Altered Fates: The After-Effect free porn video

Altered Fates: The After-Effect Written by Liam Slade Published originally on Fictionmania, to be reprinted with author's permission. http://www.liamslade.com *** For starters, let me tell you that I never felt different. It's an old clich? that someone in my scenario might have grown up differently than the other boys, but the truth is I loved playing G.I. Joe and Cowboys and Indians. I couldn't have cared less for Barbie dolls and easy-bake ovens. I liked baseball a lot. Little did I know it was all an accident that I grew up the way I did. I had just kissed my first girlfriend Shirley McGrath goodnight one night when my parents felt the need to have a talk with me. I don't know whether they had been planning it for a long time, or if they saw what I was doing with Shirley and decided the time was right to tell me. And when they did, I knew I should've been furious, but I was way too confused and even a little scared to feel anger. "Chad," they called to me from the kitchen as soon as Shirley had gone, "can we talk with you?" It was a tone of voice normally reserved for family deaths. I didn't think anybody was sick, so my mind went to the next-likely scenario: my parents were getting a divorce. Still, I kept my mouth shut as I took a seat at the table, a fearful lump in my throat. "Son," Dad began in a gravely tone of voice, "you know we love you, right? You've grown up to be a fine young man, and we're very proud of you." So far, so good. A little weird and creepy, but this seemed to be going to a good place. Mom jumped in, "but there's something we've needed to tell you for a long time." She got choked up as she spoke, "something we've never told anyone about you. A very dark, and? embarrassing secret." A tear fell down her cheek. My stomach fell. I didn't understand anything at this point. It was about to be made painfully clear. "When you were born," sobbed my mom, "there was a? a strange kind of... mix-up." She got so upset at this that she couldn't continue. "Son, there was this... nurse. She was taking care of you in the maternity ward, before we brought you home, and she was wearing this?" he gestured to his neck, "thing, this necklace--" "Medallion," mom added, "they called it the Medallion of whatever," she resumed sniffling. She stood up to find a Kleenex. "Right. Well, the way they explained it to us at the time, was that this medallion had this magic power to? transform people. And somehow, while she was putting you down to rest, your infant body was..." he cleared his throat, "transformed." "Uh huh..." I just sat, staring into their eyes before asking, "into what?" Stupid question. I corrected myself, "I mean, from what?" Neither mom nor dad wanted to answer at first. They just looked at each other, then at me. Mom started crying, worse than ever, before dad, eyes now fixated on the floor, muttered, "You were a... a girl, son." "We're so sorry!" cried mom, "you've been living a lie! This whole time, God, we're so sorry! We didn't know what to do! We love you no matter what you are, but you had to know!" I just stared at them, face contorted into an uncomprehending sneer, "what? You're joking. What?" I wanted to throw up at the idea. It began to take root that I wasn't really supposed to be who I was. I didn't want to be anything different. "Over the past 16 years, son, we've been searching for it. This private eye we hired, Mr. Jerome, he finally found us the medallion." I was shocked now, "why?! Why would you need that?" I grew more paranoid by the second, fearing my parents were conspiring against me. I knew I didn't want to be a girl, and I knew I wouldn't be forced into it. They sensed this, "We needed it," said mom, "We needed to tell you. We needed to show you. Honey, you don't understand the burden we've lived with all this time, not being able to tell you, not being able to make you understand. Now, we can." I suppose it made sense. After all, who would believe such a thing without evidence to back it up? It was ludicrous, this idea of a magic medallion. "So..." I just sat, stomach still sinking, "what do we do?" "Son, it's up to you," said my father, "we have the medallion, and a suitcase full of clothes you can use, if you want to. It's completely up to you. We're not going to force you into anything, and even if you do, as long as you have the medallion, it's not permanent." Obviously not, if I was able to use it now. Dad continued, "Just take some of the clothes, hold the medallion, and touch them together. The transformation will occur. When you were a child, it was nearly instantaneous, but now, it will take... what did Mr. Jerome say?" "Up to half an hour," sniffled mom, beginning to dry her eyes, "For the physical change. Then, the mental change? who knows how long that takes, he said." "Mental change?" I gasped. "Not if you don't want to. You can stop it at any point, but? well, be sure you've done the physical change first," he chuckled a weary laugh. I laughed too. In a scenario like this, it helps. I stood up and smoothed out my jeans. I gulped, feeling a thick lump in my throat. It was part fear, part anxiety, part? morbid curiosity. I didn't like the idea, but it was only human to be intrigued. Before I left, they advised, "at least 12 hours," called dad, "between transformations. So if you do this," he trailed off somewhat, "it will at least be that much of a commitment." That was something else to think about. I didn't like the idea of having to commit to a new body. Normally, you take the one you get, and you live with it. This was too big a decision for any human to make, I thought. Nobody I knew ever had to deal with such a strange identity crisis. I had no idea how to handle it. In my room, lit by my desk lamp, I opened the suitcase they'd bought me. It contained, well, clothes. Skirts, jeans, tops... underwear. It was all new, because apparently if I used someone else's clothes, I'd turn into that person. This way I would at least still be me. The curiosity returned as I looked over the clothes, obviously made for a slim physique. Assuming I'd grow into them, I wondered what I'd look like. Would I still be recognizable? Or would I just look like someone else? Some girl? Would I be... attractive? Did I care? It was too big a decision to make right there and then. Putting the clothes away, I turned off the light and lay down to sleep. "You think you know something," I told Shirley the next day at lunch, "you live your life one day and then with this one bizarre little fact, your entire perception of yourself is just? whacked." "I don't get it," she said, "What are you saying?" "That I'm not what you think I am. That I'm not what *I* think I am. I was never supposed to be this way." I was frantically gesturing with my hands. I hushed my tones as I explained, "I was, like? transformed at birth, into... into this." She still wasn't following. "I wasn't supposed to be..." I leaned in closer and whispered, practically inaudibly, "a guy." Her eyes widened in confusion. "So?" she said, "so what? You are now, right? You've never, like, thought you weren't, right?" "Yeah," I muttered, trailing off in thought, "but I don't know! This really screws things up! My parents say that now I could change back--" "They want to change you back?" she gasped, interrupting. "No, they don't WANT to," I corrected, "but they said they could, if I wanted to." "But you don't," she looked me dead in the eye, "right?" I took a long time to answer. At first the answer was for sure, but I had done a lot of thinking. "I don't... know." Shirley couldn't respond. She just blinked about 12 times and turned her head away from me. I tried to explain. "Shirley, trust me, I love you, I love being with you, I am so completely in love with you I don't want to do this but- -" I was getting choked up, this was becoming serious, "but I seriously don't know who I am at this point. I don't know anything about myself. I could've led a different life." "But you didn't!" she cried out, on the verge of tears. She stood up and made her way to the exit of the cafeteria, and I followed. Stopping just short of the door, she looked at me and said, "Chad, you didn't lead a different life. This is who you are. You've lived all this time as a guy and you're gonna what, change that, just because you lived like 3 hours of your life as a girl? At the very beginning? It's not a lie, Chad! You're not a lie!" "I don't know what I am," I muttered again. I sighed, "I think... God, I think I need to try this. Just for one day." Shirley cleared the tears out of her eyes and looked back at me. I hated to see her so upset. She sniffled and asked, "You can do that?" "Yeah, I think so," I tried to think back to the rules my parents had set out and was fairly certain it wasn't permanent, so long as I still had the medallion. "I only have to spend, like, 12 hours as a girl, but it'd be 12 hours I need." "Well," I was holding her at this point as she wiped more tears from her face, "I guess everybody could use 12 hours as somebody else in their life." I looked at her. She was too beautiful to be so sad. With her tangle of blonde hair and blue eyes, the ghosts of tears still lingering on her soft reddened cheek, she looked up at me from her 5'4 frame. We both laughed together and went back to the table. So the stage was set. I was going to go through with this change as a test, just for 12 hours on Saturday night. My stomach was quivering and my hands were shaking, as Shirley sat with me in my room around noon on Saturday. I wanted to be able to change back before I went to bed that night. "Excited?" she giggled a little, grinning a mischievous little grin, her blonde locks falling to her shoulder, and a gleam in her eyes. "Nervous as hell," I answered, taking the medallion by its chain. I got out the suitcase and unzipped it. I hadn't gone through the clothes since my parents showed it to me. "Nice clothes," she nodded in approval. I guess they were, they looked somewhat expensive. It was kind of flattering that my parents would go to such lengths for something I may not have even gone through with. "Ready?" she asked. "Could you, um, leave?" I said, bashfully, "I don't want anybody to be here while this is happening." With some reluctance, she chirped, "fair enough," and walked to the doorway, "I'll be right outside if you need me." "Thanks love," I said, kissing her and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Then, for some inexplicable reason, I said, "see you on the other side." She left, and I was at last alone with the medallion and the suitcase of girly clothes. Cold feet? More like cold testicles. "Goodbye boys," I said to my crotch, "see you tonight." I felt my chin and the light patch of stubble that had grown since my last shave. I gave a sigh and got down to business. I took off my shirt ? a Manchester football jersey ? and unzipped my jeans, letting the belt buckle "clink" as it fell to the floor. I slipped the medallion over my head and let it rest on my chest. The metal was cool to the touch and sent goose-bumps down my arms. I started by taking a pair of panties and the matching bra, bunching them up in my hand, and holding them to the medallion. There was one of those hair elastics in the bunch there, too. Immediately, I felt as though I'd been pricked with a needle and my legs and chest went numb. I kept contact, but relaxed as my pectoral muscles became fleshier, flabbier, and a little perkier. It was a tingling sensation that, I won't lie, was really sensual. So much so that the next thing that happened was my dick stood fully at attention. I grabbed it as I had so many times before, but it immediately began to shrivel. I couldn't let go, even as it slid, uncomfortably into my body. I think it may have even given one last spurt, I didn't know how these things were supposed to work. I looked at my arm. All the fine little hairs receded into the skin, while a mane of dark hair began to flow from the top of my head, just stopping below the shoulders. My bones and muscles flashed with clusters of soreness as bit by bit they reshaped themselves at the shoulders, hips, chest, waist? my stomach became more trim, but a tenderness in my ass told me where some of that mass went. My face felt like two giant hands were moulding it into a new shape, fine-tuning my nose and chin into perkier, more girlish features. That's when I began to cough. It felt as if somebody were standing on my windpipe. I couldn't breathe. I broke out into a sweat and started to convulse from lack of breath. This couldn't be right, I thought. I began to almost retch as I tried to breathe in and out, but the breaths became quicker and shallower until finally, my throat opened up again and I could resume my normal breathing functions. Suddenly, all the pain, which had become sharp and unbearable, became dull, and at last, faded right away. I looked at the clock. The final time was about 17 minutes, give or take a few seconds. I swept the hair out of my face and let go of the medallion, still having the fresh white underwear set in my hand, clustered in a rough bunch. I promptly removed the medallion from around my neck. I tied my hair back in a ponytail with the elastic. I hobbled back and forth around, taking small steps, trying to get a good balance going. I lightly touched my breast. I had felt Shirley's, but feeling my own was a different experience all together, as a brand new sensation radiated throughout my person. I slipped my green boxers to the ground. The feeling of no longer having my privates hanging down was an odd one. I have to admit that coming from being a guy I found everything about being a girl erotic at first, especially that. I'd become so small, so slight of stature, so incredibly female it was intense. I slipped on the panties, and they snugly wrapped their way around my private area. I wasn't a tightie-whitie kind of guy so the tight underwear was a new concept. I didn't feel constricted. I just felt? normal. Feeling exposed, I scrambled to clasp my bra on and support my breasts. I dressed, taking more care than usual in making sure everything fit right. It did. I started by slipping on a pair of jeans that were far more constrictive to my legs and hips than anything I'd ever worn. Then I grabbed a tank top and slid it on, straightening out creases formed at the breasts. I felt a chill coming down my new cleavage ? I was too exposed. So I grabbed a light long-sleeve top, one of those softball shirts. I went for a bit of a tomboy look, not by accident. I looked at myself in the mirror. The sight was far too surreal to behold, being looked at by another person through your own eyes. It looks like an optical illusion, since you still think of yourself as looking the same as you used to. But everything you see, touch, sense in any way really belongs to a different body; even if that body is just your own magically altered one. I looked into my own eyes. They were my same brown eyes, only a little softer, rounder, with longer lashes. My nose, which had always been a little big, now came to a little rounded tip. My cheeks were soft and rounded, a little pale, but fleshier than they were. My lips were round, and? what's that word? Pouty? Luxurious dark brown hair flowed past my narrow shoulders. I felt shorter, since all the objects in my room looked different in terms of eye-level, but I couldn't tell physically how different I was. I sighed heavily at this presentation of a girl. Sheepishly, I stepped out of the door, eyes cast at the ground. I couldn't even look Shirley in the eyes at first. She said nothing. I tilted my head upward and faced her, eyes wide, seeming to say, "Well, here I am." After a moment's pause, she finally said, "Wow... there you are." I nodded. Here I was, indeed. Curious, she asked, "How is it?" "You'd know," I muttered softly in my new voice, "you've been one longer than me." "Yeah," she reasoned, "but I've always been this way. I don't know anything else." "It's not that different," I lied, trying to downplay how bizarre and new everything felt, "it's just boobs and a? you know." I couldn't even say the word. "Yeah," she laughed in spite of herself "I know." She just looked at me, presumably trying to find the real me under the girlishness. I averted my eyes as much as possible, not wanting to confront her with my physical features. It was an ostrich-head-in-the-sand strategy. Hesitantly, she muttered, "You don't wanna, like, make out or anything, do you?" So un-attracted was she to my new form. "No," I shrugged, again somewhat lying. "Good," she nodded, "I mean, that would just be? weird. You know?" "Yeah," I agreed. I was sure it would be? for her, at least. I moved closer to her. Finally, I got up the courage to look her in the eye, and I could sense a hint of admiration in her for what I was doing. Amicably, she gave me a hug. Normally when she'd do that, I'd retract my groin so that she couldn't feel my hard crotch against hers. Now there was nothing there for her to feel. It was symbolic of how close I genuinely felt to her at the time. We both breathed in deep, sharing sympathy for one another, breasts swelling into each other. "What do you want to do?" she asked, as if I had any clue. Utterly clueless, I put myself at her whim, "What do girls usually do?" "The same things guys do," she reasoned. I thought to myself, 'watch porn?' but didn't say it. "Hang out, watch movies, gossip I guess." "Guys don't gossip," I corrected her. "Well, you do something," she scoffed. "Like, when you say, 'yeah she's hot, I'd do her?' that's gossip." I didn't much care for that generalization? but then again, it was mostly accurate. Despite my protests, she muscled me into letting her do my hair make-up. I don't mind telling you that it was unpleasant, letting her jab me in the face with all those little instruments, and tug my long hair into a braid. "Oh my God!" she gasped as soon as that debacle was over with, "we should totally get your ears pierced." "No!" I recoiled. I'd let this girlification thing go too far, and had to draw the line somewhere. "No earrings, no jewellery." I fingered the chain of the medallion around my neck, "this is as much as I'll do." "But it's so cheap-looking and tacky," she wined. Then she re-examined it, "then again, it is kind of kitschy." She made a grab for it but I pulled away. "No!" I cried once more, this time as a command. "Don't touch it." "Why not? I thought you said it only works once ever 12 hours?" "On me it only works every 12 hours," I corrected, "but if you touch it, it'll transform you." "Oh," she noted, not alarmed at all by this prospect. I noted this? was Shirley really interested in becoming another person? I tried to banish the thought from my mind. She changed the subject, "at least let me take you to the mall, so that you can appreciate all the cool stuff you can buy as a girl." I didn't want to go out, with good reason, but even as a girl Shirley had a hold on me and I was subject to her every whim. She backed off on the ear-piercing, but wouldn't take 'no way' for an answer on the mall. So she dragged me out to the bustling city mall in the middle of a busy Saturday afternoon for a shopping date. I don't know what she was trying to do: convince me of how cool it was supposed to be being a girl, or just try to get me interested in all her silly little fascinations, like clothes and jewellery. As if those things are generated by chromosome. She showed me everything I'd supposedly missed out on all these years. All the girly boutiques I never glanced at (unless they featured a mannequin modelling underwear,) with all the women's fashions. I looked at the slutty tank tops and the shorts that didn't quite cover, and all the complicated forms of underwear available. I glanced casually at every ring, bracelet and trinket she flashed at me. I didn't get the appeal in wearing flashy metal any more than underwear that deliberately rides up your ass. And when she took me to the beauty shop to see all the cosmetics and other products on the market, I threw up a little in my mouth. "Nothing?" she asked, before swallowing a forkful of salad in the food court over our impromptu-dinner. "'Fraid not," I rolled my eyes, taking a bite out of my 6- inch meatball sub. Normally I'd get the full size, but as a girl I felt less hungry. I had to convince myself that it wasn't about watching my figure. "You're so beautiful," she gasped in seemingly reverent wonder, "I've never known a girl who looked like you and wasn't into all the girly things! Give me a break!" "Well, in case you've forgotten, I'm NOT a girl who looks like me." I glanced at the clock on the wall, "and in 7 hours, I'll be your boyfriend again." It was at this point that I began to feel nervous saying that. I felt wary of the sensation of transforming back. I looked in the shopping bags. In spire of the fact that I told her not to, Shirley got me a bunch of crap. Tops, skirts, underwear. Stuff I would never wear, because I figured I wouldn't be a girl much longer anyway. Still, I might as well admit that when she bought them I felt a certain thrill. As a guy, I'd never taken much pride in my appearance. The point of being a guy is that you don't care about being dressed nicely, or even that well-groomed. For a brief moment, it occurred to me that maybe being female could be a fun challenge to overcome. "You never know," she told me, "it doesn't have to be permanent. Just hold onto the medallion." I didn't like the idea of turning my identity into a game. As soon as this stint was over, I would go back to my original gender for good. It was around this time that something that could have been embarrassing happened. I spotted from a distance, dressed in leather jacket and with floozy on arm, Antoine Lorenzo, a guy Shirley and I knew from school. In truth he was a good friend of mine, but there was nothing false about his reputation as a womanizer. "Hey Shirl," he said, "where's Chad?" "He's... on vacation," she said, giving me a knowing smirk. Even with this girl on his arm, he gave me the eye. I felt violated. It was that look that made me worried about the people I knew, how they'd feel if I went through with this change. The awkward transitional period that would ensue with erasing Chad from existence. "Who's this?" he asked. I stuttered, the word "Chad" caught in my throat. Luckily, Shirley saved me. "That's Chandra," she said, "an old friend." "Nice..." he hissed. I sneered in disgust. That didn't register with him, but his harlot felt slighted. She was wearing one of those tube tops and pants cut low enough to give a sneak preview of her thong. She wore large hoop earrings and her lips were a glossy pink. As a guy, she'd be everything I'd lust after (if I didn't have Shirley,) but as a woman, I felt she was my mortal enemy. I gave a cold glare in their direction as he turned to Shirley and said, "Party at Richie's," he said, "8 'till late." "We'll be there," she politely consented. I was mortified as Antoine and his skank walked into the depths of the mall. "Are you kidding me?!" I said in shock, "I won't even be able to transform back by then!" "It'll be fun!" she insisted. It was this evil tone she'd had in her voice ever since I'd begun this morbid experiment. The tone that said, "You're my toy and I own you." Well, we ended up going. And in case you're of the impression that high school parties are about getting tanked with a hundred close friends and trashing the place, you're off the mark. What it turned out to be was a gathering of about a dozen or so buddies, all looking at me like I was from Mars (and me trying to pretend I've never met any of them before,) indeed getting drunk, but rather casually sitting around, shooting the breeze. "I wanna play the harmonica," confessed one girl at one point in the evening, for absolutely no reason. "We should play spin the bottle," suggested one guy at a later point. Everyone else thought it would be fun in a retro kind of way. I vehemently protested, saying "Hey, I just met all of you." That was a total lie, but so was my life at that point. "It's a great way to get to know people," chuckled Antoine. I knew what he wanted, I'd caught him staring hungrily at my breasts on occasion throughout the night. Eventually, I yielded. If they wanted to kiss a man, that was up to them. It was around this point that I began to swig my beers much more quickly. "Slow down," Shirley advised as I crossed the threshold from tipsy to drunk, and someone took one of my empties and used it for the game. As a guy, so many drinks would probably just lead me to slurred speech and a few off- colour remarks. Suddenly, I found myself in the realm of uncontrollable giggling. Everything was so much more entertaining when I was sloshed, and it even amused me when Shirley spun the bottle and it pointed at me. I looked at her and could not keep from laughing. She knew the reason; this entire time, she had not thought of me at all as her boyfriend. I was just this girl without a past that she could work on; a project of hers. I drew her lips closer to mine as the other ten cheered on. She declined at first, but I was on the offensive, planting my lips on hers as I had so often in the past. The others hollered with delight, the kiss lasted a mere second but it might as well have been an explicit pay-per-view for that crowd. I said nothing to cap it off, just giving a knowing smile. Maybe this was a good sign, or maybe it was an omen that things would never be the same. I took the bottle and firmly gave it as good a spin as my frail female frame would permit. It spun and everybody looked on in suspended excitement. As it slowed to a stop on the carpet, it nudged its way toward the one person I didn't want to kiss; Antoine. It passed Shirley, me, a blond guy, a brunette, an Asian girl, a chubby guy, Richie, and Antoine? and stopped at Antoine's date. She stared in shock. So did Shirley. I inched back toward her as once again the crowd erupted in frenzy. Since she wasn't my girlfriend, the kiss amounted to a mere peck. It was enough, however, to satisfy the desires of the audience, and she spun it. Around it went, passing all the usual suspects until it landed on Antoine. They indulged themselves by engaging in a 30-second make-out session that was frankly embarrassing. I burst out into sloppy-drunken laughter. Antoine's turn. He spun the bottle, and I watched it with vested interest as it inched its way toward Shirley. In only thing that would be worse would be if it moved one inch further clockwise to me? which it did. With lewd thoughts in mind, Antoine crept across the circle. "He wants a kiss?" I thought, "let's give him a kiss." So I grabbed him, and in what was not my proudest moment of the night, I shoved my tongue so far down his throat I could taste the gross, sticky back of his mouth. I licked his cheek a little for good measure. I thought we'd all have a good laugh about this someday. Shirley just stared at me in disbelief. She was too drunk herself to be angry, but she just couldn't believe the display that I had put on. The night wore on and virtually every drop of alcohol was drained from the house. Rich decided most of us were too wasted to find our ways home, so he opened up his extra rooms and couches to us. In what everybody took to be a chaste show of friendship, Shirley and I curled up on the couch. "This was fun," she muttered, phasing into sleep. "Yeah," I agreed. "I love you," she added, head virtually buried into my chest. "I love you too," I cooed. The lights had been turned out. Everyone else had been retired to their own rooms and couches. I gave her a light kiss on the top of her head as we both drifted into slumber. Now, when I woke up the next morning, I was understandably confused about being female still. It took me a moment to remember the events of the night before, my escapades as a girl. The drinking, the kissing, it all had made an imprint in the taste of old alcohol in my mouth. Adding to this was the taste of hair. It was my own hair, in a manner of speaking. I crawled out from under the blanket and left her sleeping. I sauntered, hung-over (and still a little drunk,) from last night, toward the nearest ground floor washroom. Stumbling through the door, I flicked on the light and looked at myself, trying to recall the feminine features o my face. I guess I should have been mortified when my dark braid was actually a tangle of blonde hair. That I'd shrunken ever so slightly in stature, though my breasts had increased ever so noticeably. I should have been horrified that the Medallion of Zulo no longer hung around my neck. I should have tried to piece it together, but I didn't. It was totally irrelevant to me. Whatever had happened to the Medallion didn't matter. Overnight, I had absorbed so much of Shirley's personality, I couldn't conceive of going back to being Chad. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was Chad ? that until that morning I'd been Chad, or Chandra ? but it wasn't important to me, since I also knew that I simply had to be Shirley McGrath. I knew this in the way Joe Smith knows that he must be Joe Smith. It occurred to me that though I could recall the process, I had never officially urinated as a girl. As Chandra, it just didn't come up, so I pulled down the jeans that I ? as Chandra ? had worn last night, that were loose on me now as Shirley, and sat down to take care of business. The new Chandra moaned and rolled over as I returned to the scene. She was just waking up. "Morning Shirl," she said. It was obvious that she'd gotten more of my memories than mine of hers. Immediately, she felt around her neck. "The Medallion!" she cried out in alarm, "it's gone!" I expressed some concern, but privately laughed at the irony. The one of us who was naturally a girl was now worried she'd never be a boy "again." She didn't quite piece it together the way I had, because her mind simply was too cluttered with new thoughts settling. For all she knew, we'd gotten drunk and switched clothes, and now the Medallion was gone. This isn't one of those stories where someone is left high and dry without the Medallion, however. Antoine had just gone through our stuff that night looking to steal little items - jewellery and keys and whatnot ? just as a joke. When we saw him later that day, he even gave it back. It was 3 PM before the time Chandra and I got back to my old house in order for her to transform "back." He seemed relieved to finally have a penis. I guess I would have been, too. I wish I could tell you it was my plan all along, to usurp Shirley's life. The fact is, I only went along with it for two reasons: one, after the switch, I'd become more Shirley than Chad. After a few weeks, it was as though the transformation had never happened for me. The second is something I told you about earlier. I said I simply couldn't bear what people would think if I'd stayed as Chandra. I couldn't erase Chad from peoples' memories, it would be too uncomfortable. Nobody would ever look at me the same, and there's no telling what kind of paperwork would be involved. As Shirley, I had a real life, a family. As I write this, I've just eaten dinner with my parents, Dave and Jean McGrath. I love them as much as Chad loves his. We quarrel occasionally, but only as much as a normal teenager with her parents. Dad doesn't like it when show too much skin. I know, my attitude about it has changed so much. At the end of all this, I decided I had to be a girl. I made no effort to change this. At the end of the school year, Chad ? predictably ? came to the same conclusion, brought out the suitcase of Chandra' clothes, and made the last step. Maybe I'll never know what things work out the way they did. It was an accident, wasn't it? I didn't think I wanted to stay as a girl before, and now it felt like the only choice. And did Chad follow suit because of some vague memories of being Shirley, or because he felt the remnants of his early life in girlhood, and knew he had to be true to himself? When she finished transforming, she took me to the river and threw the medallion in. She said that she knew it would be difficult, but we would have to move on past this relationship. And she told me never to speak about her old life again, which I guess prevents her from ever knowing the truth. I suppose that if she knew I was sitting at her desk, hugging her father, wearing her clothes, she would never speak to me again. And for me, that would be a far worse fate than being stuck in either gender, because I recognize now that no matter what the physiology is involved, whatever she must call herself, and whoever I am, I still love her more dearly than any other human being, male or female. THE END. http://www.liamslade.com