Sweet Revenge

"Well, fuck, this is what it's come to—taking selfies for my ex’s boyfriend. What the hell am I even doing?" Maxine gritted her teeth mentally but still kept snapping photos with her phone, striking poses in front of the mirror.

The red bra she put on just to piss off Vicky accentuated the breasts she still wasn’t used to living with. These two “gifts of fate” were heavier than they should’ve been, got in the way, bounced with every sudden movement, and were a nightmare to squeeze into a sports bra. But right now, they were coming in handy.

She tilted her head slightly, arched her back a little, and took another shot. Her cleavage in the frame turned out absolutely stunning—Maxine even froze for a second, staring at the screen. Something inside her, something still male, was evaluating the female figure by certain standards. And now, she fit all of them.

— Well, this is some bullshit, — she muttered, switching to the front camera.

A glance into the lens, a slight smirk, another shot. Then another. She was starting to get into it—one hell of a weird feeling, considering that just a year ago, she was a guy who found these kinds of poses annoying when Vicky posted them.

"I wonder what Stanley will say? Vicky, I hope you burn with jealousy when he sees this," she thought, picking the best shot.

Her hand trembled slightly as she hit "send." Despite all the anger and the burning desire to spite her ex, there was still some lingering discomfort inside. Right now, she was acting just like some bitchy girl, not like a guy trying to prove a point. Damn, a lot had happened over the past year since that night in the magic shop when Max woke up the next day as a girl. She had spent all that time trying to hold on to whatever was left of her masculinity. But now, Vicky had really pissed her off with that, "Maxine, Stanley... he's nothing like you. You get that, right? We can’t be together again. Stop pretending to be something you’re not. You’re not a guy, but honestly? You’re not much of a girl either. I don’t think you even understand what it means to be one. I don’t mean to hurt you, but we both know it’s true."

Maxine could still feel her pulse spike after those words. "Not much of a girl?" The phrase echoed in her head. God, that pissed her off. She already woke up every day in a body that felt foreign, even after a year. And now Vicky, acting like some expert on what it means to be a woman.

"Not a real girl? Not a real guy? Fuck you, Vic."

Fueled by anger, she hit "send" without hesitation.

Maxine stared at the screen, watching as the gray checkmarks turned blue—Stanley had seen it. Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly pulled herself together. So what? It was just... a random mistake, right?

Three typing dots appeared. He was writing something.

She held her breath, fingers tightening around the phone. Seconds dragged on until the screen finally lit up with:

— Oh… This wasn’t meant for me, was it? 😏

Shit. He knew it wasn’t an accident. Maxine felt heat rush to her cheeks. But it was too late to back out now. Her fingers tapped the screen before she even had time to think:

— Oh… Oops, my bad! Meant to send that to my friend 😂

Stupid. So cliché. But there was no other way out. Though deep down, she knew—Stanley wasn’t an idiot.

A new message popped up.

— Well… your friend definitely wouldn’t have appreciated it as much as I do. 😉

Her heart did a flip. Maxine swallowed hard. Did he buy that excuse? Or was he just playing along? Either way, he was clearly interested.

— Well, since you’ve already seen it… what do you think? 😘 — she suddenly typed out and only realized what she had done after hitting send. Jesus. Max, what the hell are you doing?

The reply came fast.

— Breathtaking. Gotta admit, Maxine, you know how to surprise.

She stared at the message. Okay. What the hell was this? Flirting? Or just a polite compliment?

A smug satisfaction spread through her. Well, Vicky, who’s not a real girl now?

Vicky had no idea what she had pushed her into with those words.

Maxine switched back to the camera. This time, she wasn’t just doing it to get back at her ex—she wanted to win. She wanted to prove that she could be a woman, that she could be desired.

She raised the phone again, adjusted the red bra, lifting her chest slightly to emphasize her curves. Click. Another shot.

— Maybe we should meet up and… discuss this? — she sent before she could second-guess herself.

Stanley read it instantly.

"Jesus, what am I doing?" flashed through her mind, but she was already on a roll.