Subway Ride

The jolt of the train knocked me off my feet. I let out a shrill cry — so thin, still so strangely high-pitched — and, losing my balance, ended up pressing my breasts against the back of the man in front of me. He turned around, his eyes drifting downward — to where my new, embarrassingly large breasts were heaving heavily under the white blouse and light cardigan. I saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a subtle smirk, and only then did I realize one of the buttons had come undone.

‘Oh God…’ — I looked down, blushing to the roots of my long chestnut hair, tied up in a high ponytail, and felt the tight elastic pull at the skin on the back of my head. Everything felt so real, so hopeless. Avoiding his gaze nervously, I quickly started buttoning up the blouse, cursing my long nails, wishing for only one thing — to disappear, to vanish from this train car, or better yet, to go back to who I used to be, not the person I was now.

Yeah, yeah... Not so long ago, I was just a regular office clerk. A man. The same dull days in an overheated office, the frustration at how women were treated more leniently, more forgivingly — for the same mistakes, the same screw-ups. And now... Now I stood in a crowded subway car, barely taller than the chests of the men around me, struggling to keep my balance on these thin legs in a short dark skirt that I couldn’t even change, thanks to the damn office dress code...

Every movement took effort — the strap of my blue bag dug painfully into my fragile shoulder, the skirt kept riding up every time I grabbed the handrail, and I had to use my free hand to keep the hem down. The fabric clung to my hips, highlighting their new roundness. As if the tight, uncomfortable underwear wasn’t enough — constantly reminding me of itself.

The man next to me seemed to deliberately move closer, and I ended up pressing my tits against his side. I could feel them shifting heavily with every breath under the thin blouse — soft, weighty, like some foreign mass, but... no. They were mine now. My tits. That sensation, and how close he was, made sweat break out between my shoulder blades. And no, it wasn’t because my body was reacting — on the contrary, it felt completely wrong, like someone was groping me without asking. And even worse — I’d done this myself before, hadn’t I? Pretending it was accidental, brushing up against girls on the train... That thought made me shiver now.

— Careful there, sweetheart, — came a deep voice by my ear, sending a chill down my spine.

“Sweetheart.” Yeah, that’s what I really was now — a “sweetheart.” Not just because of the tits, but because I was actually short now, compared to everyone else, who seemed like giants. I flinched, forcing a smile that looked more like a nervous twitch, and dropped my eyes to the floor. The soles of my little heels felt so thin, so unstable… Heels — I really was wearing them, and even with them, I still felt like Gulliver in a land of giants.

— Shit, — I muttered under my breath, clutching the bag strap tightly. The little hearts on my earrings jingled with every lurch of the train, tugging at my earlobes, reminding me they were there — and that it had been my choice to wear them... I don’t even know why, it just felt like, “why not?” — if I was already fully a girl now, then... but now I was ashamed of them, feeling like they only made things worse, like I shouldn’t have put them on.

My head was spinning. My breasts swayed heavily, the skirt crept up, exposing slender thighs. And in the eyes of the men around me, I saw a mix of approval and desire. It wasn’t the kind of attention I used to dream of when I envied my female coworkers.

This body had no strength, no power. I felt weak, helpless, and small — realizing I didn’t want to embrace these so-called “female ways” of navigating life, that supposed “power” and “influence” over men I used to think women had. Especially not now, surrounded by this crowd of... men. God, they were terrifying! I’m never taking the subway again!