Chudayi Ke Din Chdayi Ki Raaten 8211 Part I
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One Day At A Time (Part Four) free porn video
Author's note: I apologize for the delay in getting this out.
Writing has been especially difficult for the past year or so, and the
words just haven't been flowing like they did. I'm utterly astonished
that the first two chapters were each over 30 pages as I have no idea
how I managed to write those in such a short time, though I guess I
started losing steam during the third chapter, which might be apparent
in how the third chapter was half the size of the other two.
Unfortunately, this chapter is even shorter and I apologize. I don't
know if chapters will remain short or if they'll get larger again, but
if this winds up being a five part story, this would still belong in
Part Three.
Again, I have to apologize for how long it's taken to finish this
chapter. I was rather disappointed when I saw my stories in the
"added this day in history," signifying a year had passed. Part of
the problem was the trouble writing. Adding to this was writer's
block; I felt I'd written myself into a corner and didn't really know
how to get out. I had many false starts where I'd get in five or six
pages, but things got too dark; I couldn't get away from Mark
committing suicide. Things still get a bit dark in this chapter;
darker than I'd like but I think I managed to write myself out of my
block. When I started this, I wanted a realistic character that would
behave as a normal person might, even if he was in an unrealistic
situation. Still, this wasn't as easy as I'd thought it should be, as
it's hard to steer a character one direction when reality is steering
the other.
Looking back on the serial, I realize I've made a number of mistakes
that I regret. I wish Mark and Allison were older, for one; the
younger age was for realism; the idea was a younger individual would
respond better to hormones than an older one. Unfortunately, the
younger age just seems a bit creepy to me, and really doesn't fit the
story; Allison's a bit more mature mentally and better developed
physically than a 13/14 year old girl. Someday I might go back and
edit the first three chapters, but I hope no one minds that I give
Mark/Allison a couple of years and make them 15/16.
Another thing that I'll need to retroactively edit might be the ending
of chapter three. Mark was just too optimistic for a boy who'd just
been mutilated and had just lost both his father and his step mother.
In any event, if I go back and fix things up, I'll do it after the
story has been completed. And I will complete this; I made a promise
and I intend on keeping it. I don't know when the next chapter will
be posted; could be a few days or another year (I intend to work on
this in the next few days so I hope it's closer to the former than the
latter, but I can't make any promises in that regard), but it will be
completed.
I just wanted to thank the people that have commented on the story or
e-mailed me; your feedback is greatly appreciated and just knowing
that people were waiting for the next segment is what motivated me
every time I tried to write this chapter. And yes, I want to find out
where Mark/Allison wind up just as much as you guys do.
Thanks again for reading, here's the story.
***
One Day at a Time (Part 4)
By Lost
Mark took a deep breath and stepped into the building. For such a
simple task, it came with more than its fair share of difficulty, and
he half wanted to bolt and take off. Unfortunately, he knew that
entertaining fantasies would make no difference. Smoothly, without
breaking step, Mark stepped into Roosevelt High. To his dismay and
relief, no one took notice.
It was strange, starring at his locker. It had been October when he'd
last stood there, and now it was the beginning of March. It felt like
a lifetime ago. But then, he thought to himself, maybe it was.
He set his jacket into the locker. Not that he really needed a
jacket; there were years here in California when he hadn't worn a
jacket at all. Still, the jacket hid his figure better than the extra
layer of clothing he was wearing, designed to bulk him up while
constricting his abhorred chest.
He looked for his books, belatedly remembering that he didn't have any
yet this semester. Shouldering his pack, he closed the door and
headed for his first hour class, English. While he was worried about
how his six month absence would affect his studies, he knew at least
that the language hadn't changed any since he'd been gone.
It didn't take him long to find the classroom so he settled down into
a chair in the back. Normally, he used to sit near the front or in
the middle of the classroom, but in the back he'd hopefully avoid
attention.
"Mark? Is that you?" exclaimed a voice loudly from near the door. So
much for that idea, he thought to himself. A tall boy with sandy hair
approached him and Mark recognized the boy as Timothy Williams, a
longtime friend of his.
"Hey?" Mark quickly rubbed his throat; his voice had come out higher
pitched than he'd intended. Cursing silently to himself, he tried
again, forcing himself into a lower octave. "Hey, Tim. What's up?"
"Hey, man! Where the hell've you?," a flicker of emotion raced across
Tim's eyes, and then he stood there staring at Mark for a moment.
Then, his eyes creased in a frown. "What the hell'd you do to your
eyebrows, Mark? And earrings? Dude?"
Mark swallowed. "I was sick," he muttered weakly while fighting the
urge to conceal the pair hole in each earlobe. "The eyebrows... they
got burned in an accident."
Tim seemed to consider this for a moment, but then his eyes filled
with hatred. "Fuck yeah, you're sick. What, you turn queer on us or
something? You look like a damn fairy!" Disgusted, Tim took a seat
on the other side of the classroom. Stunned, Mark got up to defend
himself, but then he noticed the stares of the other students that
were present in the classroom. Mark sat down.
A few minutes later, the bell rang and the lesson began. Lost in
thought, he barely heard the teacher's voice. What had happened to
cause his friend to turn on him like that? Sure, he looked a little
different, and his voice was higher, but he was still the same boy he
was last fall. Wasn't he? And certainly his friend had heard about
the death of his father, so why wasn't he more supportive? With any
luck, Tim was just a fluke, he thought to himself. Unfortunately, he
was wrong.
By the end of the day, Mark was an outcast. Word had spread quickly,
and to his dismay all of his old friends had abandoned him. While a
few seemed sympathetic and didn't seem to really care that he was
different, none of them had the courage to go against the crowd. His
friend Glenn had the decency to offer his condolences over his
father's death, but made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with
him as long as the others shunned him. "Nothing personal, of course,"
he'd said.
For the life of him, Mark couldn't understand the general sentiment
against him. There were a few openly gay students attending the
school and they were accepted for the most part. But even they made
no effort to include Mark. It wasn't until he'd noticed a group of
kids he didn't even know laughing at him with a number of his old
friends that he understood. His old friends were popular, and they
had rejected him, making it "cool" to do the same. Mark stood out in
the crowd when everyone desperately wanted to fit in. Not for the
first time since he'd gotten the news of his dad's death, he felt
completely alone.
Finally, the day ended and the bell rang. Hurriedly, he rushed to his
locker and into the parking lot, scanning for an unfamiliar car and
the unfamiliar face of its driver. After a few minutes, he'd found
what he was looking for and climbed into the passenger side.
John Davies gave him a smile. "How was your first day back, Mark?" he
asked.
A part of Mark wanted to ignore him, to ignore the day he'd been
through. To ignore the fact that the man driving was from his foster
family, a man whom Mark should have never even met. "Bad," he choked
out in a rough tone, hoping the stranger beside him would drop the
conversation. He did.
They had an awkward drive home to the Davies' house. John made no
further effort to talk to Mark, and Mark's mood was too dark to even
consider light conversation. After a short drive Mark went into his
room, closed the door, and collapsed on his bed.
Two hours later, Mark heard the front door open, and the voice of
Louise Davies. A few minutes later, he heard a knock at his bedroom
door. When Mark didn't answer, she opened the door anyways and
stepped in. Mark placed a pillow over the tear soaked spot on the bed
sheets.
"I hear your first day didn't go well," she said softly. When Mark
didn't answer, she continued. "What happened?" she asked. Mark
remained silent.
"Fine," she said. "You don't have to talk to me. But let me tell
you, I understand what you're going through?"
Mark gave a weak, harsh laugh and then turned to face her. "No you
don't. You have no IDEA what I'm going through, do you?" Louise
didn't answer. "I'm a god damned FREAK! I've been rejected by
everyone I know, my parents are dead, my crazy ass step-mother's
locked up who the hell cares where, and this place is being closely
watched by the cops because some insane bitch somewhere might try
something on me, as if she could do more than she already has! Yeah,
you sure know what the hell I'm going through, lady!"
Quietly, Louise left the room and closed the door. Inside, Mark felt
remorseful for his outburst, but at that point he just didn't care.
And in a way, it felt good to strike out at someone for once. When
the call for dinner came, Mark ignored it and remained on his bed.
Eventually, he fell asleep, exhausted.
The next day, Mark woke in a feeling a little better, but he was still
in a dark mood. Still wearing the clothes from the night before, Mark
stepped into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. He stared in
shock at his reflection. Even with the extra clothes, the binding
around his chest, and the short haircut, he looked like more of a
tomboy than anything. His eyebrows were too thin and his face bore no
trace of stubble, though admittedly he'd never really ever had
anything more than slightly darker peach fuzz. Both of his ears
sported holes just beginning to heal over, and his face seemed to have
a shape more feminine than masculine. His lips were even fuller than
he'd remembered, though he had no idea when or how that had happened.
Startled, Mark forced his gaze away from the mirror and brushed his
teeth without it. Then, taking pains not to look at his body, he
stepped into the shower, shampooed, and got out. The soap remained
untouched, and he ignored the toilet; it was easier to go while
showering, and then he didn't need to worry about hygiene... down
there. Disgusted, he reapplied his binding, got dressed, and hurried
downstairs for a quick breakfast of cold cereal.
Louise drove him in to school that morning, saying nothing of the
night before. The drove in silence until Mark opened the door to get
out. For a moment, he considered apologizing for his outburst the
previous night, but instead he stepped away from the car and into the
flood of students rushing into the building.
If the previous day had been bad, this day was far worse. In a few
areas, things were improving; as some of the novelty of his appearance
had worn off, he received less attention from most of the student
body, though many took this to the point of ignoring him completely.
Unfortunately despite the minor improvement in behavior towards him, a
small group of people including most of his old friends seemed
determined to pick up the slack. They hounded him constantly,
deriving a crude pleasure in his misery. It was almost as if they
felt that he'd "defected" and betrayed them somehow. However, it
wasn't until Gym class that things reached a boiling point.
Despite the privacy of the empty changing room he'd been assigned,
Mark retreated further into one of the room's bathroom stalls. Even
though the room wasn't used by anyone in his class or during that
period, he didn't want to take the chance of having an older student
come into the room unexpectedly for some reason. Changing quickly
while determinedly avoiding the sight of his own body, he stepped out
of the stall and entered the main gymnasium.
While the separate room had been necessary and comforting, the fact
that he didn't even use the men's room with the rest of the boys in
his class seemed to be the punch line to some horribly cruel joke.
Additionally, while his gym clothes were loose, they revealed more
skin than he had shown earlier and it was apparent that there wasn't
any sort of male hair on his legs at all. Also revealed by the lack
of bulky clothing was how thin he had become, and his minor loss of
muscle mass. It was only after three boys were sentenced to detention
that Coach Saunders was able to regain control of his classroom. The
hour went by hellishly slow; despite the no tolerance policy enacted
by Coach Saunders, students continued the verbal and minor physical
abuse behind his back. It was with relief that Mark headed for the
changing rooms, eager to put the past hour behind him. Breathing a
sigh of relief at the short reprieve and chance to change into a
better choice of clothes, he leaned against
a locker for a moment.
"Hey, fag. Got your own room, huh?" said Tim Williams quietly as he
walked into the room. Behind him, two of Mark's former friends
followed.
"Get out of here!" Mark yelled. "You're not supposed to be in here!"
Tim gave a smile. "Aww, listen to the little sissy squeal!" Then, he
scowled. "What the fuck happened to you, man? You used to be cool."
Mark glanced toward the exit but remained determined to remain strong.
"What happened to me is none of your business, but it wasn't my
choice. What you should be worried about is what happened to you! I
thought were a decent guy. I thought you were my friend." He turned
towards the others. "I thought you were all my friends. Just because
I got sent through hell doesn't give you any excuse to abandon me like
that, or to turn the school against me. If anyone deserves to be
treated like shit, it's you!"
In a fit of rage, Tim rushed at Mark, and slammed him hard into a row
of lockers. Holding him there, Tim nearly shouted. "Don't you DARE
lecture me, you little shit! You're the one that went gay on us! We
trusted you, and this is how you repaid us! You've seen us fucking
NAKED for Christ's sake!"
Forcefully, Mark tried to free himself but was no match for Tim's
strength. "Why are you so homophobic all of a sudden? You've never
treated anyone like this before!" Mark asked.
Timothy didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he was looking at Mark in
an odd manner. Mark felt strangely exposed. Then, as if he'd just
remembered where he was, Tim hastily backed away from Mark, a look of
confusion in his face. Uneasy about the scene that had just happened,
one of the others stepped up to Tim.
"Uh, you alright man? We really need to get changed."
Tim considered this for a moment. "Yeah, I'm fine, Brad. But
something's not right here." He paused for a moment, starring at Mark
with a confused look. Then, as if something was suddenly clear to
him, he laughed. "Of course! The problem's in the little faggot, not
me! Thank God!"
Brad and the other boy, Frank, looked at Tim, puzzled. "Let's see if
I'm right. Strip, you little shit!" he said to Mark.
"What?"
"You heard me, strip! Do it, or we'll do it for you!"
Brad scowled. "What the hell, man? Why?" he began, but Tim cut him
off.
"You'll see!" he yelled.
Just then, the bell rang. Taking advantage of the sudden
interruption, made a run for it. "No way! I'm getting out of here!"
he yelled as he bolted for the door.
Unfortunately, Tim was faster, and he flung Mark onto the floor and
started pulling at his shirt. It ripped, revealing the binding.
Fighting against a struggling Mark, Tim unraveled the binding, and
then stopped and stood up. Triumphantly, Tim stood back, revealing
Mark's chest to his friends who stood with their mouths wide open in
astonishment.
"I knew something was wrong, but at first I thought it was me," he
explained. "But suddenly, it just clicked. I'm not turning gay!
It's that Mark's a damn girl!"
"Please, let me go!" Mark yelled, fighting back tears. "Brad, Frank!
Get help!"
Brad and Frank exchanged glances and nodded, having decided that
things had gone too far. Frank slipped out the door while Brad
stepped up to Tim. "Let him go, man. Come on, let's go home."
Tim shook his head. "No. I want to see if she's all girl or not!"
Seeing that his friend wasn't listening, Tim turned toward Brad.
"Back off, dude."
"No. This has gone far enough." He started to pull Tim away from
Mark when suddenly Tim connected an angry blow to the side of Brad's
head. The other boy went down and didn't get up.
When Frank arrived with Coach Saunders, Mark was crying and
desperately struggling as Tim pulled Mark's underwear down. Moving
faster than a fifty year old man had any business moving, Coach
Saunders pulled Tim off of Mark and slammed him into the wall. Mark
quickly pulled his pants back on. Noticing the ripped shirt, Frank
removed his and handed it to him, looking away embarrassedly. Mark
slipped it over his head and finally, it was over.
The police arrived shortly afterwards and took Tim away. Brad and
Frank gave their statements while Mark looked on, stunned. The rest
of the evening was a blur, and eventually he found himself in his room
and he cried himself to sleep.
Mark didn't return to school for the remainder of the week. The
Davies seemed at a loss as to how to help their charge, but Mark
immediately picked up on their positive intentions and while remaining
mostly silent, responded in kind.
Unfortunately, unlike with the events in Canada, the media jumped on
the story and used little discretion. While his name wasn't provided
due to his status as a minor, they eventually discovered and aired the
details from his unplanned trip to Canada. While watching a local
reporter covering the story on the news early one morning, something
inside Mark snapped.
"This is ridiculous," he said angrily, turning off the television.
"I'm tired of everyone treating me like crap. I've been a victim
since the beginning of this insane affair. Be it Diane or Patty or
Dr. Sharpe or Tim or the entire damned school, I've been the victim.
And while none of this is my fault, and I can't and couldn't do
anything about it, I'm NOT going to allow myself to continue being a
victim!"
With only minor hesitation, he stepped into the bathroom and pulled
off his sweat and grime covered clothes. Stepping naked in front of
the mirror, he forced himself to look at the figure reflected. Though
the figure's eyes were a bit bloodshot, and its hair was blonde and
pasted to its head with sweat, it wasn't his reflection. It was
Allison's. With more courage than he knew he had, he instructed the
reflected face to smile, and the pretty girl did as asked.
Breaking eye contact with the girl in the mirror, he glanced down at
her body where his had once been. For the first time, he really
examined his body, taking everything in. Despite the nagging voice at
the back of his head, telling him he should, he felt no attraction; it
was his body. Then, unflinchingly, he addressed the girl in the
mirror.
"So, this is what I look like. I can't say I'm happy, and I know I'll
probably always feel like a stranger in this body but... this is who I
am. I could go through some more surgery, I suppose, but I'll never
be a man again, will I? And even if I can, I'll never be the man I
should have been."
Mark wiped away some dirt from her nose before continuing. "You
enjoyed your life, didn't you? You weren't the happiest girl, and you
didn't fit in completely, but for the most part, you didn't allow
yourself to remain a victim, did you?" He gazed down at the pile of
clothing and bandage lying near the door. "I gave it a try my way,
and things didn't work out. But really, who was I kidding? Even if
people had been accepting, I'm no more a man than I am a girl. I'm
both, and neither, now. But ultimately, I'm me, and that's what
really matters, right?"
Mark stepped into the shower and turned the water on. For once, he
felt refreshed as the water washed over his body and he allowed
himself to relax; the shower wasn't an object of dread anymore. With
renewed courage, Mark watched as the grime gently washed off and went
spiraling down the drain.
Turning off the water, he stepped out and started drying himself off.
Wrapping the towel around his chest, he glanced at the steam covered
mirror. Red-cheeked from the heat, she smiled back at him with a new
light in her eyes. "Well, I guess this is it, then. I can't stay the
same, and while surgery might have some answers, it doesn't have them
all. I guess that's a last resort, but if I'm not going to be able to
be completely whole no matter what I do, I guess it's time to give you
a shot again." Mark turned away from the mirror, but in the corner of
his eye, he could have sworn that he'd seen the reflection nod back at
him.
She left the bathroom with a new sense of purpose and confidence.
Pausing only to grab some ill-fitting clothes, she walked down the
stairs. Louise was reading a newspaper and watching television in the
dining room; she'd taken off to look after Mark while Mr. Davies was
at work. "Morning, Mrs. Davies." She grabbed a bowl and a spoon and
poured herself some cereal.
At a loss for words, Louise stood there in silent for a moment.
"I..." she began. "Well, you seem to be feeling a lot better today,
Mark! What brought this sudden change on?"
"I just realized that being sorry for myself just wasn't working. I
still feel a bit confused and all, and I'll probably never feel right,
but I guess... I just want the best shot at a normal life that I can
get. I know I'll have to deal with my issues; I think I'll go back to
seeing a shrink, at least for a little bit, but I have to try
something different. I owe it to myself to at least to see all my
options."
"I see. Well, Mark, whatever you decide, John and I will be
supportive."
She smiled. "Thanks, Mrs. Davies. Is there any chance we can go to
the mall and get me some clothes that fit better?" Louise nodded.
"Thanks!" She paused. "And Mrs. Davies? I think... I think from now
on, I'd like it if you called me Allison."
After eating, Allison and Louise drove down to the local mall. At
first, Mark felt unsure of everything, but he forced it down and
Allison stepped into the clothing store. All of her clothes had been
left in Canada, but thankfully the foster care system had set up an
account for her to buy new ones and other items. Before long, eight
pairs of jeans, some shorts, T-shirts, socks, as well as some panties
and bras found their way into the rapidly growing pile of necessary
articles. Then, hesitantly, she threw a skirt and tank top into the
pile. Shoes were next, and Allison picked out several pairs,
including a pair of sandals with one inch heel.
Afterwards, the two found themselves in front of a hair salon.
Allison felt torn in two; decently fitting clothing was one thing, but
did she really want to get a feminine hairstyle? Mark struggled with
the issue for a while before deciding to "go with the flow." Several
hours later, Allison walked out of the shop with shoulder-length
auburn hair.
"This feels so wrong," she said while meeting Louise outside. "I
mean, I want so bad to be normal, but everything inside of me is
screaming that this isn't right."
"It'll be alright, sweetheart," soothed Louise. "Do you still want to
do this?"
Allison put the makeup kit into one of the bags. "I don't know. I
just... I can't be a boy anymore. Well, I mean, I guess I can; it's
the attitude that matters, but that way just seems closed to me. I
mean, I'm not all into that macho crap, and I don't have to be a body
builder or anything, but really, even if I did go the surgery and
hormones route, I don't really think I'll be the kinda man I'm
supposed to be. I mean, look at me! Even in all male clothes, no one
even batted an eye at the salon; I'm just a tomboy to them."
Allison wiped a tear from her eyes. "And it's not just that. I just
don't trust what hormones and surgery could do to me; look what
happened to me already!"
Louise squeezed her hand, and Allison fought down the rest of the
tears. "I... I'm never going to feel at home in whatever gender I
choose. But I know I can find happiness in either one if I try. I
mean, I've got to. I felt so confident this morning, so sure of my
decision. It jolted me out of my misery. Allison's found happiness
in the past, she can do it again." She glanced up at Louise. "And at
the very least, I need to face my fear. I need to go back to school
and confront them if I'm to stop being a victim once and for all.
Allison's got the reigns for now, so I need to let her see this
through."
END PART FOUR
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