Parisian - Mirror Image

Simon couldn’t take his eyes away from the mirror. The moment he had walked into the antiques shop, it was almost as if it was twinkling at him, a flash of light hidden behind piles of other ancient furniture. Now, after he had shifted aside a chaise longue, an ottoman, and a dressing table, he could finally get a good look at it. It was large and oval, some decorative metal filigree appearing on each cardinal point. Simon had no idea how old it was, but if the worn patina that had worked its ways into the recesses of the metal was anything to go by, it was at least as old as everything else in the shop. He had never been one for fine furniture. The fact that he had stumbled into the antiques shop at all was surprising. His flat was decorated with function being paramount. He knew that he didn’t need a mirror like this – it was an extravagant addition to a plain living space that would stand out. But somehow, he knew that if he didn’t buy it, he would regret it. In the edges of the mirror, he could picture how it once looked. Perhaps once it was the shining centrepiece in a woman’s dressing room, or a tasteful addition to a dining room. Regardless of its origins, he picked it up, determined that it would find a new home with him. A part of him wished to be a part of its history, to live a life as storied as one of its many previous owners.

“That’s weird”, the cashier said a moment later as she looked over the mirror. “There’s no price tag. It’s not on our stock list either”, she said, quickly flicking through an old leather-bound journal with hundreds of entries scrawled in tiny handwriting.

“That means it’s free, right?” Simon asked, grinning. The thin-lipped smile from the cashier told him all he needed to know.

“You wish”, she said, running a finger along the metal frame. “This looks fairly old, probably French?”

“What does that mean?” Simon questioned.

“That means we’ll call it a hundred, and both of us forget that this wasn’t on the stock list.”

“Perfect!” Simon said, eagerly handing over the money. He had no idea if he had been overcharged or not. In truth, he knew that he would have paid even more for the mirror if the woman had asked. There was a connection between him and the furniture – he had never understood it before when people had tried to tell him about ‘feng-shui’ or having a favourite chair. Now, he knew that he was committed to taking this mirror with him, no matter where he ended up. He was already picturing the myriad places and ways to hang it in his flat. Taking the mirror, Simon headed out of the shop and back home, clutching onto it carefully as he wove his way through the streets.

After posing the mirror against several walls, Simon thought that he had found the perfect spot. It had been more of an ordeal than he had anticipated. He had hoped it would have been relaxing, and he had barked at his smart speaker to play some of the latest relaxing beats, but all it did was remind him how long he had spent testing angles and rooms for the perfect position. Holding the nail between his finger and thumb, Simon hammered it into his bedroom wall, quietly praying that there was no pipe or wire he was about to pierce into.

Reverently, Simon lifted the mirror, placing it on the wall. After a moment’s adjustment, it was level. Standing back, he knew he had made the right choice. The mirror completely changed the room. Once, it had been dreary, merely a place where he woke up at the start of each day and threw himself into bed at the end of it. Now, the dim light from his window seemed to burst off of the mirror, filling the space. Simon walked over to it with a smile.

He noticed something off in the reflection. Through his open window, the monotonous flats that he had seen daily were gone, now beautiful, whitewashed apartments. Simon spun his head between the window and the reflection of it, trying to prove that what he was seeing wasn’t real. But no matter how much he compared the two, the mirror was definitely showing a different view through the window. Was it some kind of illusion, something painted in the glass? Simon went over to his window, shutting the blinds. When he checked in the mirror, he saw that the reflected blinds had also closed. The mirror was truly reflecting, but what it was reflecting didn’t seem to match the view outside of Simon’s window.

Simon stared at his reflection in the mirror, curious. Something about it seemed strange, almost unnatural. It blinked when he did, stuck out his tongue when he did, but there was an uncanniness to it that was confusing to look at. Staring at his forehead, Simon suddenly realised. That morning, he had found a small spot there. Now that he looked in his reflection, it was gone. He traced his finger over where he thought it should have been, trying to find the tell-tale pimple, but his skin was smooth and unblemished. He moved his hand to his arm, finding the same softness. All across his body, his skin was growing smooth and hairless, sensitive to the slight chill in the room.

The music from the smart speaker changed abruptly. Instead of the modern beats he had asked it to play, the speaker was now blaring out half remembered pop music from Simon’s childhood. He turned around, wrenching his eyes away from the mirror to look at the speaker, but it wasn’t there. In its place was a bulky CD player, the disc spinning slowly.

Simon was puzzled – he was certain that he didn’t have a CD player, but it was impossible to deny. It was in his home, playing the music he loved. What even was a smart speaker, anyway?

Looking back at his reflection in the mirror, Simon noticed his hair growing out in thick locks. He touched at his scalp, watching his reflected self do the same, his face incredulous. He kept telling himself that what he was seeing was impossible, but the more he looked at the reflection, the more he found he liked the elegant, stylish look. His hair curled around his neck, sitting just above his shoulder. Simon could tell it was the height of fashion, and something he had no doubt laboured hours over deciding with his hairdresser.

Staring back from him in the mirror, Simon smiled as his reflection shifted further. He could tell that something was different, but his mind was struggling to do anything but accept the change. With a series of quiet, painless cracks that were muffled by the pop music, Simon’s face adjusted. His fairly square, masculine features grew more rounded, with a slight upturned chin and button nose. Long lashes grew from his eyelids and his eyebrows grew no less thick, but far more refined. He sighed softly as his neck slimmed down, soon followed by his shoulders which he stretched out with a long, relaxing yawn. He sauntered over to the window once more, throwing open the blinds. The air beyond it smelled cleaner than he remembered.

Another series of crackles, and Simon’s torso slimmed, the organs within rearranging to better accommodate a new, slimmer figure. His spine shrunk down, reducing his height down. Luckily, he thought with a smile, he could still see his beautiful face in the mirror, the metal frame looking more vibrant by the second. With another crack, Simon felt his hips widen, now knowing it would be impossible to walk without a slight sway to his stride. His legs grew longer, thinner, and his arms similarly slimmed.

Simon’s reflection smiled, his body now lacking much of the masculinity that once defined it. Simon ran his hands over his clothing, knowing that something felt odd. They fit loose around his petite body, and part of him wished he had something more fashionable. A moment later, his clothing began to change. His underwear grew smaller and tighter across his genitalia. It shifted from a comfortable cotton to a soft silk, edged with lace. His undershirt grew tighter, raising up beneath his jacket so that his thin gut rubbed against it. The shirt grew smaller, the sleeves vanishing and remoulding into straps, with the front changing into a pair of small cups, the lace matching Simon’s new panties. Simon’s jeans began to knit together at the legs, connecting into one, long garment. The touch of his long, elegant legs on each other felt for a moment strange, but the feeling passed. It was as if Simon had been wearing skirts and dresses all his life. The denim grew softer, with a finer weave, until it was a dark cotton tartan in a cosy, warm brown. Pleats were slashed along it and Simon giggled in a high voice as he twirled around his bedroom, watching the skirt spin. At his waist, it began to merge in with his jacket, stitch by stitch. The pattern and fabric began to spread, up along his torso and down his sleeves, fastening tight at his wrists. Simon was now wearing a dress, and his small, manicured fingertips poked at the material approvingly.

The bulk that had faded from Simon’s body began to bubble beneath the surface of his skin. It grew in unexpected spaces, his thighs growing thicker, his derriere growing plumper. Simon gasped scandalously as he felt it tickle beneath his nipples. They grew hard, the pleasure tingling through his rapidly changing body as the fat built up. Soon, the cups of Simon’s bra were filled with a pair of small, perky breasts, soft and secure beneath the dress.

The music shifted further, the pop music transitioning seamlessly into jazz. Simon glanced at the source of it in the mirror. The CD player was gone, now transformed into a bulky record player, the vinyl lazily spinning in the soft light of his bedroom. More music drifted in from outside his window, smooth and enticing. Simon wanted to dive outside and experience the new world beyond his apartment, but he knew he couldn’t go out just yet – he still had to put his face on.

The brim of Simon’s cap faded, the crown of it growing far looser until it was swamping his smaller head. He tilted the bright red beret back on his head slightly, until it was perched at a quirky, curious angle. Opening the drawers beside his bed, Simon found his possessions were gone – replaced with makeup, more clothes, and various books and magazines in a language that was growing strangely easier to read the more he stared at it. There wasn’t an electrical item in sight.

Simon grabbed some lipstick and some eyeliner. Expertly, he traced two daring lines along his eyelids, his doe-like eyes now all the more noticeable. He twisted the lipstick slowly, reviewing the colour that appeared. He already knew it would be perfect, the identical match for the hue of his beret. Simon puckered his lips and applied it on, carefully ensuring none of the expensive makeup was wasted.

New thoughts and memories flowed into his brain as easily as the music had. Each word he knew naturally in English was soon replaced with a French equivalent – each one being gendered and organised in ways Simon once found obtuse. New hobbies, new passions, and new skills appeared as if he had spent the last eighteen years living and growing into the elegant young woman staring back at him.

Beneath his panties, the last of Simon’s manhood receded, sliding up into his body with a wet pop. In its place, a vagina formed, untouched but ready to find out what the world had to offer. Simon was gone, with someone else in their place now.

Her lipstick finished; Simone blew herself a kiss in the mirror, the frame shining like new. Briefly, she thought she had forgotten something, but she cast the thought aside. She had a date tonight, and she needed to focus.

=====

This story was the winner of my latest Patreon poll! I hope you enjoy reading it. These cultural changes are a lot of fun to write.