X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 26: Bodies shop
Kitty held up a floral-print skirt. "How about this one? It's a flounce skirt."
I moved over to her, to finger the fabric. "It's pretty thin, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but think how it'll move on you!"
"Yeah, maybe so."
I tried not to think about it.
"The girl" inside desperately wanted to see how it swished
when we wore it. Clamping down on that
impulse, I merely said, "Let's add it to the stack."
We were both accumulating stacks to try on, while
Jackie-Rogue stood there with her arms crossed in disgust.
I picked out another skirt.
"Look at this. Sleek, isn't
it?"
"Oooo, I like the feel. Can you do this?"
I nodded.
"Linen. Yeah, I can do
it."
"I like the slit up the side. Interesting, but not really daring or anything."
We added it to the stack.
"Here we go," I said at last. "A plain denim mini."
Kitty shrugged.
"It's a classic, but you have to watch your legs. I'm not just talking about bending over,
either. If you don't sit just
right…. And besides, I hate that
print."
"I can fix that," I assured her. "Just try it on. See how you like the fit."
"Okay, but only if you'll try stuff on, too. And you have to show me how it looks."
"Yeah…okay."
'Rogue' glared at us.
"Ah don't see what's the big deal.
Jean's are better. Better
protection, warmer, even better at showin' off your shape."
Kitty rolled her eyes.
"Oh, right. Says the girl
who does always wears a skirt, even when she has to cover her legs."
"Yeah, well, Ah guess the Rogue is just obsessed or
somethin' with wearing skirts."
I glared at her, not liking her insinuation. Inside the dressing room, I slipped out of
my baggy pants and stood there in my panties, staring at the flounce
skirt. It was so light! It wasn't light like gauze, but it was a lot
lighter than denim or a heavy linen.
When I shook it out, it just seemed to float. I knew that my bulky sweater would be out of place with the
lightweight skirt. I pulled it off,
standing there in my white bra and panties.
Then I took the bra off, too. In
my hands, I made the shirt. The dream
camisole, the one I looked so hot in. I
pulled it over my head again, readjusting the fit. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist it. Then I stepped into the skirt.
It was perfect. When
I twirled, the hem floated up to knee height and then floated back down like a
cloud. Every movement of my hips sent
the hem dancing and caressing my calves.
I just had to show off. Opening
the door, I danced out of the changing room barefoot to show Jackie and Kitty. I walked happily, almost bouncing. I felt so good, so pretty, that I couldn't
believe it.
I was not allowing myself to think about it. Instead, I was telling myself that I needed
more variety at school, that this might be good for special occasions, and that
the girls would feel more comfortable around me if I got into this whole shopping
thing more.
Kitty was already out, talking to Rogue.
"How do I look?"
I couldn't help it, I had to twirl for them. I looked at them forcing a smile onto my
lips. *Please say that I'm pretty! Please!*
I don't know why it was so important to me, but I had to hear that from
them.
"Well crap."
Rogue said. "That's it for
me. No way Ah can compete with
those. Maybe Ah can quit while I've
still got mah dignity."
"Wow." Kitty breathed. "You look totally, utterly wicked in that! It looks like you aren't wearing anything
underneath."
I clamped my arms at my side, trying to suppress any visible
signs of my shivers of happiness.
"No, not the top, the skirt!"
Kitty considered, her cheek resting on an index finger. "Yeah, that's pretty good too. It works great with that top. But, like, geez! You complain about me not dressing for winter!"
"Just go cover yourself up," Rogue grumbled,
"before you put all the boys in the area into rut."
I spun again and thanked them, before dancing back to the
changing room. The skirt felt utterly
magnificent as it brushed my heels as I walked. And I felt pretty and hedonistic and just a bit like an
exhibitionist.
But once inside, it was hard to face myself in the mirror.
"What?" I asked the girl in the mirror. *I'm just getting into the role, what's your
problem? Can't I buy just a couple of
nice things for school?*
The girl in the mirror was beautiful, but she wasn't
me. That face didn't belong to me any
more than the clothes I had on. They
were all just different layers of the same deception. The body was a creation of mutant powers. It was a body and a face that were too good
to be true. The clothes were almost the
same. No matter how it hurt to admit
it, I *did* like wearing them. They
made me feel pretty. But that was as
false as Angel's face. It was too good
to be true. The truth was that I was
just an old man, trapped in the ugly body of a teenaged Goth outcast. The truth was that I didn't deserve to be a
man, and there was no way on Earth that I'd ever be pretty as a girl. That whatever I did, I was just hiding in
freakish layers of a freakish disguise.
So I stripped the pretty skirt off again, and made the sexy
top vanish. I slipped back into my
thick sweater and baggy pants.
And then I slunk back out to meet my friends.
*****
"Are you, like, sure you want to keep going? You look pretty wiped." Kitty peered up at me with concern.
"Yeah, maybe I just need a little food."
I wasn't sure whether or not I was hungry. Truth to tell, I was feeling closer to
nauseous than hungry. But increasing
the blood sugar might help. What would
help even more was not forcing myself through psychological hell. Then I spotted something to take my mind off
my troubles.
"Give me a second in the Gourmet Shop."
*****
We stacked our few bags on the fourth chair while we set up
for lunch. I pushed my salad to one
side while I opened up the bag from the gourmet store.
Jackie-Rogue looked up from the barbecue chicken sandwich
she was stuffing into her mouth.
"Are those…?"
I nodded.
"Yep. Habanero chiles. Specifically, the 'Red Savina.' It was in the novelty section."
"A health-food store has a novelty section?"
I shrugged, then spoke quietly for our table only. "I'm trying to see what I can use my
power on. Evan noticed that there are
some odd holes in my powers, so I'm not sure if I can duplicate the
peppers. But I know that I can create
oils and things like that, so…"
I studied the chile pepper.
I'd been careful to fish it out with a plastic spoon, since I didn't
want to touch the thing. The Red Savina
variety was judged to be more than 1000 times more potent than the common
jalapeno, as measured through Scoville Heat Units. I let my mind study the structure of the chile, then I tried to
synthesize a duplicate.
The outer skin – I could create that. But it was really just a non-nutritive
paper-like wrapper. The main flesh of
the chile was beyond my power. But the
oil… that I could create. Apparently
Evan had been right about my powers. I
could create clothing, hair, feathers, skin oils, and similar substances. But I could not create food. Fortunately, the oil in a Red Savina didn't
seem to count as food. I couldn't
really disagree with that. I'd have to
experiment more later, to see if I could synthesize other poisons.
In the meantime, I formed a thin membrane around the
violently spicy oil. I rolled the small
jelly-like blob around on my fingers, then popped it into my mouth. I was careful not to bite down. Perfect.
I couldn't taste the oil at all, so the membrane was non-porous to
lipids, as I'd expected.
"What the hell are you up to?" Jackie-Rogue asked.
I 'vanished' the oil capsule. "Well, I've just created the ultimate short-range non-lethal
anti-personnel weapon."
Both girls stared at me.
"See, a common form of pepper spray is an oleoresin,
derived from capsicum – the 'spice' in red peppers. Now habaneros are not quite the same, chemically, but the
derivation and use is similar. I'm not
sure why they're not used in commercial products. Expense? Difficulty of
extraction or synthesis? In any case,
the Red Savina is the most concentrated form, allowing me the best shot at
deriving the active ingredient, which is an alkaloid suspended in oil."
'Rogue' stared at me.
"Well," I explained, "I *am* a cellular
biologist. I need something to talk
about at cocktail parties."
Kitty nodded.
"So you can make the spicy stuff in peppers."
"Yeah, spicy in the same way that Pietro is
quick."
"So, like, what do you do with it?"
"Well," I dropped my hand innocently toward my
water glass, gathering water into a small bladder I formed in my hand. "I can make something like
this." I turned my hand over to
show a small, kidney-shaped sack. One
small spine poked out, protruding between my middle and ring fingers.
"See, when I close my hand it's invisible, but I only
have to squeeze and…" A thin
stream of water shot out from between my fingers, hitting a potted plant behind
us. "Imagine if that was pepper
oil. Or I can line my mouth with a
protective membrane and build up some oil, then I can spit it. I'd go for the eyes first, but a nose or
mouth hit should world too."
"I think you'll want to practice, before you go and
depend on that."
I nodded.
"Yeah, I don't think I'll need it today. Maybe Professor X can find some nasty dogs to help in my
training. I want to test this, but
there's no reason for excessive cruelty."
Kitty was looking queasy.
"The world's worst pepper spray in the eyes and she says there's no
need for cruelty?"
This was more like it.
I quickly discovered that I could synthesize the base oil, without the
alkaloids. That let me practice
creating and disposing of a variety of nasty gadgets. I got to work on my aim, while testing the best delivery
method. I came up with an aerosol
sprayer that got an excellent dispersion in a small area, and a distance
sprayer that got a range of nearly ten feet.
This was what I was happy with. No stupid gender issues or identity problems. Just simple weapon design.
*****
The next few hours of shopping were pretty hard. Looking at sleepwear was excruciating. Sorting through flimsy nightgowns,
sleepshirts, and chemises was a mixture of lust and heartache. It wasn't the kind of lust I wanted and
expected. As Kitty would hold a
sleepshirt up over her body, she'd ask how it looked. I kept *expecting* a normal reaction – normal for a guy. I'd imagine her slim, pubescent body, with its
just-developing contours barely concealed by the thin fabric of her
bedwear. I expected to feel the old
pressure building up in my groin. I'd
feel guilty about staring lustfully at a friend who trusted me, and despite my
better intentions, I would form a brief mental image of what might be.
At least – that's the reaction I expected to have.
Instead, my experience was totally different. I *knew* what Kitty looked like – naked and
in virtually every aspect of dressing or sleeping. As I pictured her pubescent body, the main images revolved around
how she was growing up and turning into a pretty young girl. And instead of getting flashes of lust, I
thought about how cute or how pretty an outfit might make her look.
Worst of all, in the back of my mind, there wasn't a
slavering animal dreaming about making the beast with two backs. Instead, I was wondering what an outfit like
that might do for me, and whether I'd look good in it. Lately I'd been thinking about how Angel and
Rogue would look in the outfits.
Perhaps I haven't described this properly. I've made it sound like I wanted to be a
pervert and a lech, and that I wanted to think dark, impure thoughts about a
close and trusting friend.
What I wanted was to be a normal man. Boy.
Male. Whatever. I wanted to have the expected reaction, even
if it lead to a little guilt about my own impurity. Dammit, that's how I was *supposed* to respond! And it was becoming ever more obvious that I
was not feeling what I should be feeling.
I wasn't thinking the way any normal man would think, exposed to these
situations.
Instead, I was thinking about how "cute" something
looked. I wasn't lusting after girls, I
was lusting after clothing. I was imagining
the sensual, shivery feeling of sexy clothes wrapping my own body, making me
feel good and look good. And I was
imagining how those clothes would catch the eyes of boys. And deep down, in the back of my mind, where
I was terrified to look at it, there was still a slavering animal. Only the feelings were completely
wrong. It still thought about making
the beast with two backs, but not the way things were supposed to be. It wanted to be the *girl*.
Most people are pretty good at denial. If something is too incredible or too
painful, you simply deny the evidence.
You were mistaken, or confused, or that never really happened. But the same facts kept hitting me.
And with each silken garment that I longed for, it was
harder and hard to deny that I was a girl.
Inside and out. I wasn't just in
the *shape* of a girl, I *was* a girl.
In my heart. In my soul.
Gerard Trautwein had never had these feelings. For all that I shared his memories, for all
that I believed that I was him, if this was true…
But I couldn't finish the thought. It loomed, but I didn't dare look at it. So instead, I tried to distract myself with
shopping. But then Kitty would find
something adorable or lovely, and I'd feel a longing to wear a stupid piece of
girl's clothing. And the cycle would
begin again.
*****
"Ah don't know about you, but Ah'm just about shopped
out."
Kitty gave her an oddly mischievous look. "Almost!"
"Yah think?"
"Last store?"
I looked at them stupidly.
"What?" I didn't mean
for it to sound so hostile.
Kitty hunched forward, grinning like an evil little
girl. "Victoria's Secret!"
"Oh…no…"
"Nuthin' for me," Jackie-Rogue said. "You got to get the fit exactly
right. Ah'm good, but I'm not sure that
Ah'm *that* good, if ya catch my drift.
But the kid is growing up."
"Please?
Please?"
I tried to form a reasonable argument. I kept imagining three-packs of men's
briefs, sold at Woolworth. "Kitty,
what's the big deal? It's just
underwear. You've got plenty. And it's not like anyone's going to see
it." I glared at her. "At your age, you better not be letting
anyone see it!"
"Just underwear?
Come on, Angel! I *promise*
you'll like it! Even if you, like,
never buy anything – that place just makes you feel so grown up
and…*sexy*! Oh, I promise we'll find
something you like! Victoria's is
totally the best!"
"Ah don't know about that. They don't hold up. Their
fabric isn't the best, and sometimes they're put together kind of shoddy."
"Yeah, but the colors –"
"Okay, right."
"—and the styles –"
"Ah gotta admit, they've got more styles than anywhere
else."
"—and all the sizes –"
"Oh, yeah!"
"—and that's why they're, like, the absolute
*best*!"
I gulped. Kitty's
enthusiasm was chipping away at my heart.
A part of me already had that damn longing – imagining the wonder of all
the different makes and models, shivering in anticipation of how feminine I'd
feel… and I suddenly went cold with
fear.
"Look," I said, trying not to growl at her. "You already said it's late. And Rogue definitely isn't getting anything
there –"
"Ah didn't say Ah wasn't going to try anything
on."
"—and I *definitely* don't want to try anything. So maybe we should just pack it in for
tonight."
"B-but…"
Kitty looked at me with those huge eyes of hers. Eyes filled with disappointment. I lasted nearly a second.
"Fine then! But
this is the last store!"
"All right! You
won't regret this!"
I was regretting it already.
*****
They had only one saleslady to devote to the three of
us. We decided to get everything of
Kitty's first, and then Kitty dragged Jackie and me along since we were
"roommates, after all." So I
watched as she got measured, and then sorted through the endless drawers of
bras. Kitty was right. Even for a 28-A, they had a huge
selection. A half-dozen different
designs, and an endless range of the pastels that Kitty is so fond of.
The dressing rooms were elegant, with hanging curtains of
red velvet and cushioned benches. They
were also large enough for all three of us to cram into (since we were
roommates). Apparently that wasn't
unknown, since I saw two other girls doing the same. I guess you have to, if you want to get someone's opinion.
For us, Kitty would shuck down naked, then slip into a
bra-and-panty combo. If she liked it, I
would pass my hands over the fabric, trying to "memorize" it.
I told her, "I think you're going to have to buy one
set, at least, so I can get the sizes right.
The memorizing is pretty good for cut and color, but I usually just do
the fit by instinct."
"Yeah, okay. I
can afford one pair."
I passed my open fingertips over her young breasts,
following the design and contours of the fabric. Then I moved my hand down to trace over the contours of her
panties. And it didn't get so much as a
rise out of me. All I could think about
was that I could do this same pattern in my size, now.
Kitty's body wasn't stimulating me at all. My only thoughts were how cute she'd look if
I gave her an X-men print, for her fabric.
"I think this is the set I'll buy." In a minute, she was slipping back into her
favorite sweater and Capri pants.
"Okay, Angel, now it's your turn."
"Thanks, but maybe we should just head home." I felt proud that I'd managed to get that
out without revealing my terror.
"Ah don't think so, *girl,*" Jackie said with
ill-concealed glee. In the privacy of
the dressing room, she dropped the southern accent for a moment. "I told you you'd have to start dealing
with this, someday. Well, guess what,
*girl*? It's time you started learning
what it feels like. I think you'll find
it's pretty damn seductive."
Kitty scrunched her shoulders. "All that macho competitiveness aside, guys, she's right,
Angel. It really feels nice when you get
the exact proper size. You just HAVE to
try it!"
I was trapped. The
worst part was fighting the temptation I felt to give in. "Alright, but just one or two."
"Ah'll get the saleslady. We're going to have to measure you, first."
When the door closed Kitty just stared at me. "Well, what are you waiting for? Strip down.
You saw the routine. Now it's
your turn to freeze your nips off."
With a full day of trying on clothes, I'd undressed plenty
of times. This was the first time I'd
done it with an audience. Disturbingly
enough, I didn't really feel embarrassed to be stripping in front of
Kitty. Sure, she was a girl – after the
last half-hour, there could be no doubt about that. But my emotions didn't feel like I was stripping in front of
someone of the opposite sex. This was
no different from girls' gym, or the lockers outside the Danger Room. The main emotion I felt was embarrassment
for Kitty, that we were so obviously and directly going from her modest mounds
to my substantial mountains. I felt bad
enough to imply that she was inadequate in any way (which was *not* true). And I didn't want the evidence to be waving
in her face, but I really couldn't help it.
Fortunately, the saleslady and 'Rogue' came in then. It was pretty cramped with four people in
the room, but she had enough room to get sizes. Rogue convinced her to get my full measurements, since I was
stripped down to bra and panties anyway.
"Arms over your head."
The saleslady took me in with raised eyebrows as she pulled
the tape around to get my band size, and then raised it to circle at me where I
was fullest, the tape cutting across my nipples. I could feel it, even through my thin bra.
"A thirty-three band and thirty-seven bust. Yeah, I figured you for a D when I came in. Now let's see what kind of support you
need." She unfastened my bra and
let me swing free.
"God, I wish I was still that firm. Listen, honey, with those boobs you're going
to need real support unless you want to see major sag in five to ten
years. Besides, when you've got a body
like that, you ought to take care of it."
I said nothing. I
just blushed all the way down my chest, which of course everyone could see.
She continued measuring.
"I don't believe it. A
twenty-three waist and thirty-five hips.
Hell, any other girl with that figure and they'd never, ever look you in
the eyes." She studied my face for
a moment. "But you probably don't
have that problem, do you?"
"Well, sometimes," I admitted.
My psyche was boiling at this point. Part of me was feeling incredibly feminine,
looking forward to the naughty delight of finding the *perfect* lingerie that
would make me look absolutely delicious.
Another part was just looking for something to hit, don't ask me
why. And the last part, the rapidly
shredding remnant of my masculine self-image, were screaming in terror,
claiming that I was just playing a role, that I didn't really *like* this.
"Okay," she continued, "get dressed and I'll
show you some things that I'm sure you'll like."
I quickly slipped back into my pullover sweater and baggy
pants. The saleslady nodded, as if
considering.
"Do you prefer to hide your figure, or display
it?"
"Well, it sort of depends on the circumstances, you
know?" To my embarrassment, I was
twirling a strand of my hair around my finger.
"Well, look here." We had followed her to the wall of drawers. "These 'second skin' bras will give you
the support you need, and they'll make a good everyday bra. Here's a simple white."
It was lace-free, the way I prefer. And the slick fabric was definitely sensual,
but, "Nylon Lycra? Do you have
this in a more natural fabric?"
"Sorry, no. A
cotton just doesn't have the right stretch, and it doesn't last as well,
either. Try it on before you dismiss
it. Oh, and you'll want to try the
matching bikini panties, too. We have
'second skin' panties, as well, to match.
Do you prefer a high-cut like you have now, or would you try a hipster
or maybe a maybe a V-string?"
"Uh… I might try the hipster. A V-string?" I
looked at the girls.
Kitty stuck her tongue out, but Rogue just shrugged.
"Uh, just the high-cut and the hipster, I think."
"Okay. Now, as
I said, that's great for everyday wear, but when you really want to knock their
eyes out, you should try one our very sexy miracle bras."
I couldn't believe it.
"Is that the brand name?"
"Mm hmm. 'Very
sexy miracle bra.' I know what you're
thinking – this is the bra that girls use when they'd like a little help, and
you don't need *any* help. But a
miracle bra helps hold you high and forward.
Believe me, you'll notice a difference.
And so will everyone else. Just
try it. We call it 'liquid-lift'
technology."
I fingered the smooth, slick fabric suspiciously.
"I know what you're thinking – more spandex. Just try it first, and see what you
think. Imagine wearing it with anything
that has a plunging neckline. It's low
cut, so your blouse can be low-cut, too."
I took it without protest.
After her description, I had to try it on.
"And for sheer comfort, you should try 'Body by
Victoria.' They're seamless, so you can
wear a thin cotton top without showing the slightest seam or any interruption
to your contours. The only problem is
that we don't have them padded in your size, so they won't do much to conceal
those embarrassing moments." She
nodded toward my breasts, and I realized that I was quite hard, and
showing. "But I wouldn't worry
about that too much. You'll find that
*really* turns the boys on." If anything,
I got even harder at that.
*****
I stood shivering and nearly naked in the dressing room,
Jackie and Kitty's eyes on me. I'd just
finished pulling on the high-cut panties, and they fit like a glove. I ran my fingers over their smooth fabric, clean
and tight to my skin. I couldn't do
Lycra. If I wanted this pair of panties
(and I did), I would have to buy them.
Me, a man, buying panties simply because they felt so damn good. Simply because I loved the feel of them on
my body. Simply because they made me
feel so good. So sexy. So feminine.
And so, in trepidation, I held the 'very sexy miracle bra'
in my hands while Kitty and Jackie stared at me and waited.
"Well, try it on!
I've been, like, dying to see one, and I don't have enough to do
anything with. Not yet."
"I'm…afraid," I said, in a very quiet voice. It was terribly hard to admit it, but I'd
been standing frozen like that for a minute now.
"Oh, come on!
I'd fasten it for you, if you needed help, but I've seen how limber you
are!"
"Ah don't think that's what she's talkin' about."
Jackie stared at me and dropped her accent again. "You like it, don't you?"
I shook my head, trying to lie to them better than I was
lying to myself.
"Well OF COURSE she likes it! That's what shopping is all about."
"I don't mean she liked it that way. I meant, she likes the way it feels. She likes wearing bras and panties."
"Well, duh.
That's why they call it lingerie.
What else are you supposed to wear?
Waist-high briefs? I don't think
so!"
While they were arguing, I slipped my arms through the
straps. They attached to the outside
edges of the cups, giving more clearance for scoopnecks and real
cleavage-exposing tops. I pulled the
cups up to me. The synthetic fabric had
a texture that was made erotic by its very difference from the cotton I was
used to. I pulled the cups up to
surround each breast. It was incredibly
sensual as I nestled into each socket.
For an instant, I imagined that a man's hands were holding me, firmly,
lovingly. Then, to complete the
torture, I reached back to fasten it closed.
I had to do a sort of up-jiggle, to nestle myself higher than I usually
rode.
"Shit!"
Jackie was paying attention to me again. "That's just perfect if you're looking to lose your virginity
in a hurry."
"You are, like, SO crude! I can really believe you used to be a guy, you know?"
At Jackie's words, I had a momentary flash of myself wearing
this in public. I was in a white gown,
showing plenty of cleavage. As my new
husband lifted the veil away, I realized that I was in my wedding dress. He began pulling me close to kiss, while
whispering, "I can't wait for tonight."
Back in the dressing room, I felt the tears starting to run
down my face. I turned away from the
mirror and calmly stripped out of the lingerie, to dress in my street clothes.
"So, do you like it?
What's the matter? You looked
*great* in that! Don't listen to
perv-girl over there. She probably gets
her jollies from watching us dress.
Hey, what's the matter?"
"She's realized," Jackie said. "She can't deny it any more."
"Deny what?"
"That she's a girl."
"Well, OF COURSE she's a girl. Gawd.
We figured that out, what, a month ago?
You remember the tape? I still
feel kind of guilty about that."
"Uh huh. And ever
since, you've acted like she was a girl.
Even when she was turning into Jerry-the-boy, you shared a room with
her."
Kitty just blinked, not understanding. "Well, we're all a little freaked by
the whole mutant power thing. And
Rogue, she's had it pretty bad. I
figure she needs the support.
Particularly when her powers go mondo-weird like this. I mean, that's exactly when her friends
*shouldn't* abandon her." She
looked at me and was suddenly very concerned.
"What did I say?"
"I—" I
gasped for breath. "I'm not
SUPPOSED to be Rogue! I'm supposed to
be a MAN!" I clutched my chest so
hard that it hurt. "This is just a
God-dammed DISGUISE! I like watching
football, and prize fights! I like
cigars, and poker, and pissing on trees!
And, and I could care less about how a bunch of stupid girls' underwear
feels! I don't WANT to look pretty or
sexy or sweet! I want to look
STRONG!" I moved straight up into
Jackie's face. "And I fantasize
about GIRLS! All the time! NOT BOYS!
Never boys. I don't want to look
good for them, I don't want them to touch me, and I especially don't want them
to kiss me! Got it?"
"You're lying."
"Wait, I don't get it.
You mean, all this time you really honestly thought you were a
guy?" She thought for a
minute. "Does that me that you
are, or aren't getting the bra?"
I looked at the symbol of my weakness, discarded on the
bench. I wanted it so much. I gave one last sob and fled, slamming open
the door and fleeing out into the mall.
*****
The saleslady had delayed them just long enough. I had slipped into the Gap next door, moved
behind a rack, bent out of sight of everyone – even the staff and two patrons
of the store. In that moment, I
changed. I couldn't do *specific*
people yet, but I could make up faces.
So long as I was making a random face, I was fine. Scuttling over two racks, I stood up again.
I'd gone in as a medium-height blonde supermodel. I was now an eight-year-old brown-haired
boy, in a dirty T-shirt and very worn jeans.
The hardest work was clearing the tears from my face. I could evaporate the moisture, but I took a
minute of looking at myself in the mirror to convince me that I was a guy
again. Alright, a *boy*.
There was nothing to worry about, nothing to stress
about. I wandered out just as Kitty and
'Rogue' came racing out of Victoria's secret.
"Aw, crap!" Kitty said. "Where'd she go?"
"She's gone.
Remember…her mother? She could
be anywhere."
"Huh?
Oh…yeah. Damn, Ororo's going to
have our butts in a sling. And what if
the Professor finds out?"
"Maybe we can find her…"
They moved off and I headed my own way. I felt bad about ditching them, but I just
needed a little time to recover.
*****
The shape wasn't helping as much as I'd hoped.
On the outside, I looked like an eight-year-old boy. But on the inside, I was still thinking and
feeling *wrong*. I was eyeing the
girls, judging their clothes, trying to think of what would look good on Angel,
Rogue, and Kitty. I was looking at the
guys and noticing their faces, their personalities, whether they looked
friendly or like creeps. I can't quite
describe it, but I was sure that it wasn't the way I'd looked at guys, way back
when I'd been an eight-year-old boy myself.
Maybe I should just accept it. Would that be so bad?
I stood outside yet another fashion store, wondering how I'd
look in those outfits. Wanting
them. But I was afraid.
Anyway, even if I did dress up, who should I be? Everyone seemed to think I was really
Rogue. Which was what I was most afraid
of. More and more, aspects of her
personality seemed to be leaking into my mind.
I held the thought firmly. MY
mind. Not hers. At one time (eons ago, it now seemed) I had
been fond of the girl, and respected her in some ways. But I didn't want to BE her. No, I wanted to be Angel.
That last thought stopped me.
Is that really what I wanted? In my mind, I pictured Angel.
I imagined her in the sexy push up bra.
I imagined myself at the zoo, in Duncan's arms. I imagined myself walking down a college
lane, holding hands with Scott. I saw
myself spinning and dancing, looking perfect and beautiful. I imagined myself deep in the woods, as
Logan lay me down on a blanket. He
looked deep into my eyes, and then told me that he wanted to make me his. And I reached up and pulled him down to me.
And I stood there in the mall, in my eight-year-old boy's
body. My nipples grew hard, and I felt
something happening in my shorts. Even
in this boy's body, I was thinking and reacting like a girl.
Did I want to be a girl?
Did I want to be Angel, perfect and beautiful?
I wanted it so bad that it hurt. I hated myself.
*****
Kitty and Jackie were gone.
I don't know where. The urge to
become Angel again was almost overwhelming.
Maybe, without an audience, I could figure this out, and figure out how
to deal with it.
I slipped down the corridor toward the restrooms. The hallway turned, out of sight of the main
mall, and (so long as the doors were closed) out of sight of the restrooms,
too. There were no cameras, no mirrors,
no eyes. I glanced around to ensure I
was alone, and changed.
In an instant, I was me again. The girl I dreamed of being.
Beautiful and young and sexy. I
was wearing the support camisole that I'd fallen in love with. Over that was an oversized man's shirt, open
in front and with the sleeves rolled up.
I wore the flounce skirt, and displayed enough skin at my waist to make
things interesting.
My heart was pounding like mad. Okay, I was in private. I
could admit it. I wanted this. I wanted it bad.
And yet… I was filled with shame. I wouldn't let it show. I
wouldn't spoil Angel's perfect face.
But *I*, Gerard, me – I had never wanted to be a woman, not even a
pretty one. It was just more leakage
from Rogue's personality. As much as I
wanted to be a pretty girl, I also needed to be myself, an octogenarian World
War II veteran. I thought about my war
buddies, my colleagues at the university, my students and my confidants. How would they react if they knew that Dr.
Trautwein wanted to feel pretty? If
they realized that his heart lifted every time he dressed up in a pretty skirt?
I wanted to be Angel, but I simultaneously felt a burning
shame every time I allowed myself to contemplate my situation.
The irony is that there wouldn't have been much shame in
being Rogue. She was a tough kid who
handled a rough life with her own strange style. Under the face paint and rebellious image, there was a strong
core that deserved respect. If I had
worn Rogue's body and pretended to be Rogue, it would have been a gesture of
respect. Instead, I hated Rogue's shape
and loved Angel's skin.
I walked back into the mall, distracted by my musings. The skirt felt wonderful as it swished
against my legs. I looked great and
felt great. And that made me irritated.
I couldn't think like this in the mansion. Everyone had their own idea of who I
was. Kitty never stopped thinking of me
as Rogue. Jackie – she certainly never
forgot that this was Rogue's true body, but she also remembered the man inside
that body. But she also believed that I
would succumb.
The only thing that really made sense was that *Rogue* wanted
to be pretty, and that *she* was the one who wanted to look like Angel. But that thought was almost too
painful. I had accepted Xavier's order
to change to a female form, but I just couldn't become Rogue. That would be giving in. I knew that if I deliberately tried to look
and act like her, soon enough I would *be* her. That was hardly fair. Not
to me, forced to become another person; not to Rogue, replaced by a squatter in
her own body. But what if Rogue
recognized her own faults and problems?
What if she wanted to be someone else?
What if she liked being Angel?
It was a strange hypothetical, but at the same time, it was
more real than life and death.
Could Angel be an acceptable middle ground for all of
us? I satisfied the letter of Charles'
requirement, Kitty and the rest of the kids seemed to be more accepting of
me. It didn't desecrate Rogue's memory,
but rather gave into what she most wanted.
And for me, it gave me a chance to be a new person – a person of my own
creation.
Provided that I was a girl.
Actually, let's be honest.
I wasn't just a girl, I was a girl with powerful hormones. More and more, I found myself looking
at…other men. Thinking about boys. Wanting… wanting things that no
self-respecting man wanted. Equally bad
was the fact that despite immense opportunity, I was no longer interested in
other females.
The anonymity of the crowd was no longer enough. I needed to be truly alone. Gathering my strength, I stepped aside into
an aisle by the exit that held phones and lockers. I pulled open an empty locker and materialized an ankle-length
coat. It used up all my juice – all of
it. I couldn't even finish hemming the
bottom of the jacket, but at least I had enough warm sheepskin to snuggle
inside of.
I stepped outside to continue my thoughts in the greater
privacy of the November dusk. I wrapped
the warm coat around me, enjoying the sensuality of rubbing my face into the
soft fur. No one else was walking, and
I turned to back roads leading roughly toward the mansion.
How to grapple with the 'girl' issue? Alright, what if I accepted those desires as
real? Would it be terrible to admit
that I secretly wanted to be held, kissed, and touched? That I wanted a man to take me and lay me
down and bring me to heat, before he entered me and filled me with his
flesh? That I wanted to feel his seed
inside me?
I gulped at the strength of my own need, and the explicit
direction of my thoughts.
It didn't help that I was hard. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation, too. The crisp fall air on my skin had crinkled up
my areola, and I had a slight tendency to bounce as I walked (particularly in
the support camisole). Of course, as my
nubs rubbed back and forth with each step it became easier and easier to
contemplate certain fantasies.
On the other hand, this was the crux of the entire 'girl'
matter. Could I live with myself, if I
became the sort of person who would think things like that? Throwing caution to the wind, I allowed
myself to fantasize. What if I got
Scott to 'do it'?
In private, with no one around to judge me or set
expectations, I could admit that it was a little exciting. It was terrifying, too, but I wondered
whether that was because I was supposed to be a man, or because I was still a
virgin. What would my first time be
like? Would it hurt as much as they
say? Would it be as good as some girls
claimed? What would it be like to have
a boy who was in love with me? What
would it feel like, to fall in love with a boy? How would I dress up for him?
And (blushing) how would I undress for him?
These thoughts were simultaneously exciting and scary, but
at least out here, in private, I was finally coming to look at them for the
first time. Maybe I *could* be a
girl. I wouldn't be Rogue. I couldn't be her. But maybe…maybe I could be someone else. In a way, it would almost be the honorable
thing to do. It would be a tribute to
Rogue to give her the body and personality and life she'd always dreamed
of. And if I sacrificed my own
self-image and beliefs for her, couldn't that be seen as almost a higher form
of nobility?
The clouds parted, metaphorically. Perhaps I could be a girl, and still look at myself in the
mirror.
I knew that I still had far to go. Conflicts burned inside of me.
On one hand, I had female drives that seemed to overwhelm me at
times. On the other hand, I was as shy
as the tightest virgin – a description that applied to me very aptly.
But my thoughts were calm.
I had come to a resolution. I
would try it. I would *become* a girl,
in mind and thought and (if you believed that claptrap) in soul, as well. I would wear the clothes, learn about
makeup, and flirt with boys. I would be
a girl.
The decision left me serenely happy. Somewhere inside, whatever was left of Rogue
was singing.
It wasn't until the car pulled over that I realized how
sparse the traffic was on this back road.
And it wasn't until the door slammed that I looked up.
I didn't know the name of his three friends, but there was
no mistaking Mark Taylor.
"Hey, too bad fat boy isn't here. But maybe we can show you a good time
without him."
"Yeah," another added. "You might as well enjoy it. 'Cause from where I'm standing," his eyes raked up and down
me, "it's going to be fucking great!"
Continued in Chapter 27, " Taylor gets pussy" appearing NEXT Week!
since 07/23/03
