Lily – Episode 1 – At the Pool

Episode 1 – At the Pool

Part 1

Water droplets gently tapped against the tiles of the shower stall, running down my shoulders and back. I stood facing the cool wall, palms pressed against it as if I wanted to push it in, feeling the hot water flowing along the curves of my new body. My breasts, still like heavy weights, swayed slightly with every movement, making me painfully aware of how ridiculous I looked. Every touch of water against them felt especially sharp, as if it was deliberately reminding me that now—they were mine.

I clenched my teeth, staring at the gray grout between the tiles, trying not to think about how I must look from the outside. I didn’t want to turn around—mostly because I didn’t want to see how the other women in the communal shower were looking at me. To them, I was just another woman, maybe with breasts that made me feel awkward and those absurdly wide hips. For them, I was just another visitor in the women’s bathhouse. But in my head, everything screamed that I didn’t belong here. In the mirror, I couldn’t stop seeing my own face—only younger and, damn it, more feminine.

I pressed my palms harder into the cold tile, as if I could sink into it and disappear. Somewhere to the side, two girls giggled as they walked to the next showers, and I felt everything inside me tighten.

Click. The faucet gave a final spurt of hot water and went silent. Still facing the wall, I reached for my towel, threw it over my breasts, and wrapped it around my hips. I pulled it higher, but I could still feel the fabric stretched too tightly against my wet skin. Damn it, am I really going to have to live with these things and wear towels like this forever now?

Taking a deep breath, I turned.

Standing in front of me, like a ghost appearing out of nowhere, was Samantha—my wife, or rather, now officially my “legal guardian.” I had to look up to meet her eyes. God, I remember how she used to stand on her tiptoes to kiss me back before all this chaos with “chrysalis.” And now… She was smirking, holding a small towel in her hands and looking down at me.

— What? — I mumbled, looking up at Samantha, feeling a droplet roll down from under my towel and tickle my stomach.

— You look… — she slowly ran her eyes from top to bottom — just right. — And handed me the little towel. — This is for your hair, Lily.

— Don’t call me that, — I frowned, clutching my towel tighter as if it could hide not just my breasts but the whole fact of my new body.

— Benjamin’s not in the paperwork anymore, — she shrugged and started wrapping that ridiculous piece of fabric around my head, turning me into some parody of a girl from a shampoo commercial. — Only Lily now.

Lily. For fuck’s sake. I don’t even know why I agreed to let them pick a random name for me during the registration process at the transformation center for people who’d changed because of the “chrysalis” virus. No—wait, I do know. I didn’t care at the time. I was sitting there alone in a room with some bureaucrat, a guy of about forty, who wasn’t even hiding the fact he was staring at what had grown on my chest in the four weeks since I caught the virus. And I didn’t care about that either. I just wanted it over with—wanted the doctors to let me go, so I could go home and get absolutely wasted. And now I’m “Lily.” Jesus. I wouldn’t even name my own daughter that. But Samantha doesn’t seem to get that.

— My hair’s shorter than yours, Sam. It hasn’t grown out like… — I gritted my teeth, refusing to say “breasts,” and feeling the towel tugging at the skin near my temples. — What is this, a circus?

— It’s not a circus, — her voice was too soft, the voice of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. — This is a women’s bathhouse, Lily. This is how it’s done here. — She adjusted the knot on top of my head and stepped back to look at me. — Cute.

I swallowed hard. That word hit my pride all over again. A grown man—almost forty—standing there wrapped in a towel, with that stupid turban on his head. And she calls it “cute.”

Part 2

— Having fun, are you? — I stepped back toward the exit from the showers into the changing room, trying to keep the towel from slipping.

— Oh, Ben… I mean, Lily, — Samantha followed me, her voice dripping with such sweet satisfaction it made me want to hiss. — You know I just want you to get used to it.

— Used to what? — I spun around sharply, instantly regretting it when the damp fabric over my breasts shifted. I pressed it back in place with both hands in panic. — Used to me… — I swallowed; the words wouldn’t come. — This circus with turbans and… and… — I lifted one hand, holding the towel with the other, showing off my long pink nails, the shine of the polish catching the light in a way that made me cringe. — And this?

— Yes, — her answer came far too firmly. — This is your life now, Lily. And the sooner you stop clenching your teeth and start breathing, the easier it’ll be.

I snorted and walked into the changing room, feeling the damp steam curl around my legs and cling to my skin. Benches, lockers, bright lights… and dozens of women changing, chatting, drying their hair. And me—right in the middle of them.

I caught a few glances. Some slid over me lazily, others lingered a bit longer, as if… they were jealous?!

— You drag me here and now… — I muttered under my breath, not wanting anyone to overhear. I didn’t want any more attention. Samantha just lazily opened the locker with our things and let her towel drop.

— Don’t even start, — she purred. She seemed to have adjusted far too quickly to the fact that her husband, the man she’d been married to for fifteen years since college, had turned in just four weeks into a teenage-looking girl with a body I couldn’t look at in the mirror without irritation.

She turned to me, completely unfazed by the fact we were surrounded by dozens of other women, and pulled out of her bag… a damn swimsuit. I didn’t even realize what it was at first.

— You’ve got to be kidding me, — I stepped back, clutching the towel as if it were the only barrier between me and utter humiliation.

— No, Lily. — She emphasized the new name in a way that made my skin crawl. — After the bath, we’re going to the pool.

— We’re not, — I snapped, feeling heat flood my face—not from the steam, but from the thought of having to put that on. Apparently, I’d said it too loudly, because the women nearby turned to look at me. Someone giggled, someone shook their head. Great, they probably thought I was some bratty teenager.

— Lily, at your age I was already going to the pool in a bikini. And this is just a one-piece, — Samantha held it out closer, like she was showing me a kitten no one could refuse.

I backed up again, but the bench behind me smacked my knee. I nearly lost my towel, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

— Are you out of your mind? — I hissed, pressing the fabric tighter against my breasts. — This… this is just… — I couldn’t even finish, because in my head I already saw the image: me in that coral thing which, judging by the size, would barely contain my new… curves.

— Stop being so dramatic, — she said calmly, placing the swimsuit on the bench. — Honestly, you’re acting like a spoiled little girl.

— I’m not a spoiled little girl, I— — I started yelling, then fell silent when I noticed people staring again. — Fuck, damn it.

— My goodness, young lady, that is no way to speak, — an elderly woman scolded me, giving me a look that made my stomach churn. She pursed her lips, squinted, and shook her head.

— At your age, young miss, you don’t talk like that. Girls should be… modest, — she said, still holding me under her heavy, examining gaze as if she were about to fine me for every swear word.

I gripped the towel tighter, feeling it stretch across my breasts, and muttered through clenched teeth:

— I’m actually—

But Samantha cut in, her voice dripping with mock tenderness:

— She’s just a little nervous, — she turned to the old lady with a soft smile that instantly melted her expression. — First time in the women’s bathhouse today.

Part 3

— Ooh… — the old woman drawled, looking at me almost sympathetically now, though her eyes still carried the unspoken we’ll fix you. — Such a grown girl, and your first time at the bathhouse.

— And the last, — I muttered, turning my gaze aside, pretending to examine the locks on the lockers instead of meeting the old woman’s piercing stare.

— Well, well, dear, — she went on, slowly pulling on some hideously colorful swimsuit, then added to Samantha, — I have a granddaughter just like her, my Mary. Only, well… she wasn’t as lucky in the curves department.

I nearly choked, snapping my head around and glaring at this “sweet little old lady.” I wanted to say something sharp, but a lump stuck in my throat, and I only pressed the towel tighter over my breasts.

— Lily, stop giving dagger eyes, — Samantha said quietly but firmly, already dressed in her neat blue swimsuit, her wet hair falling over her shoulders. — Come on, get changed.

— I… — I began, but she caught my gaze and tilted her head ever so slightly. Her eyes said it clearly: don’t even think about it.

Pressing my lips together, I slowly reached for the bench, bending slightly and holding the towel and my breasts with one arm, catching out of the corner of my eye that the old woman still hadn’t left, as if she was staying on purpose. The towel rustled over my skin, and I could feel water still pooling on my back, sliding downward. My heart was pounding like I was about to step onto a stage under a spotlight instead of just into a pool.

I carefully picked up the swimsuit—this bright coral madness that seemed even smaller in my hands than it had in Samantha’s. The fabric was cool and elastic, and I already knew it would cling to every inch of my new body.

— Come on, Lily, — Samantha prompted, leaning against the locker and lazily shaking water from her hair. — Stop acting like I’m shoving you into a straitjacket.

I shot her a look of pure disdain and slowly peeled off the towel, feeling the damp air wrap instantly around my bare skin. The fabric whispered as it slid away, and I was left wearing nothing but the ridiculous turban on my head, holding in my hands this coral scrap of elastic Samantha called a swimsuit.

My heart was thudding in my ears as I lifted one leg, then the other, into the narrow, cold material. Bending over made my breasts pull me downward, swaying heavily, and the swimsuit fabric, as if on purpose, stretched taut over my hips and began to strain even though I’d only pulled it up to my knees. The crisp, slightly sticky sound of it sliding over my damp skin made my teeth clench. It bit into my thighs before finally giving way. I sucked in my stomach, trying to work it up to my waist, but my breasts were already in the way.

Both Samantha and the old woman watched me with some bizarre kind of fondness as I stood there half-wrapped in this insanity. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped one hand under the strap and began carefully guiding my right breast into the tight, springy fabric. The material resisted, pressing upward from below, but finally, when the breast settled into the space allotted for it, I let go of the strap and it snapped against my shoulder, digging into my skin.

— Ugh, — I groaned in annoyance, glancing down only to realize I couldn’t even see the other strap—my breast was blocking the view. I had to lean sideways, feeling around until my fingers found it tucked under my right breast. My fingertips slid over the cool, damp skin until they hooked the elastic edge, which caught briefly on a nail before snapping free. I stretched it out and pulled it up over my shoulder. The strap, like it was mocking me, dug in hard, trapping my breasts between two narrow bands of elastic, lifting and pushing them forward so that I could feel the skin pulling tight.

I ran my palms down my sides, trying to smooth the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to my skin, as if determined to emphasize every curve. Across my stomach it drew in a neat arc, tracing my shape, and my breasts, caught in the taut sling of the straps, rose heavily with each breath. I slid my left hand under the neckline, trying to lift one breast into a more comfortable position, but the elastic bit into me instantly, as if resisting.

Part 4

— There now, — the old woman said, still standing beside me, — now you really are a beauty. Just about Mary’s age.

I froze for a second, glancing at her, my fingers still caught between hot skin and the tight elastic fabric.

— I’m not— — I began, but Samantha cut in:

— Mary’s your granddaughter?

— Uh-huh, — the old woman brightened. — Quick little thing, goes to a good school. St. Clare’s.

My shoulders tensed.

— Oh, Lily will be going there too, — Samantha said far too casually, almost proudly.

I straightened sharply, nearly losing my balance, and stared at her.

— What? — my voice cracked. — Where the hell am I—

— Oh, sorry, ruined the surprise, — she said with an easy smile, clearly savoring the moment. — It’s a wonderful place.

She winked at me, flicking her gaze toward the old woman, hinting that now was not the time to start interrogating her. I clenched my teeth and obediently tugged at the right side of the swimsuit, trying to ease the pull under my breast. My fingers slipped along damp skin, and I felt a thin trickle of water run down my ribs, stopping where the fabric clung. The swimsuit hugged me so tightly I could feel every movement of my breathing — even a small sigh made the neckline shift.

— St. Clare’s… — the old woman narrowed her eyes slightly, as if picturing it. — They’ve got a strict uniform for girls. Skirts, blouses, knee socks. Would suit you, dear.

I shot her a look, but she seemed to take it for shyness.

— Oh, my memory — I need to call Katie! — the old woman turned toward her locker, and Samantha took my hand and pulled me toward the door marked “Pool.” I walked quickly beside her, wanting more than anything to get away from that nosy old woman, while another, far more urgent thought now spun in my head — school.

Samantha politely mentioned to her that we were heading to the pools, but the old woman clearly wasn’t listening anymore, and the next moment I was already following Samantha, forgetting about the pool and the old lady, wanting only one thing — to hear her say it had all been a damn joke.

— Are you out of your mind? We agreed — no damn school! — I almost hissed. — What the hell do you mean St. Clare’s?! We discussed this! I’ve got a degree, Sam! Higher education, twenty years of experience!

— You, Lily, — she corrected softly, but with that steel edge I’d learned to recognize over the years of marriage, — officially don’t even have ninth grade. On paper, you’re sixteen.

— And biologically eighteen! That’s just some mistake in the papers! You know that! They need to be fixed! — I jerked my hand away, but the swimsuit instantly tightened across my breasts, making me wince. Samantha’s gaze slid there, and she smiled with obvious satisfaction.

— Right, and while we’re at it, let’s get your old body back and cancel the virus, — she said in the tone of someone explaining to a child that Santa Claus isn’t real. — Those documents already cost us too much, Lily. And in fact, I think that “mistake” is for the best. Because this isn’t just about education. It’s about you… fitting in. Besides, as you yourself pointed out, the year will go by quickly.

At that moment, the pool door opened, and warm, humid air heavy with the smell of chlorine poured into the changing room. Blue flashes of water and bright laughter flickered beyond. A few women in swimsuits walked past us, tossing their hair back, not even pretending not to look me over.

I instinctively hunched my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. The swimsuit pressed hard against my breasts, the narrow straps cutting into my skin. Every step pulled the fabric in the most sensitive places, and I couldn’t stop thinking how its cut emphasized everything I wished I could ignore.

— Come on, Lily, — Samantha said quietly but firmly, giving me a little push toward the door.

— I’m not going — I hissed, holding my ground. — And we are going back to the school thing. This is insane, Sam. I’m not sitting at a desk with… with kids.

She turned, irritation flickering in her eyes, but her lips stayed in that soft, almost affectionate smile.

— With girls your age, — she corrected. — And yes, you will. Because, I’ll repeat it one more time in case you didn’t get it — officially, you’re sixteen. And you don’t have a diploma. Want to work as a janitor?

She stepped closer, leaning to my ear.

Part 5

— And besides, you need to learn to talk to boys, — her warm breath brushed against the skin of my neck, making me flinch involuntarily.

— Boys?! — my voice shot up almost to a squeak, and I turned to her so sharply that the swimsuit’s narrow straps bit painfully into my shoulders. — I… I… — the words stuck. I took a deep breath and stepped toward the pool, wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation.

The warm, humid air of the pool hit my face. The smell of chlorine mixed with the heat of skin, damp towels, and the faint echo of laughter. The blue ripple of the water reflected the light from the lamps hanging overhead, and along the edges of the pool women sat or stood — some in swim caps, some in bikinis — and, worst of all, a couple of teenage boys in swim trunks at the far lane. They were talking about something, but the moment we stepped out, their gazes slid toward us in unison.

— Oh, shit… — I slowed down, instinctively wrapping my arms around myself, as if that could help, though the swimsuit only outlined my shape more.

— Stop fidgeting, — Samantha said quietly but firmly, giving me a glance. — You look great. You just forgot to take off the towel from your head.

She chuckled. God, she was actually enjoying this. I suddenly realized I had completely forgotten about that ridiculous thing and yanked the wet “turban” off my head. The towel dropped into my hand — and, instead of the long, feminine strands she was clearly expecting, there was just the same short, spiky haircut that could still give away Ben.

— Ohhh, — she drew out, with such fake regret that I almost hissed, — oh, such a pity you still… look like that.

— Still?! — I raised a brow, crushing the towel in my fist. — You seriously think I’m going to grow out some braid so you can tie ribbons in it?

— Why not? — she shrugged innocently. — Would look perfect with a school uniform.

— I’m not going to school, — I muttered through my teeth, but judging by her eyes, what she heard was: I’ll go, but I’ll complain about it.

— Save it for later, I’m begging you, — she smiled and stepped into the pool, leaving me standing at the edge like an idiot, holding that towel and wearing a swimsuit that dragged down on my breasts so much I could barely breathe.

The water around her shimmered with blue splashes, and a few droplets landed on my knees. I stood alone, feeling the weight of the stares — from the women in nearby lanes, and worse, from those two boys at the far wall. One of them seemed to whisper something to the other, and both smiled. I instinctively pressed my palms to my thighs, but that only made the swimsuit pull even tighter, outlining everything I wanted hidden.

Samantha was already gliding through the water like a mermaid in a swimsuit that fit perfectly, while I stood on the edge, clinging to the towel like it was my last thread of normalcy.

— Hey! — a voice suddenly called from somewhere to the side. It was bright, young. — Look, this girl’s afraid of the water!

A ripple of giggling spread through the pool. I turned my head sharply and saw the two boys — the ones from the far lane — staring right at me. The blond one nodded to the other, clearly hinting, and the other squinted and smirked, not bothering to hide that he was checking me out.

— I… I’m not afraid, — I murmured so quietly it was almost lost in the echo. My cheeks flushed, and something tightened in my chest so sharply it felt like, any second, I might turn and run back to the changing room, hide behind a locker, anything to escape those stares.

Part 6

I don’t know why, but I took a step forward, then another, and, gritting my teeth, pushed off from the pool’s edge. The water closed around me — cool, dense — catching my body and instantly dragging me downward. The swimsuit clung even tighter to my skin, my breasts shifted apart, and the straps bit into my shoulders as if reminding me exactly who I was now.

I surfaced halfway down the lane, shaking droplets from my face, suddenly remembering I probably looked like some tomboy stuffed into an overly feminine swimsuit. A few strokes later, I heard a sharp whistle.

— Young lady in lane three! — a loud female voice called, strict, with a chill to it. — No diving from the pool edge!

I stopped, lifted my head, and saw a woman in a black athletic swimsuit with a whistle around her neck — a coach, or maybe a lifeguard. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, and she was looking straight at me.

— I… I was just— — I began, but cut myself off when her gaze slid down my body, lingering on my breasts, lifted and pushed together by the swimsuit. I felt something tighten inside me.

— No “just,” — she shook her head. — Next time, use the ladder. You’re a young lady, not some boy in a back alley.

The words hit dead center. I automatically raised my hand to wipe the water from my face and caught the glint of polish on my long nails. Just yesterday, in my head, I’d been calling them “instruments of torture,” after Samantha had talked me into getting them “just to try it,” and now they seemed like they were part of my… new picture here in the pool.

— Understood, — I said quietly, my voice coming out softer than I wanted.

Behind me came a ripple of giggling. The same two boys by the far wall had clearly heard everything. One said something to the other, and both stared at me again, not bothering to hide their interest.

Feeling the swimsuit stretched across my breasts and hips, I swam on — just to get away from their eyes, from the instructor, from Samantha, who I could already see swimming toward me with that smirk, ready to sink her teeth into a fresh topic.