Girl's Dorm

Even though Stephanie had been living in this room for three months already, she still felt like a stranger here. Not because of the room itself — it was your standard dorm setup: faded walls, dim lighting, and the usual stink from the sink. She stood by the mirror in tiny lace panties, toothbrush in her mouth, hair in a messy bun, trying not to think about how her boobs jiggled with every movement of her hand. The toothbrush moved in her mouth on autopilot, but her gaze — clouded, angry — was fixed on her reflection. Neck too thin. Shoulders too narrow. No longer Josh Mason — a promising junior in the cybersecurity department. Now — a freshman, 18 years old, “transferred” from another campus, living in a girls' dorm under the name Stephanie Cole.

— Ugh... — she muttered under her breath and spat out the toothpaste. Her breasts, as always, pulled heavily at her chest. Even the slightest movement made them sway, a constant reminder of how different everything was now.

She gripped the toothbrush tighter. Foam dripped from her lips onto her boobs, instantly triggering a weird, disgustingly sensitive shiver in her nipples.

— Hey, Barbie — Lauren's voice from the hallway hit like a slap — you gonna keep fucking the mirror all day? I need to do my makeup.

Stephanie clenched her teeth. Ashley. A senior, her roommate. Tall, mean, with a cold smirk and tits straight out of a Victoria’s Secret ad. The second roommate — Brooke — wasn't any better. Also older, almost a graduate, always glued to her phone, TikTok playing in the background, and daily snide comments about the "new girl." And really, who wouldn't gossip when a tiny little cutie suddenly shows up as a freshman, clearly able to steal the guys’ attention without even trying.

— One minute! — Stephanie snapped, shooting one last angry glance at herself, furious at the sound of her own voice. A freshly washed face, slightly flushed cheeks, hair messily braided. Bare upper body... She sighed and grabbed a towel.

'What the hell was I thinking agreeing to this? — flashed through her mind. — "You’ll get to choose your body," they said. "You’ll be like Jason Momoa, sure, great choice." I can’t even look in the mirror without shame now...'

She remembered that day. Accidentally witnessing a gang shootout. Blood. Running. Then the deal with the cops. Her agreement — dumb, confident, boyish. “Yeah, sure, a new identity. I can pick any body?! That’s awesome!” And really, what did she have to lose? Josh’s life wasn’t terrible, but as an orphan and not the best-looking guy, things were always harder for him. And now, this chance!

Then either a database glitch, a tech guy’s prank, or just plain indifference. And here she was, waking up in this body. This pathetic, weak, female body. No way to undo it. With a new name — Stephanie Brooks. Everything else was just as promised — a new university for the same major, freshman year instead of junior (so it’d be easier to study, pick up girls, and party, or so Josh had thought), and of course, government support.

As soon as Stephanie grabbed the towel, she heard the click of the lock. The bathroom door swung open sharply, and Ashley barged in without knocking, wearing just a bra and shorts.

— Seriously?! — gasped Stephanie, instinctively covering herself. — Are you fucking insane?

Ashley walked in slowly, lazily giving Stephanie a once-over.

— Oh, don’t act like some innocent little girl. We’re all chicks here, chill out. Although... — she smirked. — Who knows what you used to be. You’re weird. You don’t even know how to wear a bra. Or do you just skip it on purpose?

Stephanie froze, clutching the towel tightly to her breasts, her cheeks burning with hot, angry shame. Yeah, that hit right where it hurt, but... that was before. Now, there was nothing left of Josh. Boobs, soft skin, narrow shoulders — and of course, periods. Those disgusting, vivid episodes every month, where her stomach twisted up for the whole day and nothing helped. And as if that wasn’t enough, she’d noticed even her orientation had changed. She kept catching herself looking at guys differently, and girls... girls stopped being attractive. They were just aesthetics now. Especially after three months of sharing a room with these bitches. She couldn’t even understand what used to be so appealing about them.

— Fuck you, — Stephanie whispered without looking, stepping sideways out of the cramped space.

Ashley didn’t move an inch. She lazily reached for the shelf above the mirror and started pulling out makeup, casually eyeing Stephanie from head to toe in the reflection.

— What, you on your period? — she snorted. — You’re way too bitchy this morning.

— None of your business, — she snapped back, walking out of the bathroom and nearly bumping into Brooke, who was standing by the door.

Brooke just smirked.

— Whoa-whoa-whoa! Easy there, Cyber-Barbie! Why so cranky this morning?!

— She's on her period, — Ashley threw in like it explained everything. Like a stamp. Like a fucking seal that meant you were fair game now — just a girl.

Brooke burst out laughing and stepped aside.

— God, I wonder if she’s gonna Google how to put in a tampon again this time? — Brooke laughed, her voice echoing down the hallway.

Stephanie froze. Her throat tightened like someone had slipped a collar around her neck. She didn’t even know what hurt more — the comment itself or the fact that it was… true. Because that’s exactly what had happened that first week. Pain, panic, blood — and all she got in return were flowery pads and useless instructions that made her sick. And of course, shame. Overwhelming, filthy, burning shame when she sat on the toilet with her phone typing: “how to use a tampon first time,” trying not to cry. And later, when she accidentally left her phone there, Ashley saw it.

Now, she just pressed her lips together and walked past them without saying a word. She knew if she tried to speak, her voice might crack. And if it cracked, they’d smell it. And these bitches just needed an excuse.

— Hey — Ashley’s voice followed — don’t forget to wear a bra, "cybersecurity genius." Your tits are bouncing like they’re trying to catch a Wi-Fi signal!

Laughter trailed after her. Stephanie slammed the door so hard behind her it made her ears ring.

She dropped onto the bed. Her whole body trembling.

'You’re strong. You took hand-to-hand combat courses. You could drink whiskey by the bottle. You... you’re a man, goddamn it!' — she would’ve screamed it, if it weren’t for her own reflection staring back at her from the mirror across the room.

It looked back at her with frightened eyes, with damp, pinkish skin and slightly parted lips. A cute face, very pretty even without makeup, and no anger — just confusion and pain. Like a hurt little girl.

— Bitches... — she whispered, reaching for her sports bra. She knew damn well it wasn’t necessary, but she was sick of the extra attention — from boys, professors, even other girls and older women. And honestly, it was just more comfortable, though she’d never admit that. Nearby lay those soft bras her roommates had gifted her, with frills and all kinds of girly crap, but she just grimaced and quickly looked away.

She put it on fast, not looking in the mirror, like that would somehow let her avoid admitting anything. But even the simple touch of fabric against her skin triggered that annoyingly feminine response — her nipples reacted immediately, like her body was reminding her who it belonged to now.

Her phone rang. The old one they gave her along with her “new life.” On the screen — a reminder to buy nail polish. She winced again. That was another story altogether. Because right now, her mind wasn’t on the reminder, but on the tiny hope that maybe this was a response to her request for a different body. Though deep down, she knew the chances were close to zero.

She stood up. Walked to the mirror. Laid her hands on her flat, small belly with smooth skin. So familiar now, even hers in a way — and jumped at the sound of Brooke’s voice ringing out behind the door:

— By the way, Stephanie, the girls and I are hitting that party at Cole’s tonight. You’ve got that cute top, right? Mind if I borrow it?

— Over my dead body — Stephanie replied flatly.

— Well, that’s negotiable! — Brooke giggled.

Stephanie looked at herself in the mirror. A girl’s face. A girl’s body. This was her. Now, her.