He Wasn't Even A Boy! - Chapter 8

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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.

I'm in no hurry to put on dresses or date people, but I know I'm female and I'll always be that way. I'm not going to waste any effort seeking to convince anyone I'm still a guy." I touched my chest. 

"I mean, what would be the point?"  I was trying to project a sense of acceptance I didn't really feel. But I needed to get out of this environment; it was far too much to take in. Jesus, I'd just spent an hour learning about women's underwear! I'm not ready for more.  

"Stephanie, I get the feeling you may be resigned to being a girl, but you haven't really accepted it in your heart. We have more counseling sessions coming up today, I think you'd benefit."  

"Maybe another time, Ms Barlow. I know I'll take years to adjust to all this, but for the moment, I want to move at my own speed." That I was able to say honestly.  She looked at me thoughtfully, nodded, and placed the call to my mom. 

"She'll be here in an hour."  Just as she was about to resume, the door to her office burst open, and a distraught Jerome entered. She was in tears, her slim shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.  

"Are you okay?" Ms Barlow asked the beautiful black girl.  Jerome struggled to reply.

 "I, I can't do this! I just can't be, like this!"  Ms Barlow walked over and put a comforting hand on her arm. 

"Yes, you can. You're not alone, there are many people who've been through this before you, and we all want to help."  

Jerome shrugged off Ms Barlow's arm. She began to cry uncontrollably and clutched her breasts as if.

As if she were trying to pull them off.  

"I'm a cunt!" she wailed.  I just sat there, frozen in place. Ms Barlow quickly summoned one of the doctors, who gave the hysterical girl a sedative. After a few moments, she calmed down enough to be taken to an observation room.  Shaken, I stared at the program director. She looked at me soberly.  

"What's going to happen to her?" 

I asked.  "She's going to need a lot of therapy. This can happen with GB; the shock of transition, of having your identity forcibly changed, can unbalance anyone. Jerome is in for a difficult time. 

There's a lesson for you here, Stephanie. I know you're a strong person. I know you're an outstanding athlete, yes, I read the sports papers, too. 

But don't make the mistake of thinking you can just 'gut it out'. You're going to need support to get through this. Your journey has only begun. 

Do not, repeat, do NOT try to think like a man. One of the greatest aspects of being a woman is the ability to ask for help when you need it.  

"And you're going to need it, Stephanie. Every boy affected by GB does. You will survive this and even prosper, as long as you don't deny what you're feeling. You must face your emotions as a girl and accept them. 

Otherwise, you may wake up a week, a month, or even a year from now, like Jerome." 

 I listened very carefully. "I understand, really. I'm not thrilled about any of this, but I won't keep things bottled up. I still want to leave GRS, but I'll do the follow-up work. Deal?" 

 Ms Barlow studied me carefully. "You don't make deals with me, Stephanie – you make them with yourself. But I do have a good feeling about you, so I'll release you to your mother."  

And with that, I began 'outprocessing'. One of the huge advantages of having GRS managed by the state was taking care of all the legal business. There was even a representative from the DMV. 

In one hour, I had certified name-change documents, a new Social Security card, and a new driver's license. I studied my license carefully. 

Name: Stephanie Lind. Height: 5'7".

Weight: 119 lbs.

Sex: Female.  Good God. Such a simple thing, a little plastic card that proved Jack Lind no longer existed. Even, especially the picture. 

No one ever takes a good picture for her license, but I came close as I realized I was very photogenic, for a girl. It was such a shock to look at my photo, a cute, almost dainty, teenage female. In a way, it was just as surreal as looking in a mirror, objective proof of my new, albeit unwanted, femininity.  

I said goodbye to Tamara and Beth as they headed off for a makeover. 

We all expressed our worries about Jerome. We also exchanged e-mails and other contact info. They chucked as I wryly commented on how much easier it was for me to get phone numbers from pretty girls, now that I was one myself.  

I exchanged hugs with both of them. Beth seemed glowing, and even Tamara appeared to be content with her fate. 

I just wish I could be where they were.  And with that, I left GRS and headed for the parking lot where my mom was waiting. 

IV MA, MA, WHERE'S MY BRA?  I walked right up to her. I could tell she wasn't expecting me, not as I now was. 

I stopped a few feet away from her as the recognition dawned on her face.  " Jack?"  

"Congratulations, Mrs. Lind. It's a girl!" I said self-mockingly.  

"Oh, my God, you're so pretty!" Mom said incredulously. 

"I just can't believe it!"  "You and me both. Mom, I really don't want to hang around here. Can we get on the road?"  Her mind still in a whirl, she got into the driver's seat while I buckled in, noting how the shoulder strap across my chest stretched the fabric of my tank top and made my breasts seem even larger. Speaking of which.

"Here's something I bet you never imagined your son saying, Mom, I need a bra."  She looked at my chest for a full minute before starting the car. Shaken, she said, "I guess you do. We can go to the Milford."  

"Not a chance, Mom. I know I've got to get some new clothes, but I want to do it here in Syracuse. Less likelihood of me running across someone I know." 

 She nodded in agreement as we headed for a local mall.  While she drove, she kept sneaking glances over at me. In a way, I felt I had a bit of an edge here. I'd had a day to get used to my new sex for my Mom, it was her first sight of her son as a girl. She was clearly off-balance.  

"Are you okay?"  

"I'm not in any pain, at least."  

"How does it feel?"  

"I can't even begin to describe it yet, Mom. It feels weird. I've still got two arms, legs, eyes, etc. But the rest, I can't even talk about it."  We fell silent until we arrived at the stores. 

I got out of the car with some trepidation. This was the first time I would be in public as a female. Nervously, I made my way into the mall with my mother.  And immediately, my education began.  

Every single person who passed me looked at me. 

The women and girls seemed to be almost reproaching, though I saw some expressions of envy. As for the guys, some did more than look. 'Ogle' would be a better term. Much of the attention was directed at my chest still bouncing under my thin tank-top, the huge nipples poking through. 

A few guys were almost drooling. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to have someone 'undress me with his eyes'. I felt almost naked!  This was very strange and creepy. 

As a boy, I'd always been pretty much anonymous. Yeah, some of the girls said I was cute, but I was hardly the center of attention when I went out. But now.

I realized I would never blend into a crowd again. General Patton once commented to his troops: 

"You are always on parade." Now I understand the civilian equivalent: if you're an attractive woman, you will always be on parade. I felt incredibly self-conscious. 

Maybe I could convert to Islam - the idea of a burkha was now appealing.  I was amazed to see that I couldn't wait to get into a bra. Anything to deflect attention from my breasts. 

We arrived at a JCPenney's and went to the teen clothing section. Just standing under the sign that said 'GIRLS' was unnerving. A saleswoman came up to us.  

"I'd like this young lady fitted for a brassiere," my mother said almost proudly.  "Of course," the saleswoman replied. 

"And what size has she been wearing?"  We were both silent for a moment at the obvious but unexpected question. 

"I, I really never wore one before," I stammered.  

"Oh," the saleswoman said uncertainly. "But with such a well-developed chest, you've never" Then it hit her. 

"GB?" she finished.  

"Yeah," I said, eyes downcast.  She seemed to brighten. "Actually, we get a fair number of girls from the clinic, since we're one of the closest stores. Let me take you back, where we can be more discreet."  

She was trying to be nice about it, chatting as we went to the fitting area, telling me how I would love being a girl and how she had the perfect bra for me to wear. I fell glumly in line behind her. We arrived at the back, where she proceeded to stretch a measuring tape around me in a variety of ways.  

"You're a 34C," she reported.  

"Why, she's the same size as," Mom paused. Wonderful. Just what every boy dreams of for his chest to match his mother's. The saleswoman proceeded to select a variety of bras for me. I picked the plainest one of the lot. The straps and hooks were so, complicated! 

When the saleswoman offered to help me, I reluctantly accepted - I doubted I could figure it out on my own. We went into one of the dressing rooms, where I slowly removed my top.  The assistant stared at me for a moment. 

"You're very pretty and I'd kill for those breasts!"  

"I'd give them to you if I could, believe me."  

"I'm sorry. It's just that you GB girls all come out with such wonderful bodies. Most women would love to look like you."  

"Yeah, but the problem is, most men wouldn't."  

"I know," she said sympathetically. 

"Here, let me help you with that."  And so I put on my first bra. It felt weird, of course. But at least the cups were nice. The soft fabric against my sensitive nipples was rather pleasant, and I was very glad to have them packaged up. 

But the straps felt awkward, and I kept tugging at them, trying to get more comfortable. The saleswoman assured me the bra fit me properly, which meant I was going to have to get used to the sensation. 

 I pulled my top back on and was relieved to feel less self-conscious. My chest still jiggled inside the bra, but things were more under control. I selected a half-dozen of the same style of white cotton with a satin lining. Then it was time for panties. I learned I was a size 5. 

Both women tried to get me into various frilly types, but I was adamant. A couple of packs of 'Jockey for Her' briefs, white cotton as well.  

Then I got a pair of sneakers (I was now a size 8 women's) and a very conservative pair of casual flats (novel terminology).  

Jeans were next. With my new configuration of waist and hips, I knew I'd have to wear girls' styles. 

I picked out a couple of the less ornamented kind and headed for the dressing room. 

While there, another girl had left the door of her booth half-open. She smiled at me as I walked by, completely relaxed in her pretty underwear. 

She was quite attractive, and I had to turn my eyes away before I started to stare. I noticed with some dismay as I took off my pants that the sight of her had firmed my nipples up inside my bra. 

And the sight of myself in the mirror, a cute teen girl in her tank top and briefs, kept my arousal going. It was very strange. When I looked at my body directly, I felt no stimulation. But when I caught glimpses of my reflection, particularly in a state of undress, I could actually get turned on.  

It was as if the boy I'd been had become a voyeur; he was getting hot. But he was now in a girl's body, so his excitement could only manifest itself in a female way. He had no penis to make erect. 

Instead, his panties, my panties grew wet. Without my willing it, my hand strayed closer to my crotch. Oh!  

My mom called to me from outside the changing room. I stopped myself and struggled quickly into the jeans, noting the snugness of the fit around my hips. I also noted the gap between my tank top and the low-riding waistband of the girl's dungarees. 

My flawlessly flat tummy was now showing an inch or so of creamy skin in the fashion so popular with young women these days. Nevertheless, I could tell the jeans were a good fit for my changed form.  

We bought several pairs along with some simple pullover blouses. Mom kept steering me towards some dresses. She held one out, a ruffled pink number.  "You'd look so sweet in this, honey. Don't you want to try it on?"  

"No, Mom. It's just not me."  She looked disappointed. 

"Mom, I know you may have some mother-daughter shopping/bonding vision going here. But." I actually grinned, "I'm not that kind of girl." 

 "Are you sure?"  

"Very. I accept the basics, I'll wear a bra if for no other reason than to keep the boys away. But I'm not ready for anything else yet." 

 "Oh, Jack, I don't think you'll ever keep the boys away. But I understand. We'll take it slow."  

Hearing the incongruity of my old name reminded me I hadn't told her my new one. I pulled my license out of my wallet and showed it to her.  

"Stephanie?"  

"It seems to work for some reason, I don't know why. I wasn't going to go with Sue; Johnny Cash already covered that one."  She was silent for a moment. 

"I don't think I really appreciated how hard this is for you. You're not Jack anymore, are you?" 

 "No, I'm not. I'm mean, I was him and I still feel like him inside. But I know I can't live that life anymore. The world's not going to change for me. I learned that at Girl School."  

"This is so surreal. I have a daughter named Stephanie. Good Heavens, how are you coping with this?"  

"I'm not sure, Mom. I don't like this at all, but I seem to be able to tolerate it. Not everyone does." I thought of Jerome.  

"I knew you were strong, Stephanie. You're proving me right." She hugged me then, and I felt comforted by her faith in me.  We left the store and began the walk through the mall, back to the car. 

I refused to even look at the Victoria's Secret shop. Mom didn't try to push me towards any more girly accoutrements, except for a purse. I knew I had to have one; most girls' fashions didn't have pockets for wallets. I chose a very simple black style that would go with anything.  

Now I was fully outfitted with a bra, snug jeans, a pastel blouse, flats, and a purse. I was a match for every girl I saw. I still got far too many looks for my taste, but at least the women weren't criticizing my previously braless state, and the boys were slightly less overt in their attentions. 

Slightly.  The other thing I was adjusting to was my new size. I'd lost 4 inches in height and about 30 pounds in weight. I was small again, like I had been before my growth spurt, and I didn't like it one bit. 

Although I was still taller than the average girl, I no longer towered over them. Instead, nearly all the boys towered over me. I felt a sense of fragility that was very disconcerting. 

They're so much bigger than me! How could I ever stand up to them if they gave me trouble? I was glad when we made it to the car and began the drive home. 

 I remained quiet as we headed back, staring at my slender arms. I was still having difficulty accepting my new status: small, weak, vulnerable, female. 

I knew exactly how boys thought. I knew what they felt when they saw me.

 I knew how sex and desire dominated most of their waking moments. 

Hell, I still felt it myself. Part of me wanted to molest my own body. But if a boy wanted to take advantage of me, there was no way I could fight him off. 

Even the puniest geeks could overpower me, now.  As a guy, I'd grown up with the rough and tumble culture of physical competition. 

And until the last year or so (when I'd shot up in height), I'd been on the short end of the stick, so to speak. I'd been relieved to get my growth spurt, and at the very least, if I got into some confrontation I couldn't handle, I could run away. 

There wasn't a kid in America who could outpace me once I got a lead on him.  

But now I was back where I started, physically fragile again. Only this was even worse. Now I was a girl, and every boy would try to, or at least want to.  I found myself trembling at this line of thought. 

 "Are you okay, sweetie?" my mom asked me.  "How do you do it?"  

"Do what?"  

"How do you face the fact that any guy could hurt you? I mean, we're so fragile in comparison to men. Any of them could. force themselves on us, and we couldn't possibly stop them."  

She thought about it for a moment. "You're really scared, aren't you?" 

 "Yes."  

"You're scared of being raped."  Just to hear the word filled me with horror, since I knew it could now happen to me.  

"Yeah, I'm scared of being." I couldn't even say it.  "Good."  

"What?!" I said in disbelief.  "Stephanie, contrary to TV and the movies, the majority of sexual assaults are not perpetrated by strangers. 

Usually, the girl knows her attacker, acquaintances, dates, step-family, and so forth. Now, most men and boys, as you know, may have a strong desire for women, but they will behave themselves. 

If you draw a firm line, they won't cross it. 

But there are a few men who will. The majority of women learn at a young age how to tell the difference. Sadly, some women never do learn and fall victim over and over again."  "But how does a woman tell who's a good guy and who isn't?" 

 "Observation, instinct, and experience. That's what makes me worried for you, honey."  I noticed that since I changed, my mother was calling me 'sweetie' and 'honey' a lot more. I never liked it before, but now. I didn't mind so much. 

 "The challenge, Stephanie, is that you are so lovely you're a very, very attractive young woman. 

But you don't have the years of growing up as a girl to handle it. It's like putting someone who never drove a car into Manhattan traffic during rush hour."  Good analogy as we pulled up to our house. She continued. 

"So I'm glad to see you're scared. It's important for you to be thinking about these things. You don't have to live in fear, but you do need to be very cautious until you get used to the social consequences of being the pretty girl you are."  

"There is one advantage," I responded. "As a former guy, I do know how teenage boys have sex-on-the-brain 24/7. So I'm not that naïve about what they're interested in." 

 "That's good. And you'll find, once you have a little practice, that you can control boys rather well." I flashed back to Erin's demonstration. 

"You just have to learn about the bad apples."  I went to my room and stowed away my purchases. Mom had already boxed up my old clothes. God, my underwear drawer sure looked different! And as I surveyed my room, I wondered if it would become more feminine over time. 

Certainly, the poster of a bikini-clad Carmen Electra was not something the average teenage girl would pin on her wall.  Even more disconcerting was the thought that flashed briefly through my mind: how would I look wearing that bikini?  I heard a footstep behind. I turned. 

 It was Sue.  It's hard to say which one of us was more shocked. I hadn't expected to see her until school.  And she sure wasn't ready to see her boyfriend as a girl!  Both of us remained in stasis, frozen in place as we stared at each other. 

 "Oh God! You're so, so pretty!" she gasped.  "Sue? I didn't know you were going to be."  

"Your mother called me before she left to pick you up. I thought you might want to see a friendly face." She stepped up to me I was only an inch taller than her now. She reached out her hand and gently touched my cheek. 

"You look so feminine, and that hair it's gorgeous! Is GB finished? It sure seems like it is. Are you really a girl, all the way?"  I blushed and hung my head.  

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Stephanie."  I looked back up at her.  "Your mom told me. Stephanie Lind. I like it!"  

"Sue I."  

"Shhh. I told you before how special you are to me. I'm here to help you, especially to get you through your first day of school. 

How 'bout we have a sleepover tonight?"  

"You mean the two of us, sleeping in the same room?"  

"Why not? We're both girls now, it's not like the town gossips can complain."  I considered it for about one-tenth of a second. Gee, my lovely girlfriend, spending the night with me in her pajamas. 

"Uh, sure!"  

"Great," Sue responded. "Let's get some dinner."  It was a weird meal. The three of us were a bit tentative, for obvious reasons. Mom and Sue had always gotten along; in fact, Mom had hoped Sue (who was the class salutatorian) would influence me into pulling my grades up to the highest in the school.  

But even though I was Jack on the inside, I was a whole new person on the outside.