Florist - In Bloom

“I’m really sorry Linda, I don’t know what happened-“ Stanley tried to say as his boss was furiously stuffing a broken glass vase into a refuse bag. His excuse was cut short by her withering stare. His voice, now reduced to a low, whining mumble, tried to fumble his way through another apology. “It’s not my fault,” he began to say, his eyes looking everywhere but at Linda, looking over the complete chaos that had befallen Linda’s flower shop. Vases were broken, whole bouquets destroyed. The hanging plants had been pulled down from their hooks and strewn across the once immaculate floor, which was now covered in a thin layer of compost, crushed flowers, and broken stone ware. “I obviously didn’t cause this, I wasn’t even in the shop at the time!” he stammered out, attempting to sound assured but his own nervousness betraying him. Linda finished clearing away one of the many vases, and turned to look at Stanley, her worst and only employee.

“When you started last week, what was the one thing I made sure to remind you of?” she said, voice surprisingly calm given the circumstances. Stanley scratched at his head as nonchalantly as he dared, dirt underneath his nails.

“You told me that I always need to lock up the shop before I go home”, he said.

“And what did you forget to do?” Linda asked with a patronising tone, her arms crossing in front of her brown apron. Stanley didn’t dare respond, the answer was already obvious, as much as it pained him to admit it. After a long silence, Linda spoke once more. “You’ve cost me hundreds in lost stock. All the hours I’ve spent making this place perfect has been completely ruined by you. You’re lucky that whoever did this didn’t break into the till as well, or this business would be in an even worse state”. Stanley hung his head, ashamed. Despite the difference in age and responsibility between Linda and himself, she had always been friendly to him. She had given him the job, but whether that was from her being convinced by his half-truths during the interview or through some strange sense of pity, Stanley didn’t want to work out. He had hoped that this job would be a chance for him to do some easy work and get some decent pay before moving onto something more fitting. Now, he had squandered the opportunity, just like he had done so with everything else that was handed to him.

“Give me back your apron. You’re done working here”, she said, extending one hand to take away both his uniform and his employment.

“Wait, I can make it up to you!” Stanley pleaded. He needed this job more than he could admit, and he only hoped that Linda would see that. “I’m sorry – it’s my fault. I didn’t think when I went to lock up last night.” Linda leant back on the table behind her, awaiting his desperate offer.

“I’ll get this all cleaned up and get the shop looking good again, how it used to be.”

“Why should I pay the wages of an employee that costs me money? Did you even sell any flowers yesterday? It’s hard to tell what we’ve got in stock any more seeing as most of it has been ruined.” Linda said gruffly.

“You don’t have to pay me”, Stanley said, smiling meekly. The woman took a moment to mull over his offer. Stanley knew that she ran several small florists like this one across the area, though he assumed the others would be better staffed and better stocked than his current one was. Despite only know her for a week, Stanley had worked out that Linda, for all her outward kindness and cheerful personality, was a shrewd businesswoman at heart. She needed this shop operational, and she needed it done with as few overheads as possible.

“Fine”, she said, lips thinning in frustration. “But this is your last chance, Stanley. Any more slip ups and you’re gone, understand?” Stanley nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Absolutely, Linda. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Linda moved towards the back door of the shop.

“You better. And remember to lock up tonight, you hear?” Stanley responded with a hearty thumbs up, prompting an eye roll from the woman who headed out back to get back in her car.

As she left, Stanley felt himself let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He took another look around the small shop, the mess from last night now seeming all the more terrible now he had claimed sole responsibility for it. What little Linda had been able to clear away before he arrived that morning was barely scratching the surface. He quickly checked the shop’s opening hours on the front door, drawn on in Linda’s flowery handwriting. He had a few hours until the shop would be open for business, so he would have to work fast. Grabbing a broom, Stanley begun to long, arduous process of sweeping up the detritus from the night before, the mounds of dirt that had built up on the green tiling and the scattered remains of several plants, cast onto the ground without a thought.

Soon, he found himself falling into a rhythm. With broad, strong sweeps, he slowly inched the dirt closer and closer to the back door, there ready to be disposed of in the larger, industrial bins they kept out back. With his body settling into the monotony of manual labour, Stanley’s mind began to wander.

In most jobs he had had, he had made some terrible mistake while still within his probation and been swiftly shown the door. His CV was a mess of half kept promises and low effort positions. When he saw the state of the shop that morning, Stanley thought that Linda would get rid of him, and he’d have to begin the humiliating cycle of looking for a job once again. For some reason, she hadn’t. As he swept, he tried to work out why.

It wasn’t that she needed him – Stanley knew that she would be able to find a much more fitting replacement within days. He briefly considered that Linda actually believed in him, and that she saw potential in him as an aspiring florist. The thought seemed too impossible for him to consider, but the more he thought about it the more the role appealed to him. Originally, it was a desperate attempt to pay his rent, but now that he had worked in Linda’s shop for a week, he was starting to get into the swing of things more than he ever expected. Perhaps being a florist was his calling all along, and he just hadn’t realised it?

The sudden crack of the broom’s handle hitting the now cleaner floor broke Stanley out of his daydream. Glad that no one was around to see his clumsiness, he quickly picked up the broom and continued. If being a florist was his calling, he just wished he was more fitting for the role. In comparison to the dullness of office work or the stress of flipping burgers, there was a sense of peace and serenity he felt in the shop that he found suited him well.

Stanley’s skin tickled slightly as a sudden shiver ran through him. He pulled the sleeves of his jumper further down his arms. The shop had to be kept on a strict temperature control for the plants, but suddenly he felt all the more sensitive to it. Returning to his sweeping, Stanley didn’t notice as the coarse hairs across his arms and legs slowly slipped out of his skin, sliding imperceptibly down onto the tiling only to be caught up in his sweeping and disappear. His arms were left soft and sensitive. Right after, a similar tumble of light hairs fell out of the bottom of his jeans. Stanley rolled his shoulders as he felt a light tingle across his chest as what few hairs he had there departed, stealthily wriggling out of the seams of his clothing to be lost amongst the dirt of the floor. Stanley’s skin was now far softer than he had ever felt it – not that he realised, his mind focused on sweeping up the dirt from the night before.

The young man took a second to inspect his handiwork, resting the broom up against the wall of the shop. The floor wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than it had been when he first walked in. He could see the odd speck of dirty clinging in between cracks and a couple stray leaves still stubbornly refusing the touch of the broom, but he was certain that the customers wouldn’t notice. He was just about to set about another one of his myriad cleaning tasks, but as he turned away from the remaining clutter, he found that he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Stanley this morning might have ignored the dirt, but now he had a massive motivator: making sure that Linda wasn’t disappointed in him any longer. He wanted this job, and he had to prove it.

With a last few brushes, the floor was as good as it was ever going to look. Satisfied, he headed over to where Linda had been collecting shards of broken pots earlier. Grabbing a bag, he begun to tidy the remaining chunks away. He started with the larger, more obvious fragments of glass and stone, and slowly worked down to the tinier parts that he had missed on his first glance. As he moved piece after piece, Stanley didn’t notice that his fingers were changing. His rough, bitten nails became smooth and refined, with his fingers soon losing much of their bulk. His palms, once broad, were now dainty and small, his fingers seemingly elongating to better be suited for his role. Stanley found the increase in his dexterity useful, now able to pick up the tiniest of shards with ease. Stretching for some that had tumbled underneath the table, his arms slimmed down, losing what little athletic bulk he had once had. Every movement felt precise and graceful, and he tied the bag with a simple knot that he usually found clumsy and awkward to accomplish. Disposing of the bag, Stanley looked at his hands for a second. Had they always been so small, so smooth? He put the thought out of his mind – his hands had always looked like this. After all, he needed small hands to be the perfect florist.

Looking around, Stanley felt a surge of pride as he saw that the shopfront was now tidy. Usually, he couldn’t care less as to the condition of his workplace, but he found that that philosophy had slipped away from him. This was his workplace, and he enjoyed his work. As such, he should make it as enjoyable to be in as possible. He was quick to notice a major issue: with most of the shop’s stock now swept away, he would have to replace all of the displays. Walking over to the backroom, he felt nervous – Linda had always arranged the flowers in stunning displays that drew in any customer that walked past the windows, and he didn’t think that he would be up to the task alone. Determined to prove himself, he headed to the storeroom.

Linda was a much smaller person that Stanley, and the tangle of boxes and half-finished displays was like an assault course for him. If the front of the shop was a perfect, harmonious room, the staff only areas of the shop were where Linda took a more chaotic approach to storage. Linda had clearly never intended for him to have to do the displays or manage the plants himself – the backroom was her kingdom. Squeezing through a pile of bamboo canes, Stanley felt the room grow suddenly larger, leaning on the wall to regain his footing. He shook his head, continuing forward with renewed ease, deftly manoeuvring between the many plants he had never learnt the name of.

Stanley’s body was shrinking. As he wriggled his way through into the storeroom and grabbed several bouquets of flowers, his height had reduced down. His shoulders, once fairly broad and masculine, had buckled inwards with a painless crunch, reforming into a far slimmer frame. His ribcage had adjusted with the next squeeze, dramatically reducing his bulk. Any flab he once held around his gut had disappeared, sliding down his body to build up in his now wider hips, his pelvis changing to accommodate new organs still yet to come. As Stanley headed back out to the front room, his small arms full of flowers, he found himself appreciating how easy the shop was to manoeuvre through. He knew it wasn’t always like this, but clearly, he was becoming more and more practised in knowing where each plant was stored and where best to display them. Walking back onto the green tiling, the fat in his legs slipped up towards his thighs, building mass into a petite, perk rear. His shoes squeezed and readjusted as his feet shrank down several sizes. Stanley paid the changes no attention – he had other things to focus on.

He checked the clock on the wall. Soon, he would have to open up. He just hoped that he could get everything ready in time. Instead of panicking like he found he usually did, Stanley viewed the impending deadline as a motivating challenge. If he was to prove himself as an able florist, he would need to arrange some flowers well, and arrange them fast.

In his haste, Stanley went to grab a bunch of roses and set them in the vase. Just as he tightened his grip, he let out a high, womanly yelp. A small bead of blood had formed on his index finger, the same bright red as the rose’s petals. “I’ve got to be more careful – Linda is counting on me!” he said, his voice having shifted up into a feminine soprano. For a moment, he thought his voice sounded strange and Stanley instinctively cleared his throat. A wave of sudden calm washed over him – this was what his voice had always sounded like. He didn’t have time to get distracted either, he had a shop to open!

Stanley had seen Linda arrange flowers in a vase several times but had never dared try it himself. Linda made it look so effortless, and he wished that he was able to do the same. Taking care, his pricked finger now clotted, Stanley tried to arrange the roses in a pleasing shape. After a few frustrating attempts, he soon found an arrangement that was pleasing from every angle. Smiling, he went to stand back from his work but found his hair had become tangled around one of the stems.

His hair had wrapped around it more times than seemed possible, and he strained and twisted to try and extract himself from the display without ruining it. He was stuck fast. It was as if the flowers had a mind of their own and were holding onto his hair with more strength than he would have ever imagined. Slowly, he felt the pressure release, and he carefully pulled his hair out. With each gentle tug, Stanley’s hair was growing, shining red locks sprouting from his scalp like new buds in springtime. Eventually, he was free, carefully brushing his hair back onto his shoulders. The tickle of his long hair across his ears felt strange and unfamiliar at first, but the feeling went as quickly as it arrived. His hair had been this length for as long as he could remember, and he was used to feeling its weight across his shoulders by now.

Glancing back up at the clock, Stanley realised he had no time to waste before he would be forced to open. In a blur of floristic skill, he found himself whirling through the shop, grabbing flowers that he somehow subconsciously knew would go together. Their names were becoming more and more familiar to him – each arrangement more pleasing than the last. Soon, the shop was looking fantastic, with row upon row of colourful, sweetly scented flowers, tastefully arranged across numerous displays.

With unexpected dexterity and gentleness, Stanley was able to repot the ruined hanging plants, tucking the roots into the soil with a mother’s care. Reaching up to hang them upon the ceiling hooks, Stanley was surprised to find that he could no longer reach them. He could have sworn that he was able to reach them previously, and dimly remembered asking Linda to raise them up higher so that he wouldn’t keep knocking his head in them as he clumsily made his way through the shop. Unperturbed, he quickly grabbed a footstool, hanging and rotating the plants with the skill of an expert. From his elevated position, he took another look around. Everything was looking good. The shop was ready to open.

Stepping down, he had a sudden thought. The shop might look tidy, but did he? Linda had always been quick to remind him that he should look presentable for the customers. He headed over to the small mirror she kept in the back room and was unsurprised to his face covered in the dirt and dust from his earlier sweeping. Wetting his thumb, he tried to wipe away what he could. As Stanley rubbed against his now soft skin, the bones beneath it were quickly restructuring. His jaw lost its broadness as it shifted, his ears painless popping as his face was changing. Blinking away the dust, his eyelashes extended and curled, his eyebrows becoming groomed and neatened. His face now clean, Stanley was almost certain that it seemed smoother and less blemished than before – any acne scars or imperfections seemed to have rubbed away along with the dirt, giving him a glowing, healthy expression. He smiled at himself in the mirror, not out of arrogance or narcissism, but to ensure that his smile was one that his customers could trust. Satisfied, he left the mirror and made his way back to the front door. Stanley’s face was completely altered, with no trace of his once masculine features remaining. In its place was the beautiful features of a confident young woman. Flipping around the sign on the door to say ‘Open’, he excitedly went back behind the till, eager to see his first customer.

For a while, his hasty flower arrangements and frantic cleaning had been in vain – no customers wandered in. Stanley didn’t let himself get disappointed. Deep within himself a strong optimistic attitude had been growing, and now it was time for it to show. Eventually, an elderly couple fulfilled his hopes, their entrance precipitated by the gentle jingling of the bell above the door.

“Hi, welcome to Linda’s Flowers! How can I help?” he said, face cracking into a natural, caring smile.

“We’re looking for some flowers for the dinner table”, the old man said, returning Stanley’s smile with enthusiasm.

“Something nice and colourful that will brighten up the room”, the man’s wife said, closing the door behind her.

“I’m sure we could help with that!” Stanley found himself saying with confidence. Before today he had tried to ignore customers, but now he found himself passionately caring about their needs. He had found his calling.

“What would you recommend?” the elderly lady said. Stanley took a second to think. He had never been asked for his opinions on flowers before. Usually, he would have been flustered, but he suddenly felt that there was an encyclopaedic knowledge of flora growing rapidly inside his mind. Growing seasons, complementary plants, even the Latin names for flowers, all of it was suddenly there as if he had studied it his whole life. Then, a flower came to him, his memory swiftly reminding him where exactly they were stored in the back.

“Tulips! They’re just in season and would look perfect in a dining room! They can really catch the light and make a room look inviting”, the words flowed from his lips with honesty and passion. It wasn’t just marketing speak; he knew that the flowers would be ideal for the couple.

“Brilliant! Let’s get a bouquet of them, then!” the older man said. Stanley nodded politely heading into the backroom. As he lent over the large tub of freshly cut tulips to grab a handful for the couple, he found the front of his jumper getting caught on them. He knew that the stems had no thorns to catch him like earlier, so when he looked down and saw that two leaves had tightly woven themselves into the fabric of his top, he was confused. Slowly, he pulled himself away. As the leaves loosened their grip, two mounds were forming where they had taken hold. A pair of small, budding breasts had emerged from Stanley’s chest, sensitive nipples tucked behind layers of practical fabric. Stanley didn’t notice the change in weight on his torso, his focus still on the awaiting customers. He took hold of the tulips and headed back out to them, placing them in a vase. The delighted looks on the couple’s faces told him that he was right – they did look brilliant. He had discovered he had a real knack for this.

“That will be seven pounds please!” he said. The elderly man rummaged through his wallet, handing him ten.

“Here! Keep the change!” he said.

“Are you sure?” Stanley asked. He felt a strange twitch in his crotch that he swiftly ignored.

“Absolutely! You’ve been very helpful!” said the older woman, taking the flowers.

Underneath Stanley’s underwear, his manhood was shrinking. His two testes inverted, sliding up inside of him and bursting into two fertile ovaries.

“Thank you so much!” Stanley said.

“What was your name again? You must be new here, yes?” the man said.

Stanley’s shaft slipped up into himself, a vagina forming in its absence. The florist’s manhood was gone.

“Hayley!” she said, smiling. The couple nodded politely and headed to the door. She could overhear their conversation as the bell jingled once more.

“What a nice young lady!” the woman said, and Hayley couldn’t help but smile – they were correct.

Months later, in the height of summer, Hayley extended an arm to Linda to help her down off of the ladder.

“Are you sure this is the right decision?” she asked her boss. Linda turned to the newly painted sign; Hayley’s name having replaced Linda’s own in the name of the shop.

“Absolutely”, Linda said, looking up at her handiwork. “And besides, it’s a bit late to change it now: the paint is already drying in this heat!” Hayley let out a girlish giggle.

The past few months she had fallen in love with her work. Being surrounded by her flowers brought the woman a sense of peace and consistency that she never knew she had been longing for. Linda, impressed by her shop’s performance and her new enthusiasm and skills, had grown from just her boss into a close friend.

“It’s definitely the right decision, I promise you”, Linda said, placing a hand on her apprentice’s shoulder. “With you, this shop has gone from strength to strength. I can focus on my other businesses, and I know that this one is in safe hands.”

“Thanks, Linda”, Hayley said. Before taking this job, she would never have expected that she’d be running her own flower shop and expected even less that she would enjoy it. She was a confident, competent florist, and wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Anyway, I need to head off! Enjoy your shift!” Linda said over her shoulder, heading back to her car.

“I will!” Hayley said, knowing that she spoke the truth.

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