X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 25: It's a mall world
They swirled around me.
Scott, looking so serious.
Duncan with his perfect hair, perfect build, perfect reputation, and
perfect popularity. Kurt – that gave a
brief pang of incestuous feelings. It
was wrong to think of him that way. He
was my brother. That is…he was Rogue's
brother. He was the brother of my body.
I moved on to safer thoughts. A deep rumbly voice and the musk of someone who was intensely
male. Logan. A man that stirred thoughts that were definitely *not* safe. I moved on to Evan, with his enthusiastic
attitude and easy athletic grace.
I couldn't believe I was thinking of a negro in that
way. I'm a liberal man, but this sort
of fraternization just wasn't seen where I'd grown up, back in the
twenties. I had nothing against intermarriage,
at least in theory. But to imagine
myself in that situation, however unlikely, that was a disturbing thought.
Then I realized that thinking of a negro in "that
way" was nothing compared to the idea of thinking of a *man* in that
way. I forced myself to think proper
thoughts. In the last week, I had seen
more naked and scantily clad girls than you'd find in a whole catalog of stag
films. I deliberately brought up images
of the girls' shower room.
Unfortunately, that seemed a little too much like peeping. It didn't raise my interest; it left me
feeling disgusted with myself.
I imagined Jean's sleek body. I'd seen her prancing about in her underwear. But the only emotions I could summon in
connection with the redhead were confusion and an element of resentment. I thought of Kitty and feeling her breast,
trying to help her with her bra. But
that just made me feel sick. She was my
cute little sister. I was supposed to
protect her and help her, not exploit her.
That left just one. Jackie wasn't
cute or innocent. And I didn't feel the
least bit guilty about exploiting her.
And since her gender was an open question, I could think about her and
not feel revolted. So I banished the
other confusing images and summoned Jackie.
Unfortunately, what I *got* was Rogue.
"Hey," she yelled, "Ah wanna talk to
you!"
"Go away!
You're just a figment of my imagination!"
She looked around.
"Pretty realistic for a dream.
What if this is real? Like one
of those telepath things or something?"
I paused. That made
far too much sense.
"Well *you* can't be real," I countered. "Rogue's gone. At least for now. The only thing left of her is the outline shape of her
personality. The container of her
spirit. You aren't even a memory."
"Huh. Seems to
me that you're the one who's had the most experience with shapes and containers
recently." She pointed at my
chest.
I looked down to see my rather substantial breasts barely
contained in a low-cut bra. At the
time, it didn't bother me that my voice remained that of an old man.
"This is just an illusion," I protested, hefting
myself and teasing some fingers over my sensitive skin. "This isn't really me. I'm a man, not a woman."
"You're a slut.
Ah can't believe you kissed Duncan, and on our first date! And it's not like you did it just once,
either. Gawd, I wanna spew."
"But…"
The scene had changed on me. I was in my old office, but Rogue was sitting behind my desk, and
I was in the overstuffed armchair that she usually sprawled over.
"But…I was a girl at the time. I was pretending to be Angel. And the way he spoke to me, the way he
touched me…. It felt so good."
"Yeah? So does
a vibrator, honey. But that doesn't
mean Ah want to swallow one."
I staggered at the vehemence in her tone. "I…I guess I'm really confused over
this whole gender thing. And I'm
starting to think that those teenaged hormones really are affecting my
moods."
"Oh, there's a news flash. And, yeah, my heart is just bleedin' for you. 'Am I a guy?' 'Am I a girl?' Well Ah
can tell you, it sure beats the Hell out of being dead!"
I didn't understand what she was doing or why she was
attacking me, all I knew was that I wanted to cry. With my voice (and my self) now fully Angel, I stared at her,
trying to hold back the tears.
"What is your problem? It
sounds like you don't even care whether I'm a girl or not! So why should you care if I kissed
Duncan?"
Rogue glanced up at the ceiling with a 'give me strength'
expression. Then she looked back and
spoke as if she were lecturing a child.
"Look, at least you can touch people. Looking at Kurt's butt and that cute li'l tail, Ah can go for
that, even if it makes us feel kinda wrong nowadays. Maybe doin' stuff with Scott.
That's pretty cool. And Evan,
when he isn't being a jerk…." She
took a deep breath. "But Ah expect
even YOU to know that Duncan is the biggest prick in the entire fucking
school!"
I couldn't help it.
Her last words brought the wrong images into my mind. Images that were disturbingly intriguing.
"What the HELL are you thinking? It's bad enough that you're using mah lips
to kiss DUNCAN! If you even THINK about
doing anything else with mah body Ah swear Ah will ruin your entire God-damned
LIFE!"
While my mind reeled under that assault, she shoved herself
out of my desk chair and stomped off into the thickening gray fog.
"Ah can't believe that ass calls JACKIE a 'body
thief.' If that ain't the pot calling
the kettle black…."
*****
I sat bolt upright in bed.
Had that been a dream? Had Rogue
found some actual way to talk to me? If
so, where was she? What was she, a
ghost or a memory? My mind reeled.
I knew, from our talks, how she felt about Duncan and people
like him – the predators at the top of the social pyramid. But I also knew how insecure she felt, and
the feelings she'd once had for a boy named Cody, who'd also been a star
football player.
And then I remembered how Duncan made *me* feel. He'd stared into my eyes and called me beautiful. When he touched my cheek or stroked a hand
along my neck, or brushed my hair back.
I'd felt so important.
So pretty. So…loved. I'd wanted him to kiss me again. I'd wanted more than that.
And now, I was feeling almost sick to my stomach. How could I have acted like that? I was a MAN!
Sitting up in the darkness, I could feel my bosom
heaving. I could feel my breasts
tenting up the thin material of my nightgown.
I was acutely aware of being female.
But it wasn't some fabulous ability. It wasn't just a disguise. It was an insidious trap. This body was doing things to my mind. It was giving me sick ideas and twisted appetites
that no man should have. It was
destroying my self-control, and leaving me with nothing but the helpless tears
of a immature and ineffectual girl.
The dream, whether real or not, had been right. What the Hell had I been thinking?
I realized then that the shapeshifting powers were the worst
thing that could have happened to me.
It was bad enough that my mind was trapped in Rogue's
body. Keeping my sense of identity
would have been difficult under such circumstances.
But shapeshifting invites you to become whomever you can
imagine. To become that person – just
for a while, with no long-term commitment.
You change the outside, and then play-act the inside to match. But far too quickly, the act consumes you.
Had this happened to Mystique? I imagined a woman, feeling vulnerable, creating a form for
herself that was lethal and intimidating.
Someone whose appearance both attracted and repelled. Beautiful but dangerous, like an exotic
snake. Someone who wore skull ornaments
as a fashion statement. Living your
life as that person, slowly accepting the mentality you've crafted for yourself
– how could she help but turn into an exploitive, manipulative mastermind?
And what could I do, to keep from turning into Angel?
I had promised the Professor that I would live full-time as
a female. I owed him that for saving my
sanity. And he clearly felt that
Rogue's body and Rogue's "soul" – if you believed that claptrap –
needed to be in a female form, at least, to allow her to establish a healthy
emotional balance. And I thought I had
outsmarted him, by turning female on *my* terms.
But it was a trap.
By turning into my ideal image of a girl, I had effectively seduced
myself. I was living in a body that was
too much for me. Angel was sweet and
perfect, sexy and beautiful. She was a
dream girl. Who didn't dream of being
someone like that? So more and more, I
found myself acting like Angel.
Behaving as if there really was such a person. Behaving as if I were her.
Becoming a girl, not just in the flesh, but in mind and desire as well.
I couldn't see a way out.
I had already posed as two different students at the high
school. I didn't think the Professor
would allow an endless run of temporary charges to be shuffled through his
institute. I didn't think I would be
allowed a third chance.
I could return to being in Rogue's shape. That's what the Professor obviously wanted,
and probably the rest of the team would be happier, too. But that had an even greater risk. From my first days in this state I had felt
elements of Rogue's psyche, tangling with my own thoughts and feelings. Her memories might be gone, but she lived on
within this body. If I lived in her
shape for too long, I would *become* her.
I was sure of it.
It was almost funny.
I could face my own death, or extinction, or whatever name you chose for
the oblivion of a pattern of thinking that was more than memories but less than
a soul. I could accept my death.
What I couldn't accept was change.
I couldn't accept being turned into something I considered
abhorrent. I had no problem with girls
acting as girls. That's what made the
world delightful. It's just that I was
a MAN, not a girl. I watched them,
leered at them (in the privacy of my own thoughts). I courted them and led the dance and admired and protected. At times, in decades long past, I had
pierced their sweet flesh with mine. I
had filled them with my seed as I took them and possessed them.
I was the man.
I was the active one, strong and hard. I protected, possessed, and penetrated.
I was NOT the soft one.
I didn't need to be protected. I
didn't want to be the beautiful image or the target of a man's secret
fantasies. I would not be the
prize. I would not be possessed. And no man was EVER going to penetrate me.
Admittedly, Angel's skin was incredibly soft. And it's true, her body responded with
delight to a man's touch.
But I, me, my soul – I did not have those feelings. It was just the body.
I did not yearn for a man to touch me, and love me, and hold
me safe in the lonely night.
And I would NOT touch this body's sensitive spots. I strongly suspected that this body would
respond with pleasure, while imagining a man filling its inner hollows, and
shuddering in delighted acceptance.
That could destroy me.
So I rolled to face the wall and stared at nothing. Simmering in fear and frustration. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to touch my own skin.
Struggling not to cry.
Men don't cry.
And I waited for the dawn.
*****
"C'mon Rogue! I
mean, Angel. Whatever. We don't want to be late."
Kitty was shucking off the lavender hospital scrubs she wore
to bed and tying on various outfits. At
least, I assume there was a variety. To
my eye they were all disturbingly similar variants on Capri pants with 3/4
sleeve sweater tops. Even if it cost me
some self-respect, at least I might have a chance of getting her to explore a
wider variety of clothes. Maybe
something in a silky green.
"You know, 'Angel'" I could hear the quotes in
Jackie's voice "you didn't have to agree that Kitty and I had both won our
bets. Her part didn't start until you
got your period."
I shuddered, refusing to think about that. Instead, as I groggily sat up, I tried to
remember what I'd been thinking last night when I'd offered the trip.
"I just thought there was no reason to drag things
out. I thought that today might be the
last shopping opportunity we have for a while, so I might as well help Kitty
out. Besides, she looks like she needs some
winter clothes."
Jackie-Rogue yawned and stretched her arms back. It looked like she was trying to fool us
into thinking she had a bust. Sometimes
I really wonder how she's managed these past weeks in such a homely body. I know she likes to look good, at least as
much as I do.
"You weren't too clear on the details, last night,"
she reminded me. "You just said
you conceded and you'd take us both shopping today."
"Well…" I thought fast. "Okay, I admit, this *body* does seem to respond in a
typically female fashion. So I concede
your point."
"Mmm hmm. But
you might as well tell me the dirt anyway.
Your bet with me was that you'd give me a full night of complete
honesty. Just you, me, and Kitty."
My skin went clammy.
I'd forgotten until now.
"Y-yes, but wouldn't you prefer a free shopping trip?"
"Oh, I'll let you treat me. After all, I assume you'll be coming back to this form soon
enough, and then the clothes will all belong to you again. I mean," she plucked her
orange-and-green pajamas out at the chest "it's not like anything you
bought for this skanky bod is going to fit *my* curvy shape."
Her insult wasn't even disturbing. Not really. It just
confirmed my impression.
"But I *still* want my prize, and I intend to
collect."
I belted on a white bathrobe and headed for the shower. It was more to get away from Jackie as from
any need to get clean.
*****
I was still grumbling to myself as we were in line for the
morning opening at 10 AM. What sort of
place opens at 10 AM on a Sunday? They
should have waited until noon. And why
was Kitty in such a rush, anyway? It
wasn't like we were going to miss anything.
At least I was dressed warmly, in a thick, loose pullover sweater and
baggy pants.
"Come ON, Angel.
Get in the spirit! This is,
like, the most fun you can have with your clothes on, right?"
I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face. "Kitty, you're what, fourteen?"
"Fifteen!
What's your point?"
"You shouldn't be saying things like that."
"Well lighten up, will you? This is supposed to be fun.
Just the three musketeers, right?"
I looked from her to Rogue.
Kitty Pride, the skinny, cute, smart geek. Rogue, the ever-depressed Goth, and me, perky miss model. Well, usually perky. Today I was just in a bad mood. We did NOT make a team.
Jackie, now that she was outside the privacy of out bedroom,
was fully back into the character of Rogue.
"Give it a rest, okay? Ah
don't even know why Ah came. Ah just
couldn't stand another day that was solid training."
I tried to clue Jackie in that she was going a bit overboard
on the moodiness. She was sounding a
little too hostile, even for Rogue on a bad day.
"Hey, Sunshine?" I said to her. "Don't you think you're going a little
extreme?"
"Don't you start on me, supermodel."
So we stomped into the mall, a disaster waiting to happen.
Right off, Kitty hauled us into a teen glitter palace. She seemed to want to examine single item of
clothing in petite, and immediately mapped out a search strategy for the junior
miss section. I groaned, realizing that
this was going to be a long day. I
poked at some shirts, noting the annoying preponderance of nylon, rayon,
polyester, and other synthetic fabrics.
Oddly enough, Rogue beat Kitty to the first potential sale.
"Hey, this isn't too bad," Rogue said, holding up
a misshapen tube.
Kitty was there almost immediately, holding items of her
own.
"A tank top?
Oh, that's one of those asymmetric kind. I want one of those, someday." She looked down at her chest sadly. "I don't think I can carry it off right now, but maybe in a
year or two." Then the realization
hit her. "Hey, wait a minute. You couldn't wear that either, Rogue. What's the idea?"
"Ah figured Ah wasn't going to do any shopping for
myself, but I've got this friend who is *much* better developed than Ah
am."
"Uh huh." I said.
"A friend named Gavin, right?"
"You catch on quick, sweet cheeks. Anyway, there's no way that Ah could wear
something like this, but Ah think she would look great in it."
"Yeah," Kitty agreed. "Way sexy. But why
go for yellow? That would look better in
pink. Or maybe lavender. Hey, what do you think of this
tube-top?"
I had to check – was her brain still connected? "Kitty, do you remember what month this
is?"
"November.
Why?"
"Do you really want to be wearing a tube-top in the
winter?"
"Yeah, maybe you're right. You want it?"
Rogue just laughed.
"The only thing funnier than Miss Juggs in a tube-top would be
watching her try to run that way!"
I glared straight back at her. "Yeah? I've seen
your 'friend' Gavin. I've got *nothing*
on her!"
"You got that right, sugar."
Scowling, I returning to pawing the polyester, while Kitty
left to continue her search pattern. I
wasn't really paying attention, but it just caught my eye.
"Hey, uh, Rogue.
Check this out."
I'd found a wrap-around black denim skirt, maybe about
calf-length on Rogue.
"Yeah, that's not too bad. But it's not like Ah've got anything to go with it."
"Well, you'd want to wear boots with it. No doubt.
High boots." This store
didn't have shoes, but there were plenty of shoe stored in the mall. "And maybe something
like…that." I grabbed a rather
risqué top.
"A bustier? You
know that's almost completely open in back." She thought for a minute.
"Ah'd need gloves to match.
What do you think? Should Ah try
it on?"
My mood was starting to improve. "Yeah. Please?"
"Be back in a minute."
I grabbed Kitty and dragged her over.
"What? You look
like you're having some major clothes seizure!"
"I just want you to tell me what you think of this
outfit I found for Rogue."
"And *you* picked it out?"
I nodded.
"Yeah, kind of."
"Ta da!"
Rogue came out and spun for us.
The skirt was heavy, but it did swish nicely.
"Whoa!
Cool! Fashionable, in a sort of
sick, Goth way. No offense. It's definitely Rogue. But you need something. Belts maybe. And we need to look for shoes…"
I was momentarily disturbed by the 'definitely Rogue'
comment. It was merely a matter of
being familiar with the girl's tastes, and finding items that matched that
criteria. But then I spotted the belt.
"Here, try this!"
I handed it to Rogue. It was a
black belt covered with silver studs.
Vaguely reminiscent of the dog collars she sometimes wore.
"No, take two," Kitty urged. "Then you could wear them crossed. It's doubly cool, see, cause it's a 'X' like
in….you know. Only it's kind of
hidden."
With the long black evening gloves and a darkish lavender
shawl, it made a pretty fair outfit. I
took my time 'examining' it, running my hands over the clothes, rather more
closely than propriety allows.
"I think we'll have to buy the belts," I
said. "They've got a lot of
metal. I can't do that."
"Ah'll buy them.
My treat." Rogue's offer to
treat herself would have probably been intensely confusing to anyone watching.
By the time we left, I was almost accepting the hell of
shopping.
*****
"Oh, Kitty, this is perfect for you!" I gushed.
I was holding up a thin, lavender camisole. I was still feeling sour, but helping Kitty
was starting to crack open my bad mood.
"I don't know.
I always feel like I'm going out in my underwear if I'm wearing a
camisole."
"Why? You
shouldn't. Come on, Kitty. If you've got the build for it, camisoles
are, like, the absolute greatest! The
perfect combination of innocent, super-cute, and way sexy!" Something about the way I'd said that
bothered me, but I was too excited to worry about it right now.
"If you're, like, so hot on them, why don't *you* wear
one?"
I gestured at my front.
"Like this? You've GOT to
be kidding. I'm way too oversized for a
camisole. I'd look stupid. AND perverted. Face it, there's no way that I could even THINK about a camisole
unless I was wearing a bra underneath.
Ignoring the fact that everyone would see, that also ruins the whole
point."
"That point being?"
"That it's a sort of secret peek outfit. Trust me, this is perfectly allowable to
wear, but guys won't be able to keep their eyes off you. It's unconsciously innocent, which also
makes it super sexy."
"Yeah, she got a point," Rogue agreed. Together we convinced Kitty to try it on.
"Ooo Rogue," I called. "Look what I found."
I held up a camisole that was perfect for her. Almost forest green, a little stretchy, just a hint of
leaf-and-ivy lace.
"Oh, yippee," she said, utterly bland. "Ah suppose that's exactly the sort of
thing Ah'd like, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about? This is *fantastic*!"
I had every reason to know that Rogue was a B-cup. To my mind, that's about the upper limit to
go braless. Which meant that if she
ever wore it for anything other than sleeping in, she'd need a vest or
something to keep her from being completely vulgar. But every male eye would be studying that vest, watching it flap
away from the soft fabric of the camisole, hoping for a glimpse of the proud
contours underneath.
I couldn't understand Rogue's reluctance until I realized
that perhaps Jackie's taste differed from what she wore as Rogue.
"Trust me, Rogue, it's *you*.
She waved me off.
"Yeah, whatever. Just
memorize it or whatever trick you like.
Ah've got some real shopping to do for my friend Jackie."
I was more than reasonable, since I didn't share my fist
with her, but her idiotic attitude wasn't making me feel any better. Kitty came out then, looking incredibly
self-conscious. It was easy to see
why. The camisole revealed all her
sweet contours, and it clung to her so well I thought I could count the little
bumps on her areola.
She seemed reluctant to uncross her arms. "I feel like I'm naked."
Jackie-the-idiot gave some unasked-for support. "Angel's right. It's revealing, but legitimate."
"But you can see…everything!"
We grinned at her. I
held up a button-up sweater. "So
try wearing this over it, but leave it open."
We fussed over her some more, playing with the look. I only snapped at Jackie three or four more
times, but she deserved it each time. I
was beginning to understand the fun of dress-up, particularly as we played with
Kitty and adjusted her look. I think
Kitty rather liked being the center of attention, too.
In the end, we only ended up buying a few things "for
Rogue's friend Jackie."
As we slowly browsed our way to the next store, I felt a
pang of suspicion. I paused to look at
reflections in store windows.
"Guys, we're being followed."
"Ah should hope so!" Jackie-Rogue said.
"They're following us and watching us!"
"Yeah, mostly our butts."
Kitty seemed nervous.
"Of course they're watching Gorgeous Girl. But, like, none of them are watching me, are
they?"
I studied the reflection.
"Yeah, actually. They're
watching all three of us. In fact,
there are quite a few guys watching us."
"This is totally cool!"
"Ah thought you were interested in Lance."
"Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to get appreciate looks from
other quarters, you know? Gawd, this is
so cool! I've never been exactly, you
know, hot stuff."
I was watching her psychology in action. When I'd 'designed' Angel, I'd never really
considered the impact it would have on Kitty.
She had never said a word against me, but I suspected that I wasn't
doing her any favors. I know that she
considered that she "didn't have much of a figure" and that she was a
little intimidated by Jean. Even worse,
I was only a year older than Kitty, but Angel had the figure that Kitty wanted
and would never have.
Of course, from outside, I saw Kitty's 'problem'
differently. Kitty had cuteness,
honesty, and charm. Her attractions
were too subtle to duplicate through shapeshifting. But in Kitty's insecure world-view, boys weren't particularly
subtle. They'd pick the stacked blonde
over a cute, sensitive, funny girl any day of the week. So I'd think that Kitty would hate to be
seen near me, because it would confirm her own insecurities.
Except that the guys *were* looking at her, too. Hell, they were even scoping out Rogue's
homely frame.
If you've never done it, there is a certain delight and
power you get from strutting in front of a group of admiring strangers. If you make eye contact, you need the proper
kind of smile and nod. The message to
be conveyed is, 'No, I'm not looking for a relationship, but I appreciate the
compliment.' Then if you want, you can
give them a wiggle or a shoulder shrug – which doesn't work at all for Kitty
but works great for me. Not that I
would use the technique, it's just good information to be aware of, when you're
masquerading as a girl.
In fact, now that I stopped to notice, there were an awful
lot of eyes on us. To my surprise, it
gave me a rather warm feeling. It was
like being caressed from a distance.
Not threatening, but a definite stroke of the ego. Even I was feeling it, and I wasn't even a
girl. I realized that *this* was one of
the competitions girls made for themselves – competing in front of guys. One of the clothing competitions was 'who
could take the most eyes.' Naturally,
some girls had an unfair advantage. My
(Angel's) figure, or Jean's figure. On
the other hand, the proper clothing could go a long way toward negating that
advantage and turning it in the direction of someone with better skills at
wardrobe or makeup. But I already had
the perfect face and figure. What if I
could match that with the perfect outfit, too?
How would it feel to have *all* the eyes on me? The idea sent a shiver down me, which more
than a bit disturbing. I didn't
actually want that, did I? I decided
that I should be flattered that my masquerade was so successful. If I had to play a part, why not take a
popular role?
I think all three of us shared a moment. It was a 'they DO like me!' moment. Before I knew what had happened, we
communicated by telepathic girl-thought and engaged in a quick mutual hug. We suppressed the giggles and squeals, but I
suspected that they wanted to as much as I did.
A group of scruffy-but-cute boys passed, and I gave them a
little scrunched-nose smile as they gave us appreciative looks. Even Kitty preened. I realized that I hadn't gotten looks like
that since…well, since ever. On the
other hand, I hadn't been to the mall for a week, and that had been with Evan,
not Kitty.
And with that, my mood crashed. I suddenly remembered being a guy and being on the other side of
the fence, watching the girls.
Wondering how they felt, being eyed like slabs of beef in the butcher's
display window. Objects of sex and
lust. And now I knew. I knew how at least two real girls felt
about it, since Kitty was reveling in the attention, and I had been enjoying
the flirting, too, until I'd caught myself.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore. I kept slipping.
It was growing more difficult to wrench my mind back into
its proper path. I was NOT a girl. I did NOT like passing guys to ogle me. I did NOT want to be the object of their
pornographic fantasies. Scowling, I
suddenly knew exactly what they must be thinking. They were picturing me naked.
That boy, across the walk, right there.
The way he gave me that quick, sly glance. He was probably thinking about me. Imagining that while he was on his back, I was sitting over him
naked. His hands massaged my breasts,
rubbing over my painfully hard nubs, while I opened my legs and lowered myself
onto…
I choked. I had NOT
been thinking that! My God, I was a
man!
"You okay?" Kitty asked, innocently.
"Fine," I lied.
"Something in my eye. Give
me a second."
Once I'd recovered from my shakes, they argued about whether
to go to see shoes or sleepwear. The
later frightened me, so I pushed them into looking at shoes. Shoes seemed safe. Nothing threatening there.
The girls seemed surprised that I'd consider shoes, but I actually had a
lot of things I wanted to check out.
To my relief, shoes proved to be endlessly fascinating, and
relatively non-threatening to my sense of gender identity.
First, there was a wide selection of women's shoes to
acquaint myself with. I could walk
fairly well on heels of one or two inches, but had problems with three inches
or more. I discovered (apparently it
was common knowledge) that women's shoes are not designed for comfort. On the other hand, boots could be both
comfortable and stylish. Except in
Rogue's case, where the preferred boot seemed to be the army galosh. I remember when "You mother wears army
boots" was considered an insult. Deciding that she definitely needed more variety, I pushed her
toward a set of thigh-high platform boots.
They looked extreme enough for her.
For my part, I became engrossed in the vast array of treads
and sole designs. Some of the soles had
a variety of cushioning agents, including both air and gel. I filed these ideas away for my own shoe
synthesis designs. I felt confident
that I could duplicate the design of these "Air" shoes using
completely natural fabrics. They looked
good for both running and stealth.
Armed with ideas, designs, and memorized patterns (for all
three of us), we departed from the shoe store much happier, and not a dime
poorer. The poor clerk was happy to see
us go. I'd growled at him a couple of
times when he'd interrupted my examinations.
*****
I felt the old rumbling in my stomach, but it was was still
too early for lunch. I tried to
maintain a cheerful expression as Kitty dragged us to the next store,
"Teen Trendz." And inside,
Kitty hit paydirt. Her squeal brought
us both over.
"Oh, Angel, I've found it! This would be, like, so awesome on you!"
"What is it?"
Rogue came over and fingered it. "Yeah, that might do it.
But Ah don't think we want to be anywhere in the vicinity, when you drop
this bomb."
"I don't get it," I said. "What *is* it? A stiffened T-shirt? A starched camisole?"
"Look, chickie."
Jackie-Rogue flipped the neck over, exposing the support cups sewn on
the inside. "It's called a
'bralette' or a 'support bra.' It's
sewn right into the shirt. So it
*looks* like you're wearing it braless, but it's made for support. And don't worry, it'll hold you." She smirked. "I know that from experience."
I fingered it, dumbfounded.
"And this works?"
"Try it on."
In the end, I took a whole pile of tops to try. There were a couple with flutter sleeves
that seemed okay. Of course, Angel's
figure was built with halters in mind.
Winter wasn't the season for skimpy halters, but they were available in
plenty of winter styles. Some even had
leather or fake fur highlighting the 'sling' region. I avoided those, since I wasn't deliberately trying to look like
a bimbo. On the other hand, I was
pretty happy with the good old scoopneck design, so I took a couple of
those. One was done in stretch cotton,
the other had the built-in bra.
It occurred to me that I'd never been in a women's dressing
room before. It wasn't much different
from a men's dressing room. I slipped
off my shirt and unhooked my bra. I'm
pretty proud of the fact that I can do without the support. Even without a bra, I was firm and
upright. Of course, I did jiggle and
slosh in the most distracting way. I
kept bouncing into myself, if you know what that's like. I tried the stretch cotton first. That left me with virtually all the jiggle and
motion that I'd had when topless, but now I was covered and could share it with
the world – at least in theory.
Although it was technically 'decent', in actual fact, when I wore it I
might as well have been giving a show to everyone walking by, so I'd be
emphasizing the bimbo aspect again.
Without support, it wasn't that comfortable either. Maybe I could save it for intimate use only,
wearing to bed or something like that.
I memorized several of the other tops – the v-neck camisoles, a couple
of fabric halters that were more subtle than blatant, and a tight little
turtleneck.
All of this was starting to make me feel more than a little
odd. There in the mirror was a
drop-dead gorgeous girl, peeling off top after top and trying on new sexy
designs – usually braless. My male
memories kept noticing my female mammaries.
That was bad enough. What was
worse was that "the girl" – whatever residue there was of the girl
who rightfully belonged in this body – the girl liked it. She liked looking pretty and sexy. She liked putting on a show.
I didn't. I was a
man. I could care less about the
contours of this body.
But the girl noticed each brush of fabric as it slid over
her sensitive skin. She liked looking
at herself (clothed), posing and modeling, and studying the way that clothes
enhanced her beauty. She was more than
pretty, she was stunning. And it made
her feel really good.
I told myself that it wasn't me. It was the girl. I
*wasn't* getting excited by trying on a collection of tops. I peeled off the latest blouse and spent a
moment deliberately cooling the excitement that sparkled over my skin. Looking at the topless girl in the mirror
was safer. She couldn't possibly
imagine going out in public like that.
Sure, in the mirror, the jiggle and sway of her breasts was enticing,
but hell, she wasn't getting turned on by *me* watching her. She was thinking of how *other* boys would
see her. And how they'd like the look,
wanting to talk to her, admire her, maybe (after many dates) touching her. She didn't care about seeing herself naked –
she wanted to see herself in nice clothes.
Xavier claimed that there wasn't a "residue." There were no leftover thoughts or memories
of the girl Rogue had been. Xavier
claimed that the thoughts and impulses I labeled as "the girl" didn't
exist at all. There was nothing in my
head but me. Or rather, the
"me" that I was now. A me
that wasn't Dr. Gerard Trautwein, but was a collection of eighty years of
memories dumped into Rogue's soul.
I couldn't accept that.
I wouldn't accept it. I had,
with extreme reluctance, agreed to "wear" a female body. That didn't make me female. I was not female. I was a man, with a man's perspective and a man's mind.
And so, with trembling and fear, I reached out to pick up
the last top. It was a stretchy cotton
that would cling to my curves. I
shimmied into it, pulling and stretching to get it over the bulge of my chest. I didn't care how good it might look. It was just the passage of fabric past the
sensitive skin of my breasts. That's
why my nipples responded. Simple
friction, nothing else.
I settled myself into the support cups. At first, the built-in cups and band were
pulling wrong, so there were bits of me squishing out in odd directions. I reached in through the neck opening and
pulled myself into position. After
tugging the top around a bit and jiggling until I settled it.
Even just looking down at myself, I could tell how sinful it
was. I *felt* the support, reassuring
and comfortable. I might not be able to
jog in this top, but it would be fine for normal movements. But it didn't feel as tight as a bra, or as
confining. And from the outside I
couldn't see seams, or padding, or anything.
Breathlessly, I looked in the mirror. I could *see* my nipples hardening up. It looked like I'd just slipped into a
cottony camisole with spaghetti straps.
A tight little half T-shirt that didn't cover my belly, and had plenty
open on top, too. And you could tell
exactly what I looked like under it.
My skin got all goose-bumpy, and I poked out just a little
more.
If I wore this in public, the boys wouldn't be able to stand
up straight. I didn't feel pretty, I
felt *wicked*. That's what men (crude,
unsubtle hunks that they are) never understood. If I stood next to a naked stripper, the attention would all be
on me. You need the proper balance of
revelation and mystery. Enough to fire
them up, but enough to make them desperate for more.
What if I wore this in front of Scott? Could he keep his hands off me? How would Logan react? I could play the innocent virgin the entire
time, while they suffered.
I realized that tears were leaking down my face. I was a MAN, dammit! I didn't care how I looked in this phony
body! I peeled out of the camisole,
trying not to feel the way it whispered across my skin. Trying not to think about how I looked in
it. Never, not even for the briefest
second, fantasizing about someone helping me pull it off.
The tears were coming faster now, as I sat down on the
bench, clutching that stupid top tightly to my chest. I didn't CARE about it!
It meant nothing to me!
After another ten minutes of silent tears, I almost had
myself convinced.
Continued in Chapter 26, " Bodies shop " appearing NEXT Week!
since 08/23/03
