The Changling
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The Changling
By Cassandra Morgan
On the day I first needed a bra, I swore off women's clothing forever.
I know that doesn't make a lot of sense, but I was young, I was silly and,
lord knows, I was confused. But imagine my position, if you will. Sixteen-
year-old boys don't have those things that I was seeing in the mirror. They
just don't. They dream about them, but they don't grow them.
Hi. My name is Jesse, and I live in St. Louis with my Aunt Veronica. This
is as good a place as any to start my story. I had taken a shower, and I was
drying off, and I caught a glimpse of myself. For a moment, I thought it was
somebody else, like I was watching a movie. Then, I thought it was the angle
of my body. But when I walked up the mirror, there they were. Small but
noticable. Protruding breasts.
Oh
My
God
Panic rose in me. My mind was racing. What was I going to do? This was
awful. I was going to get caught. I was in trouble.
I rubbed my chest with the towel, as if they would rub off, and electricity
shot through me. It was as if wires were running from the nipple to my soul.
I felt my mouth grow dry in fear. Amy. Amy would know what to do. Amy?
Are you kidding? You can't tell Amy, of all people!
I turned to the side. They looked bigger in profile. I wasn't Pam Anderson,
for goodness sakes, but if you saw me without a shirt on the beach, you'd do
a double take.
It was the dresses, dammit. God was punishing me for wearing the
dresses. Looking back, this was the silliest idea you could have, but it's what
struck me. Amy and I had played dress-up as children, up until the age her
own breasts started to grow at age 12 and I was too embarrassed to go on.
Somehow, the clothes must have confused my body.
After a few minutes, the silliness of the idea struck me. Clothes are cloth,
that's all. They don't tell your body how to grow. They don't define gender.
It had to be something else. Cancer, maybe. No, it was an infection. Some
kind of swollen gland. That's what it is. They would go down in the morning
if I put some ice on them.
Wouldn't they?
* * *
No, they wouldn't.
They kept growing, a little bit every day, the way these things grow. As
time went by, they were harder to hide. At first, they were small, laughably
small. A shirt over a shirt, and no one could tell. A jacket, and I was home
free. As long as I didn't get caught in a wet t-shirt, I was safe.
Later, it became more difficult. Gauze, Ace banadages, whatever.
Evidently, it wasn't an infection. What it was was breasts.
Maybe you've guessed by now. I never was a macho kid, even before they
started to grow. Other kids played ball, I was over at Amy's house making
cupcakes. Other kids had sword fights. We played with dolls. I guess you
could me a sissy; the other boys didn't even bother to beat me up.
Amy lived four houses down from me, and from the first, there had been
kind of a chemistry between us. We spent every day together. It was because
of Amy I kept my hair long. It was because of her I took ballet. I told her
everything. She told me everything. We listened to the same songs. We
watched the same movies. Eventually, we wore the same clothes.
I remember how it started. We had been role-playing, and Amy said she
was tired of being the mom. She wanted to be the dad. Now, Amy could talk
me into anything, so that's the way we played. But to be the mommy, she
said, I had to wear her mother's clothes.
So I tried on a dress, and it swallowed me, and Amy laughed for five
minutes. I was embarrassed, and I started to go home. Then she said, "No,
silly, it's just that dress was too big. Here. Try one of mine."
And I did. It was a simple summer dress, yellow with blue flowers. I had
on my own underwear, and no makeup, but still, it felt natural. I liked to
twirl and catch myself in the mirror. I liked the way it moved when I moved.
And so we played that way, three or four days a week. She gave me
panties, and we played with makeup, and we laughed like sisters. No one got
hurt. No one ever knew.
Now, how am I going to keep everyone from knowing?
* * *
Amy found out. Amy always found out.
We were walking to the mall, she and I, about two months after the
deception began. We were dressed alike, as usual. Both of us had on jeans
and a fleece jacket. We were emersed in small talk, about movies and school
and Eric, this kid she was drooling over. We barely noticed it when we
walked past the construction site.
"Hey, you bitches."
Amy and I walked faster, barely congnazant of what he had said, just trying
to get out of earshot.
"You two lesbians? You screw each other? I'll do both of you."
Amy stopped and looked at me. I blushed. "He thinks you're a girl," she
said. She grinned. "He wants to do you!"
"Come on, Amy. Let's go."
She didn't. She turned to the construction worker. "You couldn't handle
my sister," she yelled at him. "She'd snap that little thing you've got right
off."
The other workers turned on him then. A high school girl had put down
their buddy, and they'd give him grief about it until payday. Amy locked her
arms in mine, and we hurried away.
"God, that was fun, Jess," Amy said. "Jessica, I mean."
"Stop that, Amy. I'm not kidding."
"Ah, what's the big deal, Jess. Those guys see everyone as a piece of tail."
"I'm going to cut my hair. That's it."
"Oh, don't be like that. I ove your hair. Besides, I always thought you
were a cuter girl than a boy, Jess. You know?"
I walked alongside her, not saying anything. "I'm not a girl, Amy," I said.
"I know."
We walked along for another block. I turned to her.
"I mean, I'm not, am I?"
* * *
That was it. I told her everything after that. How my boobs had started to
grow. How it was getting worse to hide them.
"Jess, you can't keep binding them like that. It's not healthy."
"Then what am I gonna do? Let everyone laugh?"
"No, Jess. Why don't we go see a doctor?"
So we did. Her doctor, who proceeded to be the first guy to feel me up. He
poked and prodded and tweaked, and he took urine and blood. And all he
found out from the tests was that, for some reason, estrogen was racing
through me. He didn't know why my body was producing it or how to stop
it.
"We can give you a mastectomy," he said. "But that wouldn't stop it. I'd
prefer to wait and see what happens."
"What do I do in the meantime?"
"Have you tried Victoria's Secret?"
He laughed. I didn't. It didn't seem to be that funny on this side of the
breasts.
Amy was in the waiting room, and she could tell from the look on my face
that something was still wrong. We walked back to her place in silence. I was
scared. I was alone.
"Can I tell you something, Jess?" she said.
"Sure, you know that."
"It isn't just your chest."
I looked at her. I asked what she meant.
"Jess, that construction worker couldn't have seen your boobs. They were
taped up. I could'nt even tell. So I started thinking. Maybe it's something
else. So I've been watching you."
"And?"
"And it's your butt, too. From the back, you look like a girl."
I felt like all the air had been knocked from my body. What was happening
to me? Why?
* * *
The body changes were one thing. Then there were the dreams.
I was running. My hair was blowing behind me int he wind, and I could
feel earrings bounce against my neck. I could hear a clickety-clack when I
ran, and somehow, I knew I was wearing heels.
They say you don't dream in color, but I can remember that I was wearing
a red leather dress as I ran. Behind me, something was gaining. It was some
sort of beast, and I could hear its breath in the night.
I stopped in front of a storefront and looked at the image. I was a woman.
Not a girl. I was alone.
I ducked down an alley, trying to hide. But it was a dead end, with a blue
sedan parked at the end. I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. I turned,
and there was the beast, inching toward me, saliva dripping from its mouth.
I looked down. It had a massive erection.
When the visions started coming, it was a nightmare.
More and more, it felt like a dream.
* * *
Amy took the bandage from my chest and stepped back. I sat there,
embarrassed, and jiggled.
"Wow," Amy said. "They're gorgeous."
"On a girl, they're gorgeous. On me, they're ridiculous. They look like
antlers on a bird."
"No, no they don't."
I started to put my shirt back on, but Amy stopped me.
"Jess, do you remember how we used to play?"
I looked at her. I knew what she meant. I didn't want to admit it, though.
"What do you mean?"
Amy didn't say anything. She walked to her bureau and opened a drawer.
She threw me a bra. Then panties.
"Put those on, Jess."
"Amy!"
"I mean it, Jess. You need a bra. And the panties match."
I started to cry. I didn't want this. Did I?
Amy sat down beside me and put her arm around me. "It's okay, Jess. It
was always okay. I'm going to help you."
I had never worn a bra before. Frankly, I didn't like it. It felt tight,
constricting. The panties were better. They felt nice, soft. By the time I got
them on, she was holding a white cotton dress in her hands.
I looked at her, started to protest. But I knew better. So I slid it over my
head, the way I used to. So much for swearing off women's clothing, I
thought.
For the next half-hour, we worked on my hair, my face, my nails. I cried a
lot. But when she was done, and I looked in the mirror, I felt as if someone
had turned on a light. This was me.
This was who I was.
It would have been nice, however, if my Aunt Ronnie had waited a while
before entering the room.
* * *
"Oh, there you two are," she said.
I looked around the room, like someone hoping an escape hatch will
materialize. The silliest thing was I found myself trying to hide my hands, as
if the nail polish was going to tell her something the dress and the hair and
lipstick wouldn't.
She looked at me for a long time. Then she shook her head sadly.
"Jess, you're making a big mistake," she said.
I know, I said. I'm sorry. I was stammering, and bouncing from foot to
foot.
"White is a terrible color on you. You're much better in that red leather
outfit in your dreams."
* * *
"What?"
"In your dreams, Jesse. When you're running from the satyr."
"The what?"
"The beast, silly."
I looked at her. I looked at Amy, who was staring out the window. She
didn't seem nearly as surprised as I was to hear this.
"How did you know?"
"I know," Aunt Ronnie smiled. "It's one of the gifts we have."
Consider my situation. My aunt had walked into a strange home, into a
teenage girl's bedroom, had found her nephew in a dress, with makeup, with
cascading hair, with high heels, and had not blinked. Then, she had
knowledge of a dream that no one else, not even Amy, knew about.
I sat down on the bed. Hard.
"We need to talk, Jesse," Aunt Ronnie said, softer now. "We need to talk."
I couldn't talk, though. My mouth was hanging open. I wasn't exactly
sitting like a lady on the bed, either.
"Do you know what a changling is?" she said.
I looked at her a little longer. "What?"
"A changling. It's a creature that has a metamorphosis in life.. A tadpole,
for instance. A caterpiller. Us."
"Us?"
Ronnie smiled.
"Let me ask you something, Jesse," she said. "Do you know what a witch
is?"
"Of course."
"No, not the pointy hat and broomstick version. Real witches. Like us.
Well, it isn't how you think. Four hundred years ago, they were burning us.
And hanging us. We were easy to identify, because our children couldn't
control their gifts. So they hunted us because of their own insecurities.
"No more. Ursula, the first great witch, came up with a spell that made us
all changlings. Witches are all born male, Jesse. We just become female in
our 16th years. And no one can catch us anymore."
"That's silly. I don't believe ..."
"Look in the mirror, Jesse."
"I'm not a female. I still have...I'm still a guy."
"Not for long, Jesse. Over the next year, you'll become complete. You'll
become Jessica. The way a little confused boy named Ron became
Vernonica. Notice the name? Jesse? Notice it can be a girls' name or a boy's
name. Like Ronnie. Like Kim. Like Francis. If you see someone like that, it
could be one of us."
"You were a boy?"
She smiled. Yes. I was. But I wasn't good at it.
"Trust your feelings, Luke," Amy said. And laughed a little.
I turned to Amy, who was standing in the corner. She didn't seem
surprised by any of it. She had this look of understanding on her face.
"You knew?"
Ronnie interrupted. "She's a guide, Jesse," Ronnie said. "We all need a
friend to lead us from one stage to another. Guides are placed nearby to help
us."
I ignored her. I looked at Amy.
"You knew?"
"Yes, Jesse. I knew."
Before I knew it, I was out of the room. I was running across Amy's hard,
my hair streaming behind me, my dress flopping. I stumbled, lost a heel.
Stopped, kicked the other one off.
I was all dressed up.
I had nowhere to go.
* * *
So I was a witch. Also, a bitch. I laughed in spite of myself.
I adjusted my bra strap. I pushed my hair back. I pulled my skirt down.
Was this really so odd? I had never felt completely comfortable as a guy.
There was no denying the breasts.
I sat on a grass bank in Fulstar Park, looking out of the lake. I wondered
how it would happen. Would my penis just disappear one night? Would it
shrink until it faded away? And until then, was I supposed to wear women's
clothing? And why couldn't I be a man and a witch? What do they call them?
Warlocks?
A voice from behind me laughed.
"No such thing as a warlock," Aunt Ronnie said. "After you studied for
years, you could cast a spell to be male again. But it would take all your
focus. You'd lose your gifts."
"I wish you would stop reading my thoughts. Besides, who cares about my
"gifts?' "
"Jessica, you have to be who you are."
"Don't call me that."
"It's okay. We have time. But to answer your questions, you will start
dressing as a woman immediately. It's part of the initiation process."
"But what about mom?"
"She knew. She was one of us too, of course. She looked a lot like you.
She was stubborn, too."
I stared ahead.
"I'm gonna get beaten up."
"Maybe."
"You don't care?"
"Jessica, just think about this. You're going to be able to get back at them.
As much as you want. The world needs more toads."
* * *
I was up early the next morning. How was I going to be able to walk into
the classroom as a girl?
It didn't matter. I was resigned to it now. I had accepted it, I believed it. So
I was going to wear that white dress to school. Heaven help me. Samantha
Stevens, too.
I looked in my closet for the dress. It was there, but it had company. My
closet was stuffed with dresses and skirts and blouses now. I looked at the
floor. Shoes, too.
There was a knock at the door. It was Ronnie. "You like?" she asked.
"It's...a lot."
"Yes. Isn't it great?"
"Aunt Ronnie...I'm scared."
"Tell you what. Let me do your hair and makeup, and you can wear jeans.
Just for today."
"But..."
"Otherwise, it's a dress."
I sighed. Jeans would be easier to get used to, but if I wore my hair styled
and lipstick, it was just as big a target for Daryl Parker and his roving band of
neanderthals. I was dead meat.
"Come on, Jessica. It'll be all right."
"Jesse," I said.
"Okay. Jesse."
She took a brush to my hair and started to stroke. I looked at the mirror and
tried to find a woman in my reflection. Then a man. There was some of both
of them there.
"How do you feel about sex, Jesse?"
"Not right now, Aunt Ronnie. I gotta go to school."
"Funny girl. No, I mean, do you like boys? Girls?"
I blushed. "You can read my thoughts. What do you think?"
"I can read your thoughts. But can you? You don't know, do you?"
"I like Amy. I used to, anyway."
"You can have Amy."
"What? She's a lesbian?"
Ronnie laughed. "She's your guide. She loves you."
"Well, I'm pissed at her. She could have told me."
"Yeah, that would have been great. Jesse, some day, y ou're going to have
big breasts. You'd have loved that."
"I don't love this, either."
"Well, she's downstairs. She's waiting for you. You're going to need
another girl to lean on."
"Another." I sighed.
And went out to meet the world.
* * *
I was wearing low heels, a wine-colored blouse and jeans. My hair was
wavy, down to my shoulders. I had on earrings and lipstick and mascara.
Black flats for the shoes. A pocketbook over my shoulder.
None of that was the first thing anyone noticed.
The first thing was when George Andrews looked at me and said, "Hey,
Jesse Martin's got tits!"
Suddenly, I was in a fishbowl. Everyone was looking. Jaws were open.
They talked. They laughed. They pointed. They said cruel things. I walked
down the hall, and heads turned. You can't show up as a woman one day and
expect anything else. Still, it felt lonely.
The football coach walked up behind me at lunch and asked me if I wanted
to suck his cock.
The principal called an emergency meeting over where I was going to go to
the bathroom. He was scared to death the civil liberties people were going
storm his office.
Larry Johnson called me a queer.
Amy apologized nine hundred times. On about No. 876, I forgave her.
Billy Owens came up to me in math and said he, too, was a crossdresser
and wanted to know if I wanted to go shopping with him.
Scott Burroughs told me his sister had a blouse like mine.
Suzanne Mallory asked me if they were real.
Johnny Taylor tried to look down my blouse.
Tanikya Reed, the English teacher, asked me where I got the shoes.
Lynn Jones said she always knew I was "funny."
Tim Reed asked if I was new in school.
Teresa Melborne said I had a fat ass.
Betty Feaster said I still looked like a boy.
Jill Jennings said I didn't.
And Darryl Parker told me that he and his friends were going to kick the
shit out of me after school.
I enjoy being a girl.
* * *
No one hurt me that day, except with words, except with isolation. I
walked up and down the hall like I had the plague. They didn't hurt me for
three weeks, in fact.
It was a quiet day. I was used to the shoes now, and dresses felt more
natural on me than pants. Every day, Amy and I worked together, talking
about pantyhose and lingeree and hair, about makeup and attitude and social
graces. It really wasn't that hard an adjustment.
That was before I walked out of Amy's house one night and started home.
She had offered to give me a ride -- she had her license, being a 200-year-old
guide -- but it was only four blocks.
Darryl Parker was there. And Larry Johnson. And Chuck O'Malley and
Tommy Knox and Brian Roberts. And I knew I was in trouble.
"You wanna be a girl, huh?" Johnson said. "Faggot."
I looked around him. I wanted to run. But O'Malley shoved me from
behind, and I went down on all fours. Shit. I tried to get up, but I felt hands
on my shoulders, shoving me back down. Something exploded on the side of
my face.
I was crying now. I wished I knew how to use my powers. But that was
years away.
The four of them circled me, like wolves around a fallen deer. But the other
three were waiting for Darryl to name the tune. He didn't say anything,
which scared me more than the pain.
"So, girly-boy. You like to suck dicks?"
I heard a zipper go down.
And the sound of my own tears.
* * *
I was a lesbian, I told Amy. That's all there was to it. I hated men. I hated
anyone who would rape someone. They had done everything to me. Oral.
Anal. Brutal.
She held my hand. She touched my hair.
"I love you, Jessica."
"Jesse."
"Right."
She leaned forward, and she kissed me, softly. It was nice. I felt her hand
on my breast, and I put mine on hers.
"Jess, I have to tell you something," she said.
"Yes?"
"You're not a lesbian. I'm not either."
"I feel like a lesbian."
She smiled. "No, you feel erotic. You feel aroused. And that's wonderful.
I am, too. But you can't let these assholes change your life. We can have a
nice time together. But this isn't forever. Okay?"
"Okay," I said. And I kissed her agian.
The lovemaking was soft, sweet. My breasts were more responsive than
ever. I loved the touch of her, the smell of her. And as we lay there, in each
others arms, it occured to me for the first time.
I would just as soon this little penis disappear.
* * *
It was my 17th birthday. The year had flown past.
No one blinked when I walked past them in the hall. I went to the girls'
bathroom, and it was no big deal. Boys didn't ask me out. Sometimes, Amy
did, but we both decided I was too young for a one-person commitment.
Anyway, Ronnie decided for my 17th birthday, she was going to take me
to an all-male strip club. I wasn't sure about that, but what the heck? If she
could sneak me in at age 17, I could look.
It was about 11 p.m. when we arrived to a darkened room. I was wearing
the red leather dress that Ronnie had given me and a gold lockett I had been
given from Amy. My hair was up, very formal. I was gorgeous, to tell you
the truth.
So we sat, and we laughed, and we went a little crazy. Through Steve the
Policeman. Through the Lone Ranger. Through the Fireman and the Indian
and the Construction Worker. After a while, it was like watching the Village
People strip.
Then he came on.
Kang. The Barbarian.
He twisted in the lights, the oils on his skin shimmering, and I was
transfixed. He danced, and it was as if everyone disappeared. It was just him
and me.
Oh.
My.
God.
"I'm going to fuck that man," I whispered, not realizing I had said it out
loud.
Beside me, Ronnie smiled. "Yes, Jess. I believe you just might."
Kang stopped and looked at me. He smiled. Then he pulled open the
waistband of his loin cloth and walked toward me.
And just like that, the estrogen flowed through me, deep and complete. I
felt a pull at my groin. I didn't have to check. I knew I would have to sit to
pee from now on. I was a woman.
I looked at Kang and smiled back. I crooked my finger and held up a $5
bill. He came over and stopped in front of me. I wrote my phone number on
the bill nd stuffed it into his shorts. Frankly, it seemed to take me a while.
"Call me," I said.
"I will," he said. "My name is Theo."
"Hi," I said. "You can call me Jessica."
* * *
Epilogue.
Theo was sweet, and he was a nice diversion for a few months. Amy and I
are still best friends, and we always will be. Aunt Ronnie and I are closer
than ever, and she's teaching me some amazing things. As far as being a
woman. As far as using our gifts.
School settled down, and thanks to Aunt Ronnie, everyone seems to have
forgotten there was ever a boy named Jesse Martin. Just a happy, healthy
young woman named Jessica, a girl with magic in her eyes.
As for Darryl Parker and his pals, no one has seen them around for a while.
Police are going to look as soon as they catch these four mangy dogs that
have been seen lately, eating from garbage cans and trying to hump each
other in broad daylight.
I liked the change in them.
In me, too.
(the end)
Charlize
- 06.01.2023
- 9
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