I was happy for her. I cheered. My stomach gurgled in private. She¡¯d known about the offer since before our special night out. I wanted to show only happiness but broke down in trembling tears as Fleur hugged me. She told me that, despite everything, our summer and senior year would be special. Along with her college prep, it would be everything we ever dreamed of doing with transformation. But, especially that summer, we both worked. Our jobs weren¡¯t far from one another but less than my ideal of being like Dee and Korri Wright at Newid¡¯s. We stopped by to visit them (and Malina) from time to time. Fleur even babysat for their daughter, Abigail. What time we promised each other slipped away in tiredness and distraction. There were so many moments, as rare and beautiful as twinkling snowflakes, but never enough. Time passed so quickly. One day leading into the next and one week passing the one after that with inexorable gravity. Fleur barely missed out on giving our graduation speech, but she had more fun sitting beside me as we huddled against the intense winds which blew through every graduation in the area. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I clung to every moment before Fleur moved out. We made sure every online contact we could establish was there. We made calling over the phone a habit. Still, the last day felt like the deep stitching of my heart had been torn and clawed open I helped her pack up several classic Transformers figures, some to go with her, some to sit in her parents¡¯ closet, and a few to be left in my care. I clutched them tightly and tried to breathe. Fleur looked calm as she packed, but she had her fingerless gloves on. Her pink hair had dwindled to streaks ever since she started working and she sometimes left her piercings out. I wanted to say something especially cool or profound to her, but we just talked about random things. I wore the yin necklace from that first time more often. I didn¡¯t mind the girly voice it gave me for a few hours every day. Fleur bought a normal one not too long after, with pink in place of white and blue in place of black. I liked it better than mine. We almost got another yin/yang necklace which was all white with female symbols hanging from a nylon string. It split into two for sharing. But the ones we had worked better. I touched mine as we shared a laugh on the couch. I wanted to be happy. I tried to show my best to Fleur and, in turn, she kept a smile on whenever I looked at her. But I noticed it slipping every so often. I asked her about it. ¡°I¡¯m gonna miss you. I mean¡­I know internet and phones and breaks and all that. But, if I had a choice, I¡¯d stay here or take you with me.¡± I held her hand and she clutched mine. I wanted to tell her so much, even though she¡¯d heard it all before from me. Instead, we lingered in the quiet with little chuckles as leftovers from long-ago jokes. I remembered the ¡°zappy gun¡± we nearly bought by pooling our money one particular evening. Not the sort of evening like that first one but still memorable in its own right. We discovered a limited-edition Katsumi-brand transformation blaster which looked like it fell out of a science fiction movie. I knew vaguely that it appeared in some niche Japanese anime with Katsumi. We wound up just admiring it a bit before buying something far cheaper. We also nearly joined a water fight team. It was a bit like a live-action roleplay of a war, only with nanite-infused water pistols and fluid loyalties. Fleur declined due to how deathly seriously some took it, like the fate of gender itself hung in the balance. I declined because I knew I¡¯d only give up my side as soon as play started. Still, it was nice to spectate a few games. So many opportunities. I lamented the days I idled through the online forums for transformations I could¡¯ve lived instead. My parents had long since given up on dealing with me, but I paid my way to keep them quiet. The plan after Fleur left was to find my own place. Fleur¡¯s parents offered to put me up for a while if I needed it. I caressed Fleur¡¯s fingertips, avoiding spots which the scouring winds had made rough. We chuckled together and relaxed into each other. When the time came, we treated it like any other parting but the motions were slower, stretching and waving as though we were underwater. And then she was gone, bound for her flight. I stayed with her parents as they worried as much as I did, but with their tears showing and flowing with smiles and frowns. I held on with calls as long as I could, lingering in the background. I stayed with them a while. I even played surrogate daughter with a few transformative items. More than once, her mom asked me, in a way far kinder and with more curiosity than my mother, why we didn¡¯t date or get married. I shrugged. Time spiraled out with days flowing into weeks that flowed ever onward. I couldn¡¯t imagine how quickly time traveled, the more there was of it. Moments felt less special and paler from Fleur¡¯s absence. I curled in bed a few times with transformative agents and wistful dreams. I imagined the ways things could¡¯ve gone. I fumed, I romanticized, and I dreamed. Each contact with Fleur was a salve, but I had to wean myself from it as new names around her entered our discussions and our time dwindled piece by piece. I harvested patience and tried to look beyond Fleur. Church actually helped me find some people more cordial to transformations than most. But each connection felt like a shadow and each moment had to be tempered. The friendships came and went. Years slid over my eyes. I treasured every meeting, even though there were weeks I didn¡¯t think of Fleur. I dated a bit, some wildly excited about transformations, others turning up their noses to it. I experimented but it mostly became stuff to mention to Fleur when I saw her next. My happiest day was being a flower girl at her wedding. I barely knew the part-time man she married, but we get along well. He even kinda has my eyes when a girl. How they met sounded not too different from how we met, but with relaxed confidence and other turns of luck. We have our days, even in the lulls between Fleur¡¯s editorial work and occasional novels. She still wears her blue and pink yin and yang as I still wear my voice-changing yin. For me, I know I¡¯ll never forget our night together.