X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 17: Heavenly bodies
The morning rush for school was a problem. What did girls
wear? I tried to piece together bits from what I'd studied at the mall. I
guess I really owed Evan, even if I wasn't about to let him clean off my shirt
yesterday.
I started with French-cut, very high panties – rapidly
becoming my favorite. The outfit didn't need them, but I really liked the way
they fit. The sides came up tight over my hip bones to keep them nice and
snug, particularly in the crotch and in front. That would have bothered me
immensely as a guy. As a girl it felt, tight and secure and girlishly
intimate. It's hard to explain.
Another preference I was starting to pick up was for the "strapless"
push-up bra. They weren't really strapless, the straps were thin spaghetti
strings that came out from the outer edge of each cup. But the cups were low
cut (barely hiding my areola) and I could expose plenty of skin if I wanted,
while maintaining support. Not that I really needed it. As I've bragged (just
a bit) I was pretty firm and didn't really have any sag, which is pretty
astonishing given my size. But the bra helped my confidence a lot, and it
really helped control both the up-and-down jiggle and the side-to-side
swaying. While that's fun if I'm going for effect, it gets pretty annoying
most of the time.
My shirt was a sheer satin (actually a smooth silk)
wrap-around. It had long sleeves and the wrap-around (tying in back) gave it a
deep V-neck. It was a nice virginal white. I had a pleated wool miniskirt, a
plaid done mostly in light reds and browns, and a tan suede jacket. My shoes
only had one-inch heels. I had suede ankle-high boots with a comfortable
floppy top folded back down. I debated putting on pantyhose, but Kitty and
Rogue both advised it, because of the weather.
My bag was a simple tan leather, with an over-the-shoulder
strap, and I finished my hair up with a white bow, just doing a simple gather
at the back of my neck.
"How do I look?" I finally asked, as Kitty made it
back from the bathroom.
"Kind of prep, but good," she said. "The
bathroom's free, if you want to do your face."
I'm sure my expression was devastated. "Uh…my face?"
"You know. Not much, just a touch of blush, some lip
gloss." She wasn't paying much attention as she pulled on her sweater and
wriggled into her far-too-tight capri pants.
"Uh, Kitty," I begged, "Help!"
"Geez, don't be such a baby!" She grabbed my chin
and dragged me over to the vanity. "I mean, it's not like anyone's going
to notice your face, but in case they do, you could wear maybe just a little
blush, right? I…guess…I could give you one of my lip glosses, okay? Here,
this is my favorite: 'Pink Whisper.' I wear it straight, but you can, like,
put it over color if you want. Use it all the time, especially in winter. It's
really good for preventing chapped lips." She put it on me and showed me
how to re-apply it. "It's nice 'cause you don't have to be quite so neat
putting it on – not like color." She brushed my bangs back and looked at
me. "There. That is just TOO perfect! I'm utterly jealous. You're
done, girl. Now if I could just find something to go with my shirt…"
"What are you looking for?" Maybe I could help
pay her back.
"Well, what I want is a sweater like this one, but in a
pink like this."
I looked at the two items, concentrated, and then handed her
the sweater she'd asked for. "Like this?"
She looked at the new sweater and blinked for a moment. "Perfect!"
Before I knew what was happening, her arms were flung around me and her tiny
body was hugging me tight. "Thanks Angel! Maybe, like, you really are,
you know? An angel, I mean."
"Hey, just trying to pay you back for the lip gloss and
makeup help."
*****
Breakfast was another adventure in breast management. I had
a simple breakfast of cereal and toast. Question: where do all the crumbs and
drips end up? That's right, on the convenient chest-shelf. Okay, I had mutant
powers to get rid of dirt and stains. What did normal girls do? They could
tuck a napkin in under their chin. I hadn't seen any doing that recently.
They could eat in a super-careful, ultra-dainty fashion. Hmmm, maybe this
helps explain why men eat like pigs: because they can.
The rest of the meal was uneventful, except for all the eyes
I felt on me, and the time when Evan (eyes glued to my chest) asked me to pass "the
breast of the milk." He's lucky he didn't end up wearing it.
*****
I didn't have any morning classes. Instead, I handled all
my registration, got books and a locker. I managed to get both regular and gym
lockers that were only two or three down from Kitty. That made me feel good,
because I found myself with a growing affection for Kitty. Not in a sexual
sense (gag!) but in the sort of
younger-girl-gets-an-admiring-crush-on-a-role-model sense. I thought about it
for a moment while they were processing my paperwork.
Depending on how you looked at it, I was almost ninety while
Kitty was fifteen. Or in a different sense, I was a fifteen-year-old
sophomore, while Kitty was a fifteen-year-old freshman. But I think the way
that mattered most was that Kitty had been a girl for fifteen years, where as I
had been a girl (publicly) for only about fifteen hours. I needed advice and
tips and help. I certainly couldn't go to any of the adults. (Ororo? Moira?
Not likely.) Jackie/Rogue had too much of an edge for me to be comfortable
asking her for help. And Jean? She was just a little too perfect and
self-confident and intimidating. So I clung to Kitty. Besides, she was so
cute that I just wanted to hug her or something. And whenever she complimented
me, I felt really good.
What can I say, I was pretty confused. Is it any wonder?
I met up with the crew again at lunch. I was taking the
exact same courses I had taken yesterday, so I was sharing most classes with
Kurt and Rogue, but I deliberately looked Kitty up for lunch.
"Kitty!" I waved and she saw me, beckoning me
over.
"How's it going?" she asked, scooting over to make
room.
"I haven't had any classes yet. I just barely finished
signing in and registering. So far I haven't met anybody. Maybe you can
introduce me to some of your friends?"
"Sure, this is Terri, and Zoe, and that's Cleo."
"Hi!" they said. I waved back.
"I'm Angel. Angel Quinn. This is my first day – I
guess you heard – I just moved here from Ohio."
"Oh, wow." "How do you like it?" "What
do you think of New York?"
"Everything's pretty neat so far. A little colder than
I was expecting. And, I don't know, I guess I expected things to be more
crowded and urban, you know?"
The middle one, Zoe, grimaced. "Everyone says that.
It's like the rest of the state might as well be invisible. All everyone knows
about is The City."
"So, you a freshman like us?" Terri asked.
"No, I'm a sophomore. I'm one year closer to freedom."
I'd been picking up the local attitudes during the past couple of weeks. I
knew the expected answers. "I'm surprised to hear you're a freshman,
though. You look a lot more mature." Hmm, maybe that was laying it on
too thick.
"Hey, Kitten, busy?" Before any of us could
protest, a tall senior had grabbed one of the free chairs. He spun it around
and straddled the backwards chair, facing Kitty.
"Hi, Lance."
I blinked. Somehow, my mind has instantly categorized him
as male, tall, senior, not too bad looking – all before registering the much
more important fact that this was Lance Alvers himself. I was about to say
something when I realized that he didn't know me. At least, not the new me.
"New friend?" he asked, glancing over at me.
"This is Angel Quinn," Kitty explained. "She
just arrived. I'm helping her get acquainted."
"Hey," he said, "nothing better for
introducing her than a little fun and nightlife. What say you and me show her
some of the high spots of Bayville? We could hit the arcade, a bite to eat,
maybe even catch a movie? Let me know. I've got a…friend…and she's kind of
out of town at the moment. I'm watching her car for her, so I've got some
snazzy wheels."
"Gee, I don't know, Lance."
He rocked back, pulling on the chair. "Well, see, the
thing is, I don't know how long I've got the car for. After that, it's back to
the old Jeep."
Kitty frowned. "I don't think the Professor would give
me the time off."
The thing is, I could tell that Kitty wanted to go. I
couldn't figure out why she'd want to go somewhere with *Lance*, but that's her
problem. And I think I mentioned before that I was feeling kind
of…something…about Kitty. So I wanted to help out, however I could.
"Kitty," I said, touching her shoulder, "I've
got to go touch up my face, okay?"
"Sure," she said, then picking up the hint, "I'll
come with you." She turned her head. "Be right back, Lance."
We headed for the girl's lavatory. Inside, I said, "Kitty,
are you serious? Are you really interested in going out with *Lance*?"
"What's wrong with Lance?" She looked around and
decided to head into a stall. We were in here, after all. I decided it wasn't
a bad idea, so I took the opportunity, too.
"What's wrong with Lance? He's selfish, obnoxious, and
a born troublemaker." It felt strange talking to a girl, knowing that she
was sitting on the toilet, too.
"Yeah, well, there's something kind of cool about being
a troublemaker. I mean, he keeps trying to get me to do things that are really
stupid, if not illegal. I don't really like that part, but at the same time,
it's kind of flattering in a weird way."
Well, it was hard to deny that I'd had troublemaking urges
myself. But Angel Quinn was a good girl. I was going to be a completely
different person from Jerry, and from Rogue. I was going to live up to the
name I'd given myself.
"Okay, I'll admit he's not bad looking," oops,
where had *that* come from? "but he's got no money, no prospects, no
nothing."
"Hey, I want to go out with him, not marry him,"
Kitty said, flushing. "Besides, he's a *senior*!"
I pulled up my own clothes and joined her outside. I tried
to copy her actions, and we both spent some time in front of the mirror,
working on our faces and hair.
"Honestly, you really do want to go on a date with him?"
She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah,
but I don't want to get in too deep, if you know what I mean."
"Okay. Then let's call the Professor, first thing, and
get the time off. Then," I took a deep breath to calm the pounding in my
heart, "I'll go with you. We can make it a double date. That should keep
him under control."
"Would you?" She squealed and jumped up, hugging
me, which made me think that it had all been worthwhile.
*Dammit, Lance, you'd better be good to her.*
"Wait a minute," Kitty said, "if it's a
double, there's a pretty good chance that Lance would bring along one of his
main buddies. You know –"
"Yeah, I'd thought of that," I said. "Just
so long as it's *not* Quickie. That guy gets on my nerves. The other two – I
already owe them something. A date might help balance the books."
Kitty made an expression like she'd swallowed chewing
tobacco. "Blob and Toad? Okay, your funeral."
We split up and I headed back to the table. "Kitty
will be right back," I said. "She had to talk to someone."
A moment later Kitty was headed back in our direction. She
gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"Sorry," she said. "What were you all
talking about?"
"Lance, here," Terri said, "was saying that
the two of you went to the same school, back before you transferred to
Bayville."
"Yeah," Kitty admitted, "we even ran into
each other a few times. It's not like we ever went out or anything, though."
Lance leaned in, scenting the bait. "Hey, say the word
and we can remedy that unfortunate situation."
Kitty shrugged and gave a sad smile. "You know I don't
have any money. What would we do?"
"No problem," Mr. Sucker said. "My treat."
"Well…" Kitty was doing a great job of looking
reluctant. "I don't know. I don't think I'd feel very comfortable unless
there were other people going along, too. You know, a mixed crowd."
"Hey, I'm sure I could get dates for your friends…"
He looked at Terri, Zoe, and Cleo. They'd all been here long enough to know
the crowd that Lance hung out with. Cringing back, they answered,
"I have TONS of homework." "Got to wash my
hair tonight." "Uh, my grandmother's in town…"
Lance looked at me, then gave a bit of a doubletake. "I
*know* I could get a date for you."
"I'm not really into dating yet," I told him in
total honesty, "but if your friend understands that we'd just be hanging
out together, that might be cool."
Lance got a calculating look on his face. "Well, I do
have a couple of pals…"
Kitty leaned over and whispered into his ear. Lance got a
surprised look and then said, "Okay, if you say so. He *is* better
looking, you gotta admit."
"Yeah, and his mouth is running constantly. You know
that."
Lance shrugged. "I think I might convince a Mr.
Fredrick Dukes, if you're willing," he told me.
"Ooo, sounds sophisticated," I said. "One of
your New England aristocracy?"
The other girls at the table started to choke. Lance had
the grace to look embarrassed.
"Uh, actually, he's from Texas. Kind of a big ol' farm
boy, but he's an okay guy unless you go calling him names or something."
I nodded, smiling. "Oh, yeah, we had our share of
those in Ohio. Kind of big and shy and all? He sounds sweet. That is, if
Kitty's interested?"
Kitty said, "Well, you did want to see the town. I
think I can get the time off. And as long as Lance has the car…"
"Hot damn!" Lance said. "Okay, Ladies, we'll
pick you up after school!"
"Tell your friend," I insisted, "this isn't a
date. We're just seeing the town together."
"Sure thing!" With that, Lance was up and rushing
out of the cafeteria to set things up.
After a moment, Terri broke the ice. "Well, I suppose
Lance is okay, but Angel, what were you thinking? Do you have any idea who
Fred Dukes is?"
"Who?" I asked, in all innocence.
"Look, over there, the huge guy, in the overalls?"
"What do you know?" I said, "He *is* just a
big ol' farm boy. Thank goodness. From everything I've heard, they're the
best dates around."
The girls all stared at me as if I'd sprouted another head.
"You are out of your mind!"
"No, really. They're sweet, and kind of lonely, and
they're so happy to have someone pay attention to them. They don't spend all
the time talking about themselves, they actually listen to you." I shrugged.
"I guess it depends on what you're looking for. If you're looking for Mr.
Octopus-make-out-session, then I guess you can go for the vain sports jock. If
you want someone to talk to and show you a good time, and maybe be something of
a gentleman, Freddy over there might be just about perfect."
They still seemed to think I had a second head. Oh well.
*****
Classes were interesting. Apparently boys didn't just want
to stare at my breasts, they also found the little strip between my blouse and skirt
to be fascinating. All in all, I didn't get much eye contact, but I gained a
pretty good sense of where other people were looking. And although I was
certain that this would get old soon enough, for now it gave me the most
interesting feeling of power.
During geometry I was called to the board to demonstrate a
proof. The teacher obviously wanted to assess the skills of his new transfer
student. I felt fortunate that geometry hadn't changed much in the last 60
years (or indeed, in the last several thousand years), because I was able to
scrape together a reasonable proof. Turning back to face the class, I noticed
most of the guys were beaming at me, apparently more than happy with my work.
Then I noticed the girls scowling at me. Oh well.
*****
Gym class was a complete overload to my system. I grabbed
my requisite set of clothes and headed into the gym, clutching the clothes to
my chest. I was distracted by thoughts, following along with the rest of the
guys, when I heard Kitty hissing at me. I looked up to see her staring at me
and grinding her teeth.
"Angel, *what are you doing?* Those are *guys*!"
I looked around at the leering men around me and quickly
stumbled out of the crowd toward Kitty. With her tiny hand on my arm, we
joined the stream of girls heading into the…girls' locker room. I gulped.
Inside was a seen of near-pornographic pandemonium that
would have melted any and every boy in the school. All of Bayville's best and
most beautiful girls were pulling off their outfits and revealing themselves
clad in silks and satins, slips, bras, and panties, underwear of every style
and description – and in the process of reducing themselves to no underwear at
all. And the bodies! There were top-heavy huge-breasted girls like me. There
were well-developed seniors who were mature women in every sense of the word.
There were juniors, whose physical bodies were nearly mature but whose faces
and expressions betrayed the fact that although these were physically women,
emotionally they were still girls. There were the sophomores, with their
budding charms – A and B sized breasts just growing in and only a light down of
pubic hair. And of course, there were the innocent freshmen – the fourteen
year old girls just using their first training bra, without the faintest whisp
of hair to hide their immature clefts.
There were girls of every culture, spanning from blonde
Nordic types to the purple-black of the equatorial regions. And there was
every shade in between: the beautiful café-au-lait chocolate that often wraps
those girls who seem to have the finest traits from every region, the more
golden Asian skin tones, where the girls had such perfect black hair and
beautiful eyes, the red-haired Irish with freckles running from their face down
between their breasts, the reddish hues of the proud and angular Native
American girls.
I don't mean to say that these girls were exhibitionist.
Quite the contrary. Some were changing with abandon, ignoring the other girls
about them. Some seemed shy, even in this sanctum, dressing quickly and
privately. Most seemed to undress casually down to the underwear, then change
into new panties and bra as quickly as possible.
My face surely flaming with the strength of my blush, I
proceeded to my own locker, not so far from Kitty's. I tried not to look, I
really did, but it was so hard. There were so many young girls, like Kitty
herself. I could see her young breasts. It had probably been only a year
since she had worn her first training bra, more from hope and anticipation than
real need. And now the gentle young curve of her young mounds had perhaps
achieved an A cup. There was no sag, she didn't have anything there *to* sag.
Her young buds would be tender and sensitive. I gulped again, and forced my
eyes away, carefully disrobing.
Only to be confronted by another girl, bending away from
me. A girl without panties, exposing far too much of her pink secrets.
I must explain. Much of a man's identity is held
(psychologically) within his penis, scrotum, and testicles. Indeed, to "unman"
someone is to remove some or all of those parts. For a man, his sexual
identity is always close to mind. His testicles are vulnerable and a man
moves, reacts, and blocks to protect that weakness. His penis sometimes forces
its own attention, rising when unwanted. If not, the man still grabs himself
by the penis several times a day to urinate. Whenever he looks down, there it
is. Even in pants, the bulge is there. It is front, it is always visible, it
is frequently handled. It IS manhood, and the core identifying feature of many
men.
For girls, things are completely different. The most
noticed part of our anatomy is our breasts. Men judge us by that feature;
other women often judge us by them as well. Our breasts enter the room before
we do, they are constantly in front, in sight, jiggling and shaking. They are
even more blatant than a man's trouser bulge. Perhaps I'm biased by the
experiences I had with D-cup breasts, but I never once forgot they were there,
and neither did anyone else.
But a woman's crotch – that is a hidden secret. The folds
within are concealed from the woman even more than from her male partner. As a
man, I had never directly viewed my own rectum. It's a rather stupid idea
really. Why would I want to? But as a man, I frequently viewed my sex
organs. Hell, you have to almost fondle yourself, every time you piss. But
now, as a woman, I could no more look upon my own sexual organs than I could
see my own rectum. The crucial parts were under me, where I couldn't see. All
*I* could see was the thick lips of my labia, and the beginning of a cleft, the
very top portion. Looking at my own urethra or clitoris would require complex
gymnastics, and I could no more see my own vagina than I could gaze upon my own
rectum. That is to say, with a mirror I had studied myself, but it required
considerable effort. So "that area" remains nearly as mysterious to
us girls as it is to guys. Well, except that we can feel the inside, so the
sense of touch…but I digress.
As I had said, a girl's private region is mysterious even to
her. And even in the locker room, most girls wore their panties, for much of
the time. But as you changed, no matter how discrete you were, sometimes you
had to bend over, before those panties went back on. You never deliberately
mooned anyone (quite the opposite), but sometimes you gave an eyeful. Such was
the case here. A girl at the next bench over was putting on her gym clothes,
but she bent over to get something from the bench. In typical feminine
fashion, she showed great flexibility – knees straight, legs tightly together.
But still, she flashed me.
I couldn't help seeing the perfect orb of her behind, or the
athletic trim of her thighs. And there, between, were the puffy fat lips of
her labia, sprouting curly brown hairs. And pressed tight between those lips
was a vivid pink line, apparently a single line of flesh, that was all that
could be seen of her inner folds. Folds that I knew (from private, personal
experience) were far more complex and intricate than the thin line of pink
displayed here.
Was this what I looked like?
It certainly wasn't a turn-on. To my internal torment,
looking at other girls like this was not in the least stimulating. But it was
many other things. A bit of a relief, actually. *That's not as bad as I
thought.* The one time yesterday that I had performed a self-examination with
a mirror, I had seemed (to myself) mostly gross bits, ugly flaps, and the sort
of sick fascination you associate with an open wound. But girls apparently
didn't usually spread their legs wide open (nor use their fingers to pull
themselves further open for display). And this girl seemed – oddly elegant.
So little showed. Just the swelling lips, and the pink ridge down the center.
I quickly disrobed, trying to pretend that I was only
interested in dressing. Jacket, blouse, bra, into the basket as quickly as
possible. Perhaps those around me would assume that it was the cold which made
my nipples so prominent. Trying to be as business-like as possible, I pulled
off my ankle-boots and pantyhose, unzipped my skirt, and stepped out of my
panties.
It seemed only fair that I be exposed, too.
Looking down through my cleavage, at the golden-yellow
bikini-trimmed bush adorning the front of my hips, I though that perhaps I didn't
have anything to be ashamed of. I also wondered how many other women shaved.
Taking what I hoped was a subtle glance around, I saw several other girls that
had a trim in that region (as well as one who was shaven bare). So my cut was
unusual, but not outlandish.
Turning back, I felt my unconstrained breasts sway and bob.
It occurred to me that, aside from the prominent nipples, no one would know
what I was thinking or feeling. It wasn't like being a man, where any sign of
an erection in the men's locker room would be an instant and indisputable sign
of perversion. As a girl, who was to ever know?
I pulled a pair of plain white cotton stretch panties from
my pile and stepped into them. They fit snugly and firmly. It was nothing
like wearing a cup, but it did feel more secure to be covered. Oddly, I
realized it was different from being a man and putting on shorts. As a man, it
was a relief to get your equipment covered and away from view. As a girl,
there wasn't so much exposed. The relief was as much getting a lining *under*
you, as hiding what little there was exposed.
Pondering the intricacies of female undergarments, I pulled
the tight cotton sports bra over my head, and with some difficulty, pulled it
over my ample chest. Instantly, I was held tight and firm. I bounced once on
the balls of my feet and noticed only the slightest jiggle. I finished up with
a tight white cotton T-shirt and silk running shorts which were extremely
short. A pair of sneakers and I was ready to follow Kitty into the gym.
Continued in Chapter 18, " Girl's Gym " appearing NEXT Week!
since 05/19/03
