He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 11

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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.

He led me to a supply closet where the track team uniforms were stored. After a few embarrassing questions about my measurements, he handed me the gold top and blue bottom (Milford's school colors) along with the matching sweats. The fabric was much softer and stretchier than my old uniform. I took the gear from him reluctantly.  

"You're all set, Stephanie. I'll see you at practice tonight, then tomorrow, we'll see what you can do as a girl." He still had that glint in his eye. I wondered what was up.  

"Oh, and Stephanie?" I turned to him. "You are cute," he smiled at me.  I returned to the locker room and began to change back into my street clothes. I did notice the others changing as well.

 I was amazed at the variety of underwear. No two girls had on the same style panties. It was a riot of patterns and materials. Clearly, girls chose to express their individuality through their taste in lingerie. 

I wondered if it was possible to draw any conclusions between what a girl wore on the outside versus what she wore underneath. Was the shy girl in baggy clothes trying to make a personal statement in sporting a sexy bikini set next to her skin? Even though she knew no boy would see it? 

Freud might have had a field day if he'd put down the cocaine long enough. Still, he did say the greatest mystery in psychology was trying to figure out 'what do women want?"  Damned if I know, either.  

I pulled on my skirt and finished getting dressed. Contrary to what you may have seen in the movies, most high school girls do not shower after gym class. Underwear and even bare breasts were one thing; full nudity was not. Despite there being no boys anywhere, we washed up at the sinks. Another culture change.  And so my day continued. From time to time, I ran across Sue or Becky, who gave me thumbs up. I was also settling into this body more. And I had to admit something to myself:  I liked having a vagina.  

I know, I know! It's so bizarre to say, but it was true. I felt so, so comfortable between my legs, no constant shifting of the manly hydraulics. I could cross my thighs with ease (which was very essential in this skirt), and it seemed more aesthetically pleasing in an odd way. Neater. Nicer. More, attractive.

 It's difficult to describe. If you're a man reading this, the sense of loss would appear to be the greatest trauma you could face. No more penis? Shades of John Bobbit! I know I felt that way when I first learned of GB.  

But the reality of the female crotch was much different. 

I didn't feel bereft of my manhood as much as before. The smooth, subtle folds of my vulva complemented my new form very well. And the silky feel of my nylon panties sent a constant, pleasant tingle across my entire body. 

 Now I'm not saying I liked being a girl better. I still didn't want anything to do with sex this way. And I sure as hell didn't enjoy the frailty of a female. It's just that, in and of itself, my vagina was... cool.  On the other hand, there were the breasts. 

Yes, I'd enjoyed showing them off in gym class but it was still unnerving to have them. They were just so... there! At the corner of my eye, or when I leaned over something or someone, or just when walking around. The colloquial 'headlights' really did apply. Their presence was a ceaseless distraction not only for me, but for the boys, too. 

The brief conversations I had with the guys were frustrating, for I only got eye contact with them 50 percent of the time. 

 That in turn reminded me of how it was harder for a woman to be taken seriously in any given environment. She could be at the office, making a professional presentation, and most of the guys would be thinking: "She's right. And nice rack!" 

Now I was in the same boat.  I was starting to understand the crucial definition breasts made for a girl's sexuality. A guy's manhood was hidden if size did matter, it was only in bed. But a girl's chest, my chest, was out there for all to see. If she was too small, she wasn't sexy enough. Too big, and she was a slut. But whatever her size, her very womanhood was displayed for everyone's judgment in a way that a boy never experienced.  

That fact was driven home when I rounded another corner and had my first female encounter with Andy Marks. My heart leapt into my throat. He was accompanied by his usual goons - today I'll call them Pol and Pot. 

Of course, their initial reaction was to stare at my breasts. Then they looked at my face and recognition dawned.  "All right! Big, tough Jack is now a little girl," he exulted. "Isn't she cute, boys?" Pol and Pot grunted assent. 

"And wearing a skirt on her first day. You were definitely born to be a cunt. Stephanie, is it? A good, girly name for you."  They had me cornered in the standard formation. 

They were so tall! No one in the corridor, either. Remember what I said a few moments ago about liking my vagina? Forget it. I wanted my old body back. Never had I felt so vulnerable.  

"You sure turned out to be sexy, Stephanie. Are you a horny little bitch yet? I hear GB girls start getting wet for guys pretty quick. Why don't we check your panties and see? Boys..." Pol and Pot reached for my skirt. 

I fought to keep the hem against my legs and breathed a sigh of relief when the bell sounded and the hallway filled with students.  As the three left me, Marks took one last shot. 

"I know you're just dying to have me, girl. Don't worry, you'll get your chance."  I raced for the bathroom, grateful to retreat to a female-only environment. Trembling, I tucked my hair behind my ears, washed my face, and tried to get calm. Jesus, that had been scary! 

If they'd had more time with me, who knows what would have happened? 

I remembered the discussion with my mother. She'd warned me that some guys were dangerous. But I'd already understood that about Marks and his cohorts. Yet the knowledge wouldn't have helped me. 

They could have,  I burst into tears. Standing at the mirror, I couldn't help it. A couple of girls came up to me and asked me if I was all right. Apparently, they didn't realize I was once Jack. They both patted my shoulder.  

"Boy trouble?" one inquired.  "You could say that," I managed to reply.  

"Don't worry. He'll see the light. If he doesn't, he's not worth your time."  I didn't bother to correct her. But I was touched by the concern she and her friend were showing me a complete stranger. 

There's something about this sisterhood thing I was really beginning to appreciate. A guy crying in a boy's bathroom would have gotten his ass kicked. I smiled and thanked them.  It took me the rest of the day to get myself back under control. I went to track practice for the first time in a week. 

Changing in the girls' locker room wasn't so dramatic now. Besides, this was a different set of kids.

 I knew them all well, for they'd been my teammates for years. Sue did not run track, but Becky did. She was adorable in her flowered blue underwear, and we chatted a bit as we finished getting dressed. I told her about my first day, but I didn't talk about the encounter with Andy Marks. I felt somehow... ashamed.  

We headed out to the oval, and there I saw Hal for the first time since this morning. It was very weird being around him, and I could tell he felt the same way. 

We spoke little as we went through our stretching routine. Good lord, I was limber! It seemed as if I were made out of rubber. I could reach positions only dreamed of before. I smiled a little at the ease my body had in the poses. Maybe I'll take up yoga. 

 I did a light workout. No speed drills or fartlek (if you don't know the term, don't worry.) I ran with Becky for most of the laps, our strides mirroring each other. It occurred to me that I would be racing against her tomorrow. After all, she was the school record holder for the Milford girls in the mile. But I resisted the temptation to challenge her. 

I was going to run one last meet for Coach Bradford.  Then I was going to quit the team.  After practice, Hal came up to me. 

 "How are?" I started.  "Are you?" he started.  We paused for an awkward moment. This was silly! Hal had been my best friend for years. We'd shared so much, from school to running to girls. Hell, I loved him. 

Of course, in a million years, I never would have told him that guys don't communicate that way. But there was no peer I was closer to than him. So there was no reason for our friendship to change.  

Yet it had.  My breasts had come between us - metaphorically speaking. Hal was not leering at me in the least, and there was a genuine look of concern on his face. He cared about me, I could tell. But still, it was different now.  

Because he saw me as attractive.  And worse, as I looked up at his ever so blue eyes, with his chiseled chin and thick dark hair, I think I saw him as attractive, too. 

 Oh God. There was a sensation of butterflies in my stomach as I felt, for a fleeting moment, a girl's desire for a boy.  

"Are you doing okay... Stephanie?" he asked. "I've been so worried about you."  "I'm... I'm alright." 

 "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look great."  I knew what he meant it was kind of like how Mark Williams had greeted me earlier today. No drooling, just respectfully admiring the view. 

 "Thanks." 

 "Are you going to run against Oxton tomorrow?"  

"Yeah, I promised the coach one race. I'll keep it."  "That's good. Oxton's got an excellent team. We need to be at full strength."  "My full strength isn't what it used to be, Hal." 

 "Maybe. But you've still got guts. I can't even imagine going through everything that you are. I mean, wearing a bra? Or having a... And yet you're here, part of the team. One thing's for sure, you're as tough as ever."  

"Yeah, it takes a real man to be a girl." The comment was so ludicrous we burst out laughing.  As we walked back to the locker rooms, we managed to resume some of our old banter. It was almost normal except for the sideways glances we kept casting, when we thought the other person wasn't looking. 

He, checking out my chest and me, checking out his... legs. 

I was strangely interested in the muscles on his thighs. Oh my, we arrived at the gym and there our routine came to an end. I didn't join him in the locker room; instead, I walked over to the girls' side. Where I belonged.  

While heading home, I found myself fascinated by how I was fascinated by Hal's body. I shouldn't have been the least bit excited. And yet he made me feel, if not outright horny, at least... intrigued. I fought to ignore the thought.  I arrived home to find my mother eagerly awaiting. 

 "How was your day, sweetie?"  "Well, a boy tried to peek up my skirt. I think the principal is a lech. I flashed the girls in my gym class, and guys are beginning to turn me on."  Mom laughed. 

"You know, honey, that sounds like a typical  day for a girl."  I had to laugh, too. "Yeah, I suppose it is." 

 "So are you really thinking about boys?"  

"Not exactly. I mean, I don't want to go out with anybody but... I don't know, Mom. I guess it's just that I see the potential with boys even if I'm not ready to act on it. It's so confusing. But I still like girls, too."  

"You're probably about the same I was when I was eleven. I knew boys were out there, and I was starting to wonder about them, yet I didn't want to go near them. Then again, I did."  

"That's exactly where I am, Mom. Only for me, I still feel repelled by the idea. I used to BE a boy. I shouldn't want to be WITH them. It almost seems... gay."  "Oh, honey, I don't think labels like gay and straight can have any meaning for you. Your body has its needs, and you'll just act on them when you're ready. 

Will you be with boys or with girls? Only time can tell. What did they say at GRS?"  "They told me I would probably be attracted to boys." 

 "That's how I see it. You've got a healthy teenage girl's body, and if you become like I was at your age, you won't be able to stop dreaming about boys. It's not like you choose to want them; you just do."  

"Yuck."  She smiled. "Physically, you're a 17-year-old female. Mentally, you're a 17-year-old male. But your mind is switching over. From a psychological perspective, you're probably a girl between 8 and 10 years old."  

"I don't believe it." 

"Let me prove it, then. Come with me."  She led me to my room and opened my closet door. 

There, a dozen very feminine outfits were hung up. Skirts and dresses; blouses and jumpers. She also opened up my underwear drawer. 

My white basic cotton undies were all gone, replaced by an astonishing array of dainty panties and bras in many colors and styles, lots of lace, etc, etc.  

"Jesus, Mom, did you carjack a shipment to the Limited?"  "Before you pass judgment on me, look me in the eyes and answer one question truthfully: how did you feel wearing a skirt today?"  I hesitated for a moment. 

"I, "It felt wonderful, didn't it?" she prompted.  Dam,n she was right. "Yes, mom... it did feel special."  

"And the underwear, too. Didn't it make you feel all pretty and girly?"  

"Yeah, yeah."  "And there's a part of you that really liked feeling that way, isn't there?"  I felt like I was being interrogated by the 'Law and Order' guys. "You're leading the witness, Mom, but... yes." 

 "That's the part of you that's a little girl, and she's determined to assert her gender identity. Your cousins are acting that way right now. They love any excuse to wear a dress."  

My mom's sister had two daughters, age six and eight. I only saw them a couple of times a year. They could be a real pain, but they were also very cute kids. I'd always been fond of them; they kind of looked up to me. And Mom was right. They loved to play dress-up and wear frilly clothes any chance they could get.  

Mom continued. 

"Now you're like they are; you're getting to explore your femininity. All little girls are like that. Most of them move past the 'fluffy' stage by the time they're teenagers. But since you never got to wear skirts when you were younger, you're going through that phase now."  

"I don't think so."  

"Oh really?" She walked over to the closet and held out that cute pink number she'd enticed me with on our first shopping trip. She led me to the mirror and placed the dress against me. 

"Tell me you don't want to wear this to school tomorrow."  I could see from my reflection how adorable I'd look in it. Just say no. Say no! But I couldn't. Because, dammit, I did want to wear it. Incredible. One day in a skirt, and I couldn't resist the idea of dressing like that some more.  

"Okay. I admit it. I want to wear it."  

"And cute panties with a matching bra underneath?"  "All right, all right. You win. Yes, Mom, I like dressing up as a girl. I know I shouldn't, but..."  "Why shouldn't you like it?" she prodded.  

"Well... because..."  "Because you still think, deep inside, that for a boy to become a girl is embarrassing."  

"I suppose."  "That's the part of you trying to resist all of this. But what you're starting to learn is that there are benefits as well. 

You lose, but you gain too. Being female is special in its own way, and you're realizing that now. So don't fight it go with it. Enjoy your girlhood."  She was right. If I stripped away the male attitude I had, and tried to look objectively at how I felt about this body and about wearing skirts and pretty underwear, I flat out liked it. 

My reluctance to acknowledge it was based on habit upon the disdain all boys were supposed to feel about girly things.  

But then, I'm not really a boy anymore, am I?  I didn't know if my changing attitude was a result of GB reshaping my mind, or just the natural consequence of experiencing femininity, but either way, I was starting to like being a young woman.  And much of what went with it.  

But not all, I reflected later as I was getting ready for bed. Aside from the extreme length of time it took to do my hair, etc, I was still fretting over the whole Andy Marks thing. 

I knew he'd be causing me more problems, and I also knew I was vulnerable to him in a new way now. As I pulled my sleepshirt over my ample breasts (still amazed at how my nipples poked through), I wondered what I was going to do about it.  While lying in bed, I was struck by how the blanket rested more heavily against my crotch than before. 

A small thing, but another reminder of how my life had changed. I faded off to sleep, visions of the day - Becky and Sue and all the girls from the locker room flashing through my mind. 

VI I WANT A BOY-TOY!  And I dreamed.  I was drifting, drifting gently on a placid body of water. Smooth, calming, peaceful. There was no raft, no boat just my body and the warmth of the ocean supporting me. But after a time, I felt a tide begin to lift me. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as I felt myself carried ever higher by the now-turbulent waves. 

Yet I felt no danger in fact, the more violent the water, the more relaxed I seemed. Then, just when it appeared I could rise no higher, I felt the waves suddenly recede almost as if the water was flowing... through my body, draining and draining. Until there was no more water, and I was left on a sandy beach, a wonderful lassitude filling me. 

 I rolled over and looked into the eyes of my lover.  He smiled back at me.  He?!  Then I woke up and immediately realized what had happened.  I'd just had a wet dream.  

A GIRL's wet dream.  With an emphasis on the 'wet' part! My legs were spread as wide as they could be, and my panties were completely soaked. In fact, they were dripping. Even the sheets below were damp. 

There was a musky, female odor in the air. I felt a throbbing between my legs, and my nipples were straining against my sleepshirt.  Jesus! Now I'd had a few of these as a boy, but never had I left a mess like this! Embarrassed at the unladylike, yet feminine position my legs had assumed, I quickly brought my knees together and got up. 

A few minutes later, fresh sheets and fresh panties in place, I felt a little calmer. But still! I realized what a wet dream represented: a body's release of sexual tension while sleeping. 

Yet the strange nature of the dream, along with the prodigious quantity of fluids I'd produced, demonstrated the new world I was now in. The world of a woman.  For I remembered the last part of the dream. I'd had a lover. A male lover.  I really didn't want to go there. 

But obviously, my body did. I returned to an uneasy sleep.  The next morning, while screwing up my courage to wear the pink dress my mom had gotten me, I thought about what had happened. In essence, I'd had a girl's orgasm. 

Granted, I'd been asleep, but the intensity of it resonated still. Different than a boy's. Much different. Especially the... ejaculation. I'd had no idea girls could be so... productive!