He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 3

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Disclaimer: All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older at the time of the events described. This work is intended for a mature audience and complies with all applicable content guidelines regarding age-appropriate material. It is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only. The content is not meant to promote or endorse any real-life actions. Reader discretion is advised. Enjoy responsibly within the context of fantasy.

The three started laughing as I reddened in shame. Mark said triumphantly, "Another step closer. 

Want to bet she's ready for a bra by noon?" Desperately, I stomped on Rommel's foot, then managed to shove Marks aside as I ran down the hall. Marks restrained his partners-in-crime. "Let her go, boys. 

I never hit a lady." In tears once again, I sprinted for a door and began the three-mile run back to my house. I just couldn't face any more people. 

Up to now, I had been in denial about GB at some levels. While I accepted intellectually that I was going to be a girl, emotionally, I was unwilling to acknowledge it. 

By this, I don't mean the struggle I was having over athletics and girlfriends; rather, I just hadn't imagined what having a girl's body would be like physically. 

But now I could tell. As I ran, the higher pitch of my breathing continued to amaze me. I tripped slightly as I crossed a sidewalk; the gasp I gave was utterly girlish. My shirt rubbed against my nipples, which felt raw in a new way. 

And worst of all, I could sense a bit of jiggle in my chest as I bobbed along. At least my endurance was okay. Running three miles consecutively was part of my regular training anyway. I had an intense need to be alone. 

The humiliation I'd endured from Marks and his rent-a-twits was based on a still larger sense of shame echoing through me. The shame of being a girl. Now we're venturing into really dangerous territory. Four decades of ever-increasing political correctness permeating all society should have prevented me from even thinking that girls were inferior, save for the special category of sports. 

But let human nature win out. I remember an exercise a teacher had given to a class of grade-school kids. Imagine yourself, she said, as the opposite sex for one day. What would you do? 

The girls in the class wrote imaginative essays, seeing themselves as boys, using their newfound strength for all sorts of adventures, especially as a force for good. 

On the other hand, every boy had the identical response: "No way would I ever be a girl, even for a day." The reality of the human condition is inescapable: no matter how far women's rights might advance, no matter how progressive the education, most males will always perceive femininity as a synonym for weakness. 

Oh, men can and do respect women's positive attributes of intelligence, determination, and even emotional power. But the body—therein lies the rub. A female body is so dramatically smaller and more fragile than a male's. Men fear weakness and its cousin, vulnerability. 

As a result, men find the whole notion of being feminine distasteful and even frightening. And with this kind of thinking, it's no wonder men seek to avoid anything that associates them with womanhood. But I could not avoid it. 

That point was proven still further as I arrived home and locked myself in the bathroom. Once again, I took off my clothes. Once again, I inspected my body. Once again, I could see I was yet more female. 

My face was now more than androgynous; it was becoming effeminate. My nose was smaller and starting to turn up at the tip. My chin was more pointed, and my eyes appeared larger. Lips were fuller, and the mouth was wider. 

My short haircut could no longer prevent me from looking a bit like a girl. It got worse as I went lower. My nipples were swollen and stood out from my chest even more than this morning. 

And I also had what might be called breast buds. I'd never seen a pre-adolescent girl undressed, of course, but I suspected my chest looked like what a girl might have when she wore her first training bra. 

As for the manly hydraulics, my scrotum seemed to press more closely against my body, and my penis was (I realized with a sinking heart) much smaller and less 'independent,' almost as if it were blending in with the scrotum. 

And overall, my frame appeared more delicate. I never had bulging muscles; a miler didn't want the extra weight, but I had filled out some in my shoulders over the last year. 

That was gone; now I looked like I was 14 again. And so I started to cry, which I'd done more times in the last 24 hours than I had in the previous 24 months. Perfectly normal for a girl. That fact unnerved me further and became a cycle. 

The more I cried, the more I realized how emotional I was becoming. And the more I perceived my new emotions, the more I cried until I was weeping soft, feminine sobs that further underscored what was happening to me. After about 10 minutes, I managed to get some control and splashed cold water on my face. 

It was only noon, but I went to bed. Partly because I was exhausted and partly because I wanted to shut out the world. 

I must have been asleep for many hours before my mother woke me with a gentle shake. It was dark out, so she turned on the light. And she gasped when she saw me. 

I didn't have a mirror, but I could guess what she was seeing: still more progress on the road to womanhood. 

"Oh, Jack, I was worried about you. They called me from school when you didn't show up for class." 

I replied, "You can see why I left. Just look at me!" I sounded like a little girl about to have a fit. Her eyes widened at the soft, feminine tone of my voice. She gently ran her finger along the curve of my jaw. 

"It really is happening to you. I still have trouble believing it; it's so hard for me to imagine my son as my daughter. You're going to be so pretty, but I guess that's not what you want to hear right now." 

"You got that right. Oh, Mom, how am I going to deal with this?" 

 "By knowing that I love you and I'll be by your side. 

The one advantage is that I know everything there is to know about being a girl. At least I'll be able to identify with much of what you are feeling." 

"Not everything." 

"No, not everything. I can't imagine what it would be like to turn into a man. I know I'll never fully understand all that you are going through, the very act of changing sex, but I can help you cope with a girl's body. I still have this feeling that you might get to like it. 

"I can't see how, Mom. I like myself just fine now. I don't WANT to like any part of being a girl." 

"Because you feel that being a girl is a step down?" She had me there, but I didn't want to give it to her. 

"Jack, if I could prevent this from happening to you, I would. Having said that, if this becomes an opportunity for just one male to learn to respect females without being condescending, then at least a little good may come from it." There was a sharp tone to her voice. 

I stopped for a moment and tried to think of her perspective. "It's really hard to be a woman, isn't it?" 

She looked at me kindly. "Hard, yes, sometimes. The sexism and the prejudice are daunting. But it's incredibly rewarding as well. If I were offered a chance to be accepted as truly equal to men but at the price of surrendering my femininity, I'd turn it down. 

That's how much I love being a woman." I sighed. "I don't think I'm ever going to feel the same way, Mom." 

"I can see how you would think that now you're still in transition. But once the change is complete, and the magic of girlhood is yours, you may see things in a different way." 

"Let's hope so. Because I definitely don't like how I see things now." We hugged then, and I had to admit that at least I was feeling closer to my mother than I had for a long time. I just wish the price weren't so high. 

I slept fitfully for a few more hours. I awoke to a bright, sunny Saturday morning, completely at odds with my mood. Today was the day for me to head off to Girl School, excuse me, GRS. 

I sure as hell didn't want to go, but I knew time was running out. In the mirror, I could see that my skin was getting smoother and my Adam's apple was gone. 

It was hard for me to use the toilet now that most of the underside of my penis seemed to be fused to my scrotum; I could barely control the direction. As for my face, no one would see me as a young man anymore. At best, a pre-adolescent boy, if not outright a girl. 

I got into the car with Mom, and we began the long drive to Syracuse. I didn't pack any clothes, so why bother? By Monday, nothing I owned would fit. We were silent for most of the trip. I felt as if I were being driven to prison, or basic training, or some similar doom. 

After an hour winding our way through the rolling hills and farms, we arrived at a nondescript office park near the Syracuse University campus. I could see the vast bulk of the Carrier Dome; Syracuse was the only college in America to have an indoor football stadium. I looked at the huge facility with nostalgia. 

w1t2 I'd run track meets. Not anymore. 

I was surprised at the security; there were gates, guards, and brick walls, all low-key but very professional. They needed it, though. 

In addition to intrusions from the media, GRS facilities had been attacked by religious zealots and other assorted nuts. To many, GB victims were freaks of nature, abominations against God. And to some, GB girls needed to be confronted, contained as if they were threats to humanity, straight out of the X-Files. 

We were checked in and directed to a low, three-story, modern building. Mom got out of the car with me and prepared to walk in. I stopped her. "I need to do this on my own, Mom." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." I didn't want to have anyone I knew witnessing what I was about to go through. Not even my mother. She nodded, then gave me a huge hug. "I'll be back on Monday." 

"Thanks, Mom. Be sure to bring me some panties." I said that with a smile on my face, a mixture of the sardonic and the fatalistic. 

She looked at me intensely. "You're going to be all right, Jack Lind. I raised you to be strong, and that's what you are." I gave her another hug, then headed up the stairs. 

It occurred to me that I was walking into this building as a boy. But when I walked out, I wouldn't be! 

WHO'S THAT GIRL? Trembling a bit, I stepped into the lobby, where I was greeted by a smiling young woman, who took my name and then led me to a small lab. As I followed her, I noticed how her hips rounded out her white uniform dress very nicely. I found myself wondering if I would look the same. 

I filled out a lot of paperwork and presented more documentation from Doctors Gilroy and Wilson. 

Then I was given a quick physical, and they drew some blood. Everyone was very kind and patient with me. Finally, I was taken to what appeared to be a classroom with a dozen seats and a lectern up front. About half the seats were occupied by boys or girls. 

I really couldn't tell. I took a seat for myself while checking out those around me. Some looked at me shyly; others turned their heads in embarrassment. 

All of them were definitely victims of GB; they were feminized to one degree or another. In a few cases, I could see what were clearly breasts (albeit small ones) pushing out their shirts.

 Others were not as far along, but they also had faces that were too gentle for masculinity. None of these people could be considered truly male, even if they weren't quite girls yet. 

The worst part was realizing that I fit into this crowd just fine. The boy next to me leaned over and extended a hand. When I shook it, I felt as though I was almost holding Sue's hand; his was nearly that delicate. 

"Todd Mackenzie," he introduced himself with a soprano voice even higher than mine. "Jack Lind," I replied. "The miller?" he said, seemingly impressed. "Not so much anymore. I'm surprised you've heard of me." 

"I go to Binghamton High. I ran on their cross-country team last year. All the coaches know about you; you're the most famous athlete from these parts in, like, forever." 

 "That's about to change. Probably for the best. 

The last thing any of us needs right now is more attention." "You said it," he responded. "This really sucks, doesn't it?" 

 "Absolutely. The worst part is, I've got no idea how to be a girl—even if I wanted to." 

"Well, I do know something about it. I have four sisters, and I'm the only boy." "Oh, God," I said sympathetically.

 "How is everyone taking it?" 

"My dad's totally freaked, as you can imagine. Losing his only son and all. My sisters think it's great, of course, as if my house weren't girly enough already." 

 "And your mom?" 

 "She's neutral; she just wants to make sure I'm okay." 

 "That's cool. At least your sisters can help you adjust." " Don't be too sure that's a good thing. 

They're already plotting makeovers and how to doll me up. They've got all kinds of frilly outfits they want me to dress up in." There was the look of repugnance on Todd's rather cute face. 

"Does living with them give you any insight as to what being a girl is all about?" 

"Sometimes I think so. Other times, I think I could live with them for a hundred years and not understand them." 

"Well, I'll bet you'll understand them better by next week." 

"All too true. This will sound silly, but one thing I liked was being able to easily sort my clothes from theirs on laundry day. Now, I'll have to wear the same things they do so everything will be mixed up." 

He shuddered as we both had a vision of him accidentally pulling on panties belonging to one of his sisters and having them fit. While we were talking, several others had taken seats around us; there were now ten of us in the room. 

All conversation stopped when a 30-ish woman with medium-length red hair and a charcoal-gray business suit came in and stood at the lectern. "Good morning, folks," she began. 

"My name is Janet Barlow, and I want to welcome you to the Gender Reorientation Seminar. We use the acronym 'GRS' to refer to this program, though you've probably heard terms like 'Girl School' or 'Cunt Class' or some other such nonsense." 

 I jumped a little at her blatant use of vulgarity. I'd never heard an adult, particularly a woman, express herself in front of me that way. "Got your attention, didn't I?" She continued. 

"I do apologize, but there's one rule about this program that's absolutely imperative: honesty. 

My staff and I will be straight with you about everything. That can sometimes be a hard challenge, for we don't pull any punches here. We're going to tell it like it is, because if we do any less, you won't be prepared for what you're about to go through. 

"Our goal is straightforward: to help you adjust to your new sex and all that goes along with it. We've guided nearly 250 boys to girls through this facility alone, and we have a lot of experience and feedback. 

Our charter requires, and our professionalism demands, that we do all we can to get you through this. 

"Why? Here's the first harsh reality you'll need to face. Although some 6000 boys across the country have been transformed, that's less than 1/10th of one percent of the population of America. 

Because the number of transformees is so small in comparison, that means society is not going to change to accommodate you; you are going to have to change to accommodate society." 

She paused and looked at each of us in turn. "If GB were affecting 10-20% of all males, it might be a different story. If that many men were becoming women, the very concept of how we define femininity would change.

 But that's not the case here. Each of you will have to match the current cultural expectations of being a girl. If not, you'll find yourselves frustrated, isolated, and ostracized." We were silent at that while she continued. 

 "Don't think us unsympathetic; we all wish you were not going through this. We know none of you want to be here. But it is imperative you understand that you are going to be young women, and you will have to behave accordingly. 

"Now for the good news. This program is not about forcing femininity down your throat. We're not going to make you put on party dresses, wear nylons, or teeter around in high heels." There seemed a palpable sense of relief in the room. "Yes, there are classes on makeup, hairstyling, and so forth, but they are voluntary. 

The only mandatory classes are on physiology and hygiene, which are essential for good health. 

Everything else is optional." One 'boy' raised his hand. "Then why have them?" Ms. Barlow replied, "Because some of you are the children of single dads, who are not going to be able to acquaint you with the basics of day-to-day femininity. 

And even for those of you with in-house mothers and sisters, you may still be reluctant to turn to them. The fact is, teenage girls spend a lot of time with fashion and appearance, and you will be in a better position to fit in if you know what's going on. 

"Which leads to my next point. It's very important for you to understand that being a girl is not about cosmetics, perms, and skirts. You may have a vision of girlhood as being focused on nothing but image. 

That just isn't true. To be sure, there are all kinds of cultural connotations typically associated with being a girl. And you are going to have to live up to many of them. 

"But, here's the key point—there are as many ways to be a girl as there are girls. Some girls are into make-up and clothes big time; others pay little attention to the whole thing. We just want you to know what your options are." I raised my hand. "But you just warned us that we're going to have to act all girly to fit in. It almost seems like you are contradicting yourself." 

She smiled. "In every class, there's always someone who brings that up. It's a good point. Here's the distinction. After you finish your transformation, it's up to you to figure out your style as a girl. 

You may like short hair, jeans, and playing football. Or, you may find you like pretty dresses, frilly underwear, and ballet." 

"Fat chance of that," I muttered. Ms. Barlow's smile grew broader. 

"You'd be surprised; more on that later. But here's the gist of what I'm saying. You can be any kind of girl you want," She paused for emphasis. "As long as you remember you ARE a girl.