He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 12

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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.

Note - This story is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and events are purely imaginary and bear no relation to real people, living or dead. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

Definitely a unique experience. How much more intense would it be if I were awake? And stimulating myself directly? Or being stimulated by someone else?  I pulled the dress over my head. It was a bit longer than yesterday's skirt. Light pink, flowers, spring-style, etc. I finished getting ready and got a huge hug from my mom as she gushed over how pretty I looked in the outfit, a fact I'd confirmed in the glass.  

The more time I spend as a female, the more time I spend in front of mirrors. Remember the classic Norman Rockwell painting of a young girl in her slip, staring at her reflection? She was wondering what kind of woman she was going to be. I was doing the same. Physical appearance was becoming more important to me than ever before.  

Please don't think me conceited. I wasn't taking pride in my looks, quite the opposite, I was still unsettled by them. I knew I was cute, but that was because I'd spent a lifetime as a boy looking at girls, so I had a perspective other girls lacked. But also because I'd been a boy, I knew (better than other girls) what boys would think when they saw me.  

Yet wearing the dress was fun. Along with my satiny panties, I felt so, so, girly! There was another whole set of uniquely feminine feelings running through me, new feelings that I was really starting to enjoy. So confused, pleased, awkward, and excited - I headed for the bus to start my day. 

 I sat down next to Arleen, who continued to be enthralled with my dress, my hair, my femininity, etc. She kept looking at me with such a deep expression, one that I was beginning to recognize. When we arrived at school, she suddenly took my arm and practically dragged me to an unoccupied office. 

Then she locked the door.  By now, I'd figured out what was going on - so I was not surprised when she kissed me.  No sisterly kiss between girlfriends, either. She was simultaneously shy and bold, a rather appealing combination. 

As she pressed her lips to mine, my arms automatically went around her. She was so soft and curvier than either Sue or me. Finally, after a delightful minute of interlocking tongues, I pushed away from her.  

"Arleen, is there something you want to tell me?"  She blushed, looked at the floor, and finally said, "I guess I'm not really like other girls." 

 "That's okay, neither am I," was my light-hearted response.  

"I've always had certain feelings that just don't fit in." 

 "You've done an incredible job of concealing them. I never would have guessed. You're so feminine!"  

"That was the whole idea, Stephanie. I knew from childhood that I was attracted to girls. I also knew the rest of the world would condemn me for it. And being trapped in this fucking small town!" 

I jumped a little. I'd never heard her curse before. "If anybody in Milford even suspected I was gay, I would have been branded, outcast as unclean."  She sighed deeply, then continued. 

"So I dressed in dresses. Wore my hair long. Put on makeup. Acted like a girly-girl. I even dated a couple of boys, just to keep the illusion going. I tried to hide not only from everyone else, but also from myself. But I always failed. Oh, no one figured it out. But on the inside, I kept wanting what I could never have.  

"Last year was the worst," she said softly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I fell in love for the first time. With one of our classmates. I won't tell you her name. It was like a wonderful dream and a terrible nightmare at the same time. I had all these amazing, powerful feelings for her. I wanted to go to a mountaintop and shout, 'I love this girl!'  

"But I couldn't. I had to bottle everything up, bury all my emotions. I'd see her in the halls every day, and my heart would leap. 

Then it would plunge into an abyss when I realized I could never share what I felt. It was worse than unrequited love; I knew the very thought of being with me would repel her. And I couldn't even tell anyone else! Not my friends, not my family, no one. 

All I could do was hide, conceal, deny."  She was openly crying now. "It took months for me to recover. I just kept saying to myself, someday. Someday I'd get out of this damn town and find a place where I could be who I really was, without being ashamed."  

She looked at me through lowered eyelashes. "You're the first person I've ever told."  I thought about what she had said. I was so very sympathetic to her pain, for I knew how she felt. After all, I'd lost my girlfriend the same way. And I'd been able to share my love with Sue, at least for a while. 

And even now, I didn't have to pretend our feelings never existed. Not the way Arleen had been forced to.  I walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her, and gave her a huge hug. 

"Arleen, you've nothing to fear from me. If there's one girl in this school who understands, I'm me. I'm so sorry. I wish you'd never had to go through what you did."  She held the hug for a few moments, then stepped back for a moment. "You're such a sweetheart, Stephanie. Even when you were Jack, I thought you were special. 

You were always nice to me. I used to fantasize about us."  "Despite the fact I was male?"  "True, I'm not really big on guys. I think girls are better all around. But you were so cool, for a boy. I'd imagine us going out on a date. Then something would happen to turn you into a girl. 

Some spell, or aliens, or whatever. And once you were female, we'd be together the way I always dreamed of being with a woman."  I looked at her. She smiled shyly. "And now, I think my fantasy might be coming true. 

When you got on the bus yesterday, and you really were a girl, so pretty, so feminine, and it was no dream,"  

I stood still as she approached me. "It's real," she continued, gazing at me in wonder. She cupped my face, ran her hands through my long hair, and bravely caressed my breasts. Mmmm. She whispered to me: 

"You ARE a girl, You are SUCH a girl, will you be MY girl?" And she kissed me again. Deeply, soulfully, and I felt my body respond to her touch.  Oh my, it was nice. 

There was no guilt. Sue and I had no romance anymore. And my sexuality had been turned inside out (or outside in?), so there wasn't any homophobia to deal with. And unlike Sue, this young woman really, I mean, REALLY wanted me. That alone piqued my interest.  So I grew very enthusiastic about it all. Our breathing became ragged as our female bodies pressed together. 

She was the aggressor, with all those years of denial, I may have been the first person she ever kissed. We embraced more tightly, both pairs of breasts pushing against each other, her nipples almost stinging me through our bras. She gasped as I stroked her chest, while she began to lift up my dress. 

There was a ringing in my ears, and dizziness as our ardor increased.  It wasn't long before we ended up against the desk, both of us had our hems hiked over our hips by now, as we experienced the delightful sensation of nylon panties rubbing against each other. Her hands were gently fondling my girly little butt while I entwined our smooth legs together. 

She lay me back and moved on top of me, with an expression of sheer pleasure on her face. 

We paused for a moment. Then, by unspoken agreement, we simply took off our dresses. In nothing but our frilly underwear, we resumed, caressing, stroking, kissing.  I'm sure this scene would have aroused most male observers; it certainly would have done so for me. 

Two pretty schoolgirls, each wearing only her bra and panties, are passionately making out. I imagined a trailer for an upcoming movie: 'American Pie 4, From Apple to Hair!'  I could feel the moisture starting between my legs, that oddly erotic softness - and the crotch of Arleen's silky undies had a wet stain as well. 

My nipples were so swollen! My desire grew still higher as she started to undo my bra. Oh, what desire! I pushed my groin against her, seeking to satiate the new, intense hunger that rose inside me. Deep inside me. Which could only be satisfied by,  

A thought came into my hormone-addled mind then. Opera.  Yes, I said opera.  Stick with me here.  

My mother dragged me to several operas over the years, all of which were crashing bores to me. Part of that is because the Syracuse and Binghamton theaters are about 200 miles off Broadway, and the Met, Beverly Sills, and Placido Domingo don't hang out much with us John-Boy types in the boonies.

But the main reason I never got into opera was simple: I never had a passion for it. I did appreciate the technical skill of the productions, the elaborate staging, the over-the-top storylines, and the magnificent singing. 

 I could respect it, even admire it, but there was no magic about it for me. Remember 'Pretty Woman'? There's a moment when Richard Gere (having quit gerbils cold-turkey) takes Julia Roberts to an opera. 

Before it begins, he tells her she will either have a true passion for it - immediately - or she won't. He says if she doesn't, she may learn to appreciate it, but she will never be enraptured by the art.  As we know, she swooned over the production, thrilled from the first moment. She did have it.  But when it came to Arleen, I didn't. 

Oh, I could appreciate Arleen's lovely body, her cute face, and shining hair. And there was no question my physical arousal was real. 

I was very wet and excited from her stimulation.  But I felt no passion for her. Dammit, I should! She's a sweet, sexy young girl. I should want to be all over her. But what I really wanted was something else.  I wanted her inside me. But like me, she was female. And so she couldn't satisfy my new craving, the strange hunger I felt deep within me. I didn't want her like this. 

I wanted,  I wanted a boy.  The irony nearly made me laugh. Here was Arleen, who fantasized about turning me into a girl. But now that the impossible had actually happened, I wanted her to turn into a guy.  

Because that was my body's desire. My vagina, really, really wanted to be penetrated. (I still have trouble combining the word 'my' with 'vagina'!) 

The intensity of these novel, yet exciting female urges shocked me. And even mentally, I found myself far more open to the possibility of boys than I ever would have imagined.  So, like opera, I could appreciate and respect Arleen's beauty and her sexuality. But I could not embrace it, not the way she wanted.  Arleen sensed my emotional disconnection and paused. She looked deeply into my eyes.  "It's not working for you, is it, Stephanie?" she said sadly.  

"I'm sorry, Arleen, you're so sexy and I really want to want you, but," I was echoing Sue from the other night.  "I understand, Stephanie. I kind of thought that since you were once a boy, you might find the idea of being with another girl appealing."  

"I thought I would, too, but I'm, I'm changing. Inside. You're so attractive, Arleen. I'd love to be with you; it wouldn't matter to me who was the boy and who was the girl. I'd gladly play either role. But, "As long as there was both a boy AND a girl," she said. 

 "Yeah, they told me at GRS that straight people stay straight, even after the change. I just never imagined I'd get these feelings so quickly."  Arleen sighed again, and her eyes were watery. "I'd hoped, Stephanie,"  "That you wouldn't have to be alone anymore."  

"Ye, Yes," tears were spilling down her face again.  

"But you're not alone, Arleen. You will get the hell out of this place, and we're both worldly enough to know there are communities out there where you can be yourself and be accepted." I spoke very firmly, cupping her chin in my small hand and meeting her eyes squarely. "You will find the love you deserve. 

I know it. And there's something else."  

"What?" she asked, a hint of interest in her voice.  "You don't have to keep it all inside anymore. 

Anytime you need, whatever you're feeling, love, sadness, whatever, there's one person you can talk to. One person to whom you can say anything, and she'll never judge you. She'll just be your friend and support you."  

"Uh, would that be you?" she managed a little smile.  "Yes, yes, and more yes! Arleen, I know better than most what you're going through. My own sexuality has been a little ambiguous lately. And I'm also amazed by you. 

You're so strong to have dealt with this all by yourself and still turn out to be such a cool person. So yes, girl, I am your confidant. They also told me at GRS that one of the best things about being female was sharing our feelings. 

I can see that for myself now. Don't suffer in silence, Arleen. I'm here for you."  I could see a range of emotions play across her face. Most, though not all, were positive. I knew the bittersweet nature of it for her; she still desired me, and I could not reciprocate. But I remembered how Sue had given me a different part of her spirit to connect with; perhaps I could do the same for Arleen.  She wrapped her arms around me in another huge hug. 

"You're pretty amazing yourself, Stephanie. 

You changed sex and you're not only coping, you're helping ME! Before you were hit by GB, I always thought you'd make a fantastic girl. And now you've proven me right."  Last week, I would have considered that a bit of an insult. 

But now? Being told that Jack had been an apt candidate for girlhood felt almost like a compliment. Weird.  We continued the embrace until we realized we'd been in the deserted office for 20 minutes, and we were both in our underwear. 

Sheepishly, we broke the hug and scrambled back into our dresses.  We carefully checked the hallway before we exited the room. 

With a quick squeeze of hands, we said goodbye and promised to meet later. The next few classes were uneventful, although I was still dealing with my damp crotch. 

As a girl, I didn't have to contend with the visibility of an erection. But I did have to cope with wet panties. Fortunately, nylon dries quickly, and an hour after my encounter with Arleen, I no longer had that 'not so fresh' feeling. 

I resolved to pack a spare pair of undies in my purse, although I didn't plan to repeat such heavy breathing any time soon. Still, a girl can't be too careful.  Aside from the strange sensation of wearing a breezy pink spring dress, things were beginning to seem 'normal'. 

Kids began to talk more openly to me, with endless variations on the 'how does it feel to be a girl?' subject. But more and more of the time, I had conversations that didn't center on me at all, which was fine, indeed. Teachers, gossip, sports, homework, etc, all began to reassert their traditional place in the student body politic.  There was one unpleasant incident. 

While at my locker, I suddenly found a firm hand press against my back and push me against the metal. 

Andy Marks's voice whispered into my ear. "Hello, pussy."  I fought to free myself, but he was far too strong. There were a few kids around, but he was subtle about his body language; only if I cried out would I get any help. And I just couldn't do it.  

"Looking good today, Stephanie. I'm glad to see you in a frilly dress. All the better for you to act like the cunt you are. I wonder what color panties you've got on? It won't be long before I find out, you should wear a black lace pair for me. 

Our time is coming, girl, and when it does, I'm going to put you in your place. On your back, with your dress over your hips and your legs in the air. The perfect position for a girl like you."  

"Let her go, Marks," a feminine voice said. He released me, and I turned to see Sue and Becky glaring at him with matching expressions of disgust.  

"Stephanie and I were just getting to know each other a little better," he said smoothly.  "Big mistake, Marks. The last thing you should want is for any girl to know the real you. 

Once she does, she'll be too busy throwing up to pay attention." Sue was harsher than I'd ever seen her.  He smiled, unaffected by the jibe. "You judge me too quickly, Wendell. I'm just a little misunderstood, that's all."  

"You're not 'misunderstood' at all, Marks. But you are 'little'. Take my advice, don't wear tight pants, or your shortcomings will be all the more obvious."  Wow. His face flushed for a moment, but he was without his toadies, and the three of us were standing firm. 

"Ah, well. I'll leave you all to carpet-munch in peace. Stephanie, I'll be seeing you around." 

 "Only in your dreams, Marks," I replied. He sauntered away.  Becky muttered, "I'd call him an asshole, but that would be an insult to asses with holes."  

"I'll bet between the three of us, we could have dropped him," Sue said.  "I think he was already dropped on his head when he was a baby," I replied.  "He's definitely got it in for you, Stephanie," Sue commented, a worried expression on her face. "Most bullies are just bluff, but he's dangerous. Something's going to have to be done about him before."  

She didn't finish, but I knew where she was going. Before he attacked me.  "Maybe we should report him," Becky offered. "After all, he was using physical force on her; it could qualify as assault."  

"No," I replied. "I know his type well. He'd just get a slap on the wrist and come after me all the more. I think I'm going to have to solve this one on my own." 

 "Stephanie, not to belabor the obvious, but you're a girl now," Sue said. "Jack could have manhandled him, but you probably can't. I don't mean it as an insult, it's just a fact of life."  "I know, Sue. Believe me, I'm very aware of the physical disadvantage. You're right - I can't 'manhandle' him. I need a more subtle approach, I'll have to 'girlhandle' him."  "You've got something in mind?" Becky asked.  "Maybe," I replied slowly. For I had seen something in Andy Marks while he'd been looking at me. And at Becky and Sue, for that matter. Not only lust or satisfaction at dominating those weaker than him. 

No, there'd been something else as well. It tickled the back of my head.  But enough for now. I had a track race to prepare for. The last one of my life.  Today would be a home meet, and Oxton was making the short drive to our school. 

I entered the girls' locker room, pondering what was to come. I hardly paid attention to the other girls on the team, changing into their uniforms. I unpacked my own outfit and pulled my dress off over my head. 

I changed bras, then tugged the bright yellow tank top with the 'Milford' sash across the front. It was a bit shorter than the boy's style, coming only an inch or two past my belly button. And then there were the little darts in the side, allowing room for my breasts, which filled the space very nicely.  Then came the bottoms.  They're called bunhuggers, or hiphuggers. Some girls derisively referred to them as 'the diapers."  

Essentially, the girls' track uniform bottoms were panties.  Officially, they were called 'racing briefs', sold by Nike. Made of a soft poly-nylon blend, they had no legs at all. If you've ever seen footage of world-class female track stars, you'd probably recognize them. 

They were sleek-looking , and God knows, as a boy, I'd loved how all the girls appeared in them.  As if they were running in their underwear.  

There'd been some controversy in the village about the uniform. Many of the old biddies and town elders thought the outfits were scandalous, showing far too much of the female anatomy. 

Coach Bradford had his way, though, for while the Milford girls were ambivalent about their appearance, every single athlete did say she felt faster wearing them.  In fact, I'd been careful to put on bikini panties this morning, because anything fuller would have been revealed by the skimpy racing briefs. 

I gingerly pulled on the outfit, noting the silky sensation of the fabric. Yes, the dark blue color did look great with the gold top. My hips were snugly wrapped, and the flatness between my legs was all too obvious. 

There was a fashionable two-inch gap between the bottom of my tank top and the waistband of the briefs.  Oh well, at least everyone will know I'm a real girl.  I put on the sweats and joined the rest of the team on the track for the warm-up. Oxton was already there, camped out in the bleachers across the oval. 

There was a sense of anticipation in the air that I always felt before a race. The butterflies in my stomach began, and I found myself bouncing on my heels. I surveyed the competition and plotted my strategy as I finished stretching.  

Yep, just like any other meet. Except for the 34C breasts on my chest, the sports bra holding them, and the panty-shorts I was about to reveal to the crowd!  During last night's workout, I'd been distracted by my long tresses flying in the wind, so I had Becky do a quick twist for me. 

Her hair was much shorter, which was for the best, since I had no idea how to braid it. 

The races got underway, and Milford had a good start, placing well in the first set of relays and the 100-meter dash.  A track meet in full force is like a three-ring circus. There are jumpers, runners, and throwers all competing simultaneously. 

At any given moment, a fan can see a discus arcing through the air, a pole-vaulter sailing 15 feet high, hurdlers racing for the finish, and much more. It's definitely not boring.  The girls and boys compete as separate teams.