He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 2

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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.

More changes: my nipples were now nearly twice as large as before, the pinkish cones standing up a quarter inch or more from my chest. And the flesh underneath was fuller still, nothing like what a woman would have, but enough to mark what was happening to me. With most of the storms of adolescence behind me, I'd finally acquired a positive image of my body.

I was no hunk, but the girls told me I was nice looking, and of course, my athleticism also made me feel proud of what I had. But now I felt betrayed by my body, as if it were turning against me. To lose my shape like this, I felt as though I was losing myself.

Yet I was still determined to go to school today. At some level, I knew this was my last chance to enjoy my old life as a boy. Mom had already headed into work; her job gave her very little opportunity for time off. I pulled on a T-shirt and whipped it off again when I saw how it displayed my nipples and chest. I refused to say the other word.

I found a looser, bulkier polo and struggled to get my jeans up past hips that seemed to have widened further during the night.

Worse yet was the fact that I had to roll the cuffs on my jeans a couple of times as I sadly noted I was getting shorter. I don't want to convey the impression that I now look like a girl in drag. I still appeared mostly male-only; close observation would show that something was amiss. 'Amiss.' A macabre pun occurred to me.

I was about to become 'a miss.' On the bus, a few kids whispered as I sat down—I hoped the changes weren't that obvious yet.

But I knew something was up when I got to my locker. More kids were looking at me strangely as I got out my books. I heard a heavy footstep behind me and turned to look up at the looming frame of Big Mark Williams (BMW), our track team's star discus thrower.

At six-six, 265, Mark was, as you might expect, a big part of the football team as well. Yet despite his huge size, he had a reputation as a gentle, albeit laconic, giant. He never picked on anybody, and it was for sure no one picked on him. He put one large hand on my shoulder and said, "Sorry, dude." Then he turned and walked away. And I realized my secret was out.

Milford is, as I've mentioned, a small town. And as the old joke goes, the only thing that travels faster than light is gossip. In Milford, everyone knew everyone else; there's little anonymity here. This means that if there's a juicy bit of information, all the folks will get a bite.

Someone at the clinic must have leaked. I was certain it wasn't Doctors Gilroy and Wilson; their reputation as professionals was too solid for that. Probably a technician or receptionist; it didn't really matter who had done the talking.

What did matter was that everyone at school either knew or would soon know the truth: I was about to become eligible for Homecoming Queen. Suddenly, I felt a touch on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw that it was Sue. She looked at me for a moment, then glanced around quickly.

Tugging on my hand, she pulled me into a vacant classroom. She shut the door, then cupped my chin with one palm and studied my face carefully. There was an expression of curiosity and concern in her eyes. She spoke.

"It's true, isn't it?" I nodded slowly, saying nothing.

"I can see it now that I know what to look for, or oh, Jack." She was in my arms then, giving me an intense hug.

"How, how much longer?"

By Monday, the doctors say". She pulled back and gazed into my eyes.

"Does it hurt? Is there any pain? "Not physically," I replied. "I'm so worried for you. I did some reading online this morning. There's a lot of material on GB. I hadn't paid much attention to it before now, but I guess you're going to be a real girl—as if you were born that way.

"Kind of puts a damper on our prom, doesn't it?" I said flatly. "Oh, Jack, there's no way I'm giving up on us.

You've always been a nice guy, and you've also become the sweetest boyfriend I've ever had. You mean too much to me to lose that."

Sue, we won't have a choice. We're both going to be girls; it's not like we can ever make.

I mean, be together the way I, we, want." Jack, listen to me.

We'll worry about that when the time comes. We both know there's something between us more important than sex. No matter what happens, I'm going to be there for you, and I'll help you in every way.

No one will ever have the same place in my heart because. I love you." Yesterday, I would have been elated to hear her say that. Now, the moment was bittersweet, knowing that whatever love we had could not be expressed as we would have chosen.

But it was still wonderful to listen to those words from her, and I responded in kind. She stepped up to me and gave me a long, lingering kiss that sent shivers down my body. Her tongue probed delicately into my mouth once, twice. I felt the familiar rush of blood to my groin and the hardness beginning.

And then I felt another response, a strange one, tingling, in my nipples.

Oh God, my body was already starting to react like a girl's! I broke off the kiss. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Tears forming in my eyes, I reached out to touch her lovely face. "I'm sorry, Sue... I," Then, almost sobbing, I pushed past her and headed out the door.

I just couldn't be with her, knowing that my body was changing to match hers. I felt so saddened, realizing what I was losing. Dazed and confused, I wandered the halls for a while. One advantage of being a senior just a few months away from graduation was that I didn't have to worry much about detention. I wasn't up for class.

I wanted some reassurance. But I wasn't going to find any here. As I passed girls in the corridors, I looked at them, fascinated by their femininity.

Of course, I had always been intrigued by girls, but now my perspective was altered. I noticed so many differences I'd never paid attention to before.

How they carried their books, the way they touched each other as they talked, the light dangling from their wrists. Their body language was so complex and unique, with a subtle delicacy about every gesture.

Prior to GB, I had simply seen femininity as a package; I just noticed the final results, not all the myriad details that made girls girlish.

And now I was supposed to be like them? Even when I became physically female, how was I ever going to learn to act like a girl? To move like one?

To be feminine not only in body, but in manner and style? It seemed a hopeless task, even if I had wanted to take it on, which, of course, I didn't. I had no desire to be like them.

Yet I had no choice. I was going to look like a girl; I could feel it all the way down to my rapidly feminizing bones.

I had never, ever felt a sense of doom like this. Even more depressed, my wandering footsteps led me to Coach Bradford's office, adjacent to the gym, for he taught phys ed during school hours.

The coach was an avid researcher on training techniques and sports medicine. His desk was crowded with various journals and books. He was on the Internet as I walked in. I sat down as he looked at me closely.

"I take it you know," I said. "

The rumor mill's been very busy this morning. How long does the doc give you?"

Monday," I replied. His eyes widened a bit.

"That fast, eh? I'd hoped we could get a couple more meets in before..."

"Before you have to issue me a girl's uniform?" I finished. "Something like that. I'm very sorry about this, Jack." There was a disappointed look in his eyes.

I knew why. Coach Bradford had enjoyed considerable success with his football teams over the years, but he really loved coaching track; the complex range of disciplines was a challenge that appealed to him.

Between jumping, throwing, sprinting, distance, and the relays, there was always something new to teach and to learn. Of course, football was where Coach Bradford earned most of his well-deserved prestige, but in me, he had found an opportunity to guide a national-class athlete.

The coach had picked me out all the way back in 8th grade, and we'd come a long way together. Each season, we'd set new goals, plot the training, and patiently work for them. We'd made an effective team, but now, just when it was paying off for both of us, it was gone. "Is there any chance I'll be able to keep my speed?" He shook his head slowly and pointed to his computer.

"I doubt it, Jack. I'm no expert on GB, but those who are say there's been absolutely no physiological difference detected between a boy who becomes a girl via GB versus one who was born that way.

And as for the speed, I've known for years the distinction between male and female athletes. You know my philosophy on this." I did. Coach Bradford had led several girls' teams for Milford, and he had a good reputation as a fair and open-minded coach.

He really believed that girls and sports were a good combination. But it just wasn't the same as for the boys." Jack, the inescapable facts are these: girls have 25% less lung capacity than boys and are 40% behind the guys for upper body strength.

Added to that is the inefficient skeletal structure caused by wider hips, and you have the disparity between even the best-trained female athletes versus the men. Once your transformation is complete, you'll have the same limitations as any other girl.

I've coached track for years, and I've always had to account for that in my programs." I just sat there, staring at him. He continued:

"My record is loud and clear.

I'm an ardent supporter of girls' sports; I've got two daughters myself. Title IX has been a wonderful positive for young women; in fact, it may be of benefit to you. "How?"

You know, there have been more than 30 colleges recruiting you. Just because you're going to be a girl doesn't mean that's over.

There are plenty of track scholarships for young women at all the top schools. If your speed as a girl is proportional to what you ran as a boy, then you will be in demand as much as ever.

"I appreciate what you're trying to say, Coach, but it's not the same thing, is it?"

He was silent. Although we didn't speak of it, we both knew what I meant. Before GB, I was a great miler.

After GB, I could still be a great miler. For a girl. And that's what made this so hard. That damn phrase: 'for a girl.' No matter how good I might be as a female, I wouldn't be as good as I was before.

So, assuming I remained a competitive athlete, I would still be forced to acknowledge it; I could not compete against men. "She's really good... for a girl."

Thus, I would be forced into a separate category. An inferior category.

To be sure, I was already in a special category as a boy. A 3:59 mile was a spectacular achievement for a high school kid. El Guerrouj, the world record holder, could still beat me by 16 seconds. But that was just a step. I had very real hopes to move up to college, track clubs, and the Olympics.

And if I made it all the way, then I might become the best miler. Not the best high school kid; not the best college runner; just the best. Period. But all that was gone now. As a girl, even if I became an Olympic champion, I would always have the qualifier:

Gold Medalist. Women's gold medalist. I know, I know. It's hardly PC. We're supposed to celebrate boys' and girls' athletic achievements as complementary. We're not supposed to notice that the girls have to be segregated into an athletic ghetto to shine. Example?

The US women's soccer team won the first women's World Cup a few years back. The year before, the US team finished poorly in the men's World Cup. Many feminists, pundits, and coaches touted the relative performances as proof that the women athletes were now superior to the men.

The phrase became: 'Girls rule, boys drool, soccer's cool.' I was delighted to see the women win the Cup, and it was great to see girls get so enthusiastic about sports. But for all the hoopla about girl power, nobody ever suggested putting the men's team against the women's on the same field.

The results would have been obvious; the women would have been crushed. Everyone remembers tennis star Billie Jean King's defeat of Bobby Riggs back in the '70s; it became an icon of the women's rights movement.

But King was at the height of her career at the time, while Riggs was over the hill, well into his 50s. When the athletes are more balanced, the results are much different.

In 1998, Martina Navratilova and Jimmy Connors played an exhibition match in Las Vegas. Connors was only allowed one serve per point and had to defend the doubles alleys, while Navratilova got two serves and had less court to protect.

The score? Despite the handicap, it was an easy victory for Connors at 6-2, 6-2. And this was arguably the greatest women's player of all time.

I love watching the Williams sisters play tennis. They've raised the standard of the women's game to a whole new level. Their grace, power, and femininity are a delight to see.

But Agassi or Sampras would make mincemeat of them. And society rewards accordingly. Tennis is an exception; most other female pro athletes make a fraction of the salary earned by the men. The WNBA is an honorable effort, but there's no way people are going to pay the same money to see Cheryl Swoopes as they would to see Jordan, Shaq, or Yao.

In the more than one hundred Olympic events, only three have men and women competing side by side: yachting, equestrian, and pairs figure skating. In all other sports, the girls have to be on their own, or they wouldn't even qualify. That was now my fate.

Coach Bradford and I sat quietly, contemplating the wreckage of all our plans. Then he spoke. "Jack, when you get back next week, I'll put you under the clock; let's see where we are before we plot our next move."

"Coach, I have to be honest, I don't think I'll ever run again." I meant it, too. Racing a mile after I turned into a girl would just prove all of the above. "I respect how you feel, Jack, but promise me you'll make one attempt." I looked at him carefully; there was a bit of a gleam in his eye; I knew he had something in mind. "What's going on?" You'll just have to trust me, Jack.

Will you promise?" I didn't even hesitate. Coach Bradford had been my mentor for 5 years; I owed him this. "All right, I'll do one mile after I'm done with it."

God, it was still a shock to think of it.

I was turning into a girl. People just weren't supposed to change sex! It was so surreal. A bit numb, I said goodbye and headed back to the halls. It was there that I spotted Hal and Becky.

Much to my delight, they were holding hands. It looked as though their status as a couple was cemented. For a brief moment, I forgot about my own problems; I was glad to see things working out for others. They immediately waved to me and came over. Becky spoke first.

"We've been looking all over for you. I can't believe what I heard. Is it? I'm afraid so," I said wryly. "By Monday, you, I, and Sue can all get makeovers together." That's so cool! I mean, I know it's not exactly what you want in your life, but I bet you'll make a terrific girl.

We're going to have so much fun." She was bubbling with enthusiasm, and there was not a trace of mockery or sarcasm. Amazingly, she saw my transition as an adventure.

Hal grinned at me. "What some guys won't do to get into a girl's panties." Becky punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Behave, boy.

Listen, Jack, after you join the superior sex, you can give me all the dirt on how males think. Maybe you can even help me figure this character out," she smiled, pointing at Hal.

I was astonished at what seemed to be such a cavalier attitude. I was about to complain to them. But then I realized Hal and Becky were both reassuring me of something: I would still be their friend, come what may. They weren't going to coddle me—because they respected me.

And that reassured me quite a bit. We spent a few more minutes chatting about inconsequential matters. It was nice to have a normal conversation without thinking of that feminine Sword of Damocles above me. The bell rang, and we made preparations to head to class. Becky spoke again.

"Seriously, Jack, I am sorry for what you're going through. But I've got a special feeling that tells me it will all work out in the end.

We're on your side." Hal seconded the feeling. "And nobody had better hassle you afterwards, or they'll have me to deal with." I smiled at that.

Distance runners like Hal are hardly built like football players, so the idea of him as my bodyguard could only go so far. But he'd been my best male friend for years, and I knew he'd really look out for me. Feeling better than I had all morning, I said my farewells and headed down the hall. Of course, all good things must come to an end.

I ran into Andy Marks around the next corner. He immediately broke into a large grin, and a mocking expression appeared on his face. He was accompanied by two of his fellow goons (names are irrelevant; call them Rommel and Goering).

They quickly formed a triangle, backing me against the lockers. I noticed to my dismay that I was now a bit shorter than them; I'd been taller just a week ago. Adding to the fun, the corridor was deserted; they had me all to themselves. Andy spoke first in a condescending tone.

"Well, well, if it isn't MISS Lind." He looked at me closely. "See any tits on her yet, boys?" Rommel and Goering shook their heads. "All in good time, I suppose. I always did think you were a pussy, Jack. Now you've actually gone and proven it. "Fuck off," I snapped, trying to push past them. They held me back easily. "My, my, such language.

Not very ladylike, Jack—or should I say Jackie? "You shouldn't say anything at all, Marks. Assholes are usually very quiet, except when they produce crap." " Still trying to play the tough guy, eh, Jackie?

You've gotten mighty big for your britches lately, but you won't be so tough after you're in skirts. No more track star or dream girlfriend. Or are you hoping to turn that Wendell bitch into a lez?" Seething in rage, I started to take a swing, but Rommel and Goering grabbed my arms.

Mark spoke again.

"You know, you should look me up when the girlie bug is done with you. I'll bet you'll be able to give a hellacious blowjob, what with you being an ex-boy and all." It was my turn.

"Why wait, Marks? The way you three hang together, I figure you'd rather get your blowjobs from guys. Or do you prefer to give them?" His face darkened. "I'm glad this is happening to you, Lind.

Once you're wearing panties, then you'll know your place. The boys and she will make sure of that. You're nothing but a cunt waiting to happen. And when it does, I'll be ready for you. I'll find you alone, and I'll show you what being a girl is all about. "You know, Marks, there are many," I stopped, shocked. My voice had suddenly cracked. I tried again. "There are," And I stopped again, moving from shocked to horrified.

My voice had changed. High, lilting, female. There were looks of astonishment on all three of their faces, which probably matched my own expression. Once more, I tried to speak, forcing my voice lower. It was useless. I sounded like a cross between Sue and Becky. I was at least an octave higher than before, or so I guessed; I didn't have much musical expertise.