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"What we need," Mike announced, "is a girl." Jon graced him with a tired look. A glance around the cramped confines of their comic book store and it's pale, male clientele certainly led credence to Mikes statement, but Jon's expression hinted it was a tired refrain. "Last time we put a 'Help Wanted' card in the window, Mike, we got a mile high stack of CVs from every loner, loser and otaku that shop here. And most smelled worse than you." Mike barely shrugged in his defence. Big, brash and bearded, he was an unashamed comic-geek-Goth, striking chalk to Jon's mild mannered, shy and unassuming cheese. "We can't advertise for girls only, either, it being illegal and all." "Stupid fucking equal rights," Mike concluded, much to Jon's chagrin. They were interrupted by a polite cough. A surprisingly well presented young man held out an obscure British trade paperback in one hand and correct change in the other. Jon exchanged money for a receipt and slipped the book into a bad. The boy thanked them and turned to leave as Mike nudged up from his stool. "Is he wearing a Bullet Bill belt buckle?" Jon craned his neck to catch a peek. "Yeah," he cooed, "and is that a hood with Koffing's face on it?" They shared an impressed look as Jon noticed the odd piece of amber and silver gothic jewellery Mike was idly stroking. He could never be sure, but he thought it blinked before a white light flooded the shop. ----- We woke up with a fuzzy head, full to the brim with intangible memories. The most recent hovered around that little comic shop and then... nothing. He sat up with a groan alien to his ears and peered around. The room was somewhere between lip and pitch black, the curtains having been half-heartedly tugged shut. Like the sound of his voice, the room was unfamiliar, though detail was lost to the dark. The room felt cavernous, while the logical part of him sensed it was barely 6 feet wide. There were voices outside. One quiet and measured, the other ranging from angry to excited and back to angry again, at full volume. He stumbled to stand from bed, underestimating how high it was from the floor. The fall ended in a bump, a flash of pain and another odd noise bursting from his lips: a high pitched: 'ow!' Almost immediately, two giant men exploded through the door, flooding the room with a harsh, white light. One, the wide shouldered, bearded figure, scooped him up back in to bed. It was only then he realised they weren't giants. The room wasn't cavernous. He was small. And, as the bed settled under his weight, he realised he didn't even appear to be a he. "You're awake. It's been hours," the skinnier man said, brushing a forelock from his face. And memories came rushing back. The comic shop, the white flash of light, and horrific headache and then nothing. Memories swam hazily inside the cramped confine of his head. When he verbalised his confusion, his voice was breathy and impossibly cute. "What the fuck have you done to me?!" The two men swapped a look. "There was this flash and we found you, as a chick, collapsed near the door," explained the gothy one. "We shut up shop and brought you back here, to find this whole fucking room!" he went on, gesturing to the walls, covered in peeling, vintage comic posters. "This room has been a moudly store cupboard forever, then you appear and it changes? It's like you live here or some shit..." The world seemed to fade out for a moment. A vague, unnerving senses of belonging cast a shadow over the mess of memories completing for room in his head. Like he had been here before, or read about it in an old book. Reddish hair cascaded over his face as he shook his head, trying to vanish the cobwebs of confusion. "I need my phone," he insisted, groping around where his back pocket used to be. But it wasn't there. He felt denim, and - an inch of two below - flesh. Soft, warm flesh. "Where have you put it?" "We just put you into bed. We found this next to you," the skinny boy explained, offering him a plastic handbag made from Japanese noodle packets sewn together. Desperately, he tipped the contents out onto the bed, pawed through it for anything he recognised. A little black purse, a colourful looking set of keys and an extra large lollipop. He grasped the purse, emptying it to. Pocket change clattered onto the bed, along with a provisional driving licence. The bigger man snatched it from him. "Tina James?!" he asked incredulous. "Ow. You're barely old enough to smoke, says here!" Frustrated, he snatched it back, the slim card disarmingly wide in his new, tiny fingers. His heart sank. The details were as the man had announced. Ontop of that, he knew without looking in a mirror that the smiling face in the passport photo was his. Porcelain skinned, the round face was framed by hair the colour of bush fire. Her green eyes competed with the hair to be her most striking feature, all complimented by a smattering of storybook perfect freckles on each cheek. Panic-striken, he didn't know any telephone numbers off by heart, didn't know how he'd get home, but the urge to escape was overwhelming. "I have to call the police, an ambulance, somebody..." "And tell them what?" the fat one teased. "You're really a dude? At best they'll laugh at you. At worse they'll call the men in white coats," and immediately he knew he couldn't argue. No-one would recognise him now, as Tina. No-one would know him as... That was odd. Whenever he tried to think about the detail of his real life, the fuzziness from waking up returned. His head still felt impossibly full, so much information, all intangible. "I cant stay here," came that alien, almost sing-song voice again. "It's two in the morning," the young, skinny guy explained, his tone calm and measured. Immediately, inexplicably, the name 'Jon' popped into his head. Like an obvious answer to an impossible question. There was no way he could've known the man's name. Impossible was very much the operative word. "And winter. Stay here until morning, at least?" Suddenly, for no discernible reason, that seemed like a fine, sensible idea. Maybe he was flat out exhausted, maybe it was Jon's lovely tone, but a quick calm descended. "What's your name, anyway?" the boy asked. More worrying than the worry-extinguishing effect of Jon's words, he couldn't answer. He knew his name. Of course he did. And yet every time he tried to mentally reach out to touch it, speak it, he couldn't. Infuriatingly, his mind defaulted to Tina. "I... can't say," "Why not? Shy?" He shot the fat one (Mike, his subconscious unhelpfully reminded him) a look he hoped was baneful. "No. I literally... can't say! Something's messed with my head, my memory..." "Well, TINA. I suppose we'll just have to call you that," he teased further and the girl-shaped boy felt something flutter, just below his stomach. A giddy little impulse. Weird and unfathomable. It made his thighs tense and relax, just once, and he prayed for them not to notice. "We're tired, you're tired, Mike here is being an out and out dick..." Jon glared. "Look, we live upstairs. Let's all get some sleep and do something about this in the morning," he concluded, nudging the other man back into the hallway. That same calming, soothing effect from Jon's annoyingly rational tone and reasoning kicked in, and he fought the urge to pout as the door shut, very quietly. Their voices faded as they climbed to the floor above. And all at once, before he could worry or stress or panic further, his eyelids felt very heavy. Whether from exhaustion or the seemingly magical effect of Jon's words, sleep seemed like a perfectly sane and good idea. He just hoped he didn't wake up as Tina. ----------+++------------------ He did, in short. Worse still, he woke up as Tina with a full bladder. Barely conscious, his legs seem to swing from the bed of their own accord, and he felt like a passenger in his dainty little body as it padded along linoleum floor, out the door and into the little bathroom adjacent. It was hardly clean, perhaps doubling up as a customer toilet, but his body happily flipped up the frayed denim skirt, tugged down it's panties and hopped onto the seat. Struggling to wake up (and content to leave this subconscious impulse in charge) the whole experience was simple and bizarre all at once. Only when his skirt was smoothed down and bare feet were on the floor did he re-take control. Too awake to sleep again, he decided to explore downstairs. -------- The rooms in the basement, dusty and crammed in behind the shop itself, were vaguely familiar. Like a remembered image from a treasured book, a shadow of memory. He found the kitchen easily enough, and even located a few mugs, guided by these odd quasi-memories. A few minutes later the tarnished, old percolator which took pride of place on the little kitchen top was bubbling towards boiling point, the travel kettle clicking onto 'done'. The three mugs stood together, milk and teabag in one, three sugars in the chipped AC/DC mug and two in the plain one he'd found for himself. A yawn at the door made him jump, spin around. It was just Jon, all baggy t-shirt and surf shorts. "Sorry," he said, in that honest, effortless tone he had. "Didn't mean to scare you..." "It's okay," And Tina span away, instinctively reaching up to a high cupboard, guided by unfathomable recollection of where the tea spoons lived. Even on his tiptoes, though, he couldn't quite get there. Easily 4 inches short, he felt a hot flush spreading up from his chest, infuriation taking over. Worse still, Jon reached past, snaring the offending spoons easily, passing them down and adding "There you go,". That giddy feeling, a swarm of butterflies under his belly, took hold again. He quickly switched his gaze to the floor, catching sight of goosebumps on creamy girl flesh. Like yesterday, he hoped beyond hope his excitement and discomfort could go unnoticed. Today he wasn't so lucky. "Are you okay?" came the concerned enquiry. "Um, just... confused," Tina said, trying not to tell a total lie. Keeping the answer deliberately vague. "Yeah, wait...!" Jon announced, making Tina jump again. "How did you know where to find all this stuff?" He looked at the cups, the sugar, milk and took a breath. "I have... memories. Like new-old memories of this place," he shrugged, glad to be able to tell the whole truth. Fibbing to Jon was nowhere near easy. "That's interesting," the earnest young man nodded, stroking his day old stubble. He seemed still lost in thought as the kettle steamed, well boiled. Similarly, Tina's head still felt terribly full and dis- shevelled. Somewhere, muffled by the mass of information new and old, he heard a whisper. From since he could remember thinking, it had always been in his own, boy voice. And it still was. But this whisper, indistinguishable in it's content, was Tina's voice. He shuddered, concentrating instead on making drinks. The coffee was hot, bitter and very welcome. In another annoying change, he had to hold the large mug in two hands, worried one wouldn't be strong enough. His tummy fluttered again, unhelpfully. Jon looked at his watch and tutted. "I have to open up soon," he said, quietly. "Mike doesn't crawl out of bed until later. Want to come down with me? Might keep your mind off what's going on?" The frightening prospect of exploring Tina's room had been hanging over him like a black cloud. The fear of the unknown. What belongings had been conjured up by the unknown force for his scary new identity? Downstairs seemed like a great idea. He took the stairs after Jon, forced to tread each toweringly high step one at a time. Every so often the lanky young man in front would look back to check Tina was alright, continuing that trend if sweet, semi- distracting annoyingness. Unlike the cramped little rooms above and around it, the shop floor itself seemed to stretch on forever. Weeklies, monthlies, trade paperbacks, glossy posters, toys, models, t-shirts. Even factoring in his new diminutive state, the place was huge. But altogether comforting, something the maelstrom of memories and motions in his head could agree on. Like the rooms upstairs, there was something eerily familiar about the shop at rest. Especially eerie, since he'd never been here before opening before. "It'll be quiet," Jon piped in. "Tuesdays, apart from our regulars and the sixth form and school rush, are deadsville," And yet it was Tina already knew this. Like the body filed this in a drawer marked: 'Old information'. Very creepy. Jon had circled back around the counter, reaching down, taking a slurp from his tea. "That's weird..." "What is?" Tina squeaked, knocked abruptly from thought. "That stool," Jon mused, brushing a short, cushioned thing, sat next to the two he and Mike were often seen perched on. "I've never seen it before, but it seems..." "Familiar," the little-girl-shaped-boy finished, with another shudder. Disturbing development. Not only his memories, but Jon's too, were being messed with. Disturbing, indeed. ------------ Mike rolled out of bed and down to work later, thanking Tina for the drink with barely restrained glee. He was just n time to find Jon leafing through paperwork, his brow furrowed. "Apparently, she-" "He," Tina chirped, lips tight. "He has worked here for a month. And.. I sort of remember it," Mike, coffee dripping from his beard, nodded. "Yeah... I sort of do, too..." Tina frowned, her tone of dismay cartoonishly cute in her 16-year old voice. "I work in a comic shop..?" "So? What did you do before that was so great?" asked a clearly offended Mike. "I'm a nurse," And the large man's accusative gaze turned into a leer. Instinctively, Tina felt a blush peppering his freckled cheeks. "You'd look good as a nurse," Mike said, voice low. "Male," Tina bit back, ire overcoming that blush of embarrassment. "I bet you were still cute, but not as much as now," came the disarming reply. Just ready to launch into an angry, eloquent speech on how boys were just as able to rock traditionally female roles as girls. But Mike appeared surprisingly liberated, leaving Tina shocked. And self conscious. He still hadn't seen his - or rather Tina's - body in full, the hoodie was thankfully not form fitting. But the fact Mike was apparently entertaining dirty thoughts about the body made the blush accelerate. It prickled skin down his neck, spread across the bumps of his chest. Fortunately unseen, the warmth felt far from terrible. Pleasant, even. Until the smouldering blush spread a little lower and the sensation of hardening nipples against the fuzzy inside of his hoodie became unignorable. The feeling had echoes of an erection straining against underwear. A mind of it's own and fundamentally distracting. A brief downwards glance reassured him the hoodie was thick enough t o hide his disturbing excitement. And thankfully the conversation had moved on. "It's like reality is being ret-conned!" Mike announced, with geek- lore relish. "How awesome is that?" "Not very, when yours is the life being ret-conned," Tina spat back "Trust me." The door opened, stopping conversation dead. An overweight office worker type started leafing through the DC weeklies. Deprived of privacy to argue, Mike huffed, turning away to flick through something obscure and Japanese. "We'll sort something out," Jon whispered, his hand squeezing Tina's shoulder. Once again, his voice swept away Tina's anxiety. Jon's words wormed their way past conscious worries, settling intangibly as quasi- truth. "Mmm," Tina agreed. Jon flashed that earnest smile of his and switched attention back to the rotas. :::He's pretty::: someone said. Tina looked left, right, under the counter before she realised it was his - rather Tina's - voice. In his head. And unlike last night it was much louder than a whisper. His voice - his original, boy voice - was slightly quieter, if anything. --Pretty?! Boys aren't pretty.-- :::Oh, but they are.::: --Not when you're straight! Girls are pretty.--- :::Well, yes. We're very pretty, you and I. And maybe you are straight, honey, but you're also a girl now. And who are straight girls attracted to?::: and Tina's voice faded away, with a giggle. He shivered, that red hair tumbling, tousled, from the shaking of his head. He expected the voice to return, sweet and menacing, and jumped when he heard: "Is this any good?" But, thankfully, the voice was nervous and very masculine. The officer worker from earlier was holding up a Deadpool trade paperback. Eager to find comfort in the familiar, an opinion sprang unbridled to his still unfamiliar lips. "Meh, I think Deadpool's overrated. Gun-toting anti-hero with predictable smack-talk? Not really my cup of tea. If you want guns, snappy banter and quality action, I'm more of a cheerleader for Rogue Trooper," Maybe it was the absent-minded cheerleader reference, maybe the impassioned plea in support of 2000AD, but the guy ended up buying the entire 'Trooper back catalogue. With a wide grin plastered across his face. "That. Was. Awesome," Mike announced, verging on slack jawed. "How did you pull that off?" "Um... just my opinion?" "It was... immense. You really meant all that?" Tina deadpanned him, raising a thin, auburn eyebrow. "I got zapped into this stupid little body whilst I was in your comic shop. Buying comics. Of course I did," Jon smirked, apparently amused to see Mike undone so quickly. And, to tell the truth, Tina (who had long ago quit trying to even internally verbalise his old name) felt smiley, too. He liked to talk, to debate, to argue. Always had. A brush with his old self comforted, invigorated. :::Oh, isn't it fun to make Jon smile?::: Tina's voice whispered, before vanishing with another insidious giggle. A troublesome hit and run. The worst part was - it did feel good. Fundamentally, rat-in-a-maze-food- pellet, Pavlov's-dog-bell-ringing good. A reward system hard-wired into this new body. His head was increasingly full, but the day didn't stop. Cleverly, or cynically, Mike funnelled the nervy, insecure and excitable men towards Tina. Reactions ranged from flustered, flattered to fervently hooked and Tuesday morning became hot, bothered and very profitable. Blessing or curse, his traitorous inner monologue didn't return. Talking about comics, lore and pop culture was a perfect comfort blanket, a head- in-the-sand distraction from the big issue. Immersing himself in comics, ignoring the lovely warm deep down feeling brought forth by attention from customers and approval from Mike and Jon. Mike the body had a mind and drive of it's own. Hard-wired impulses and ideas. It all seemed perfectly innocent, and a week ago he would've happily berated someone for their views on X3: The Last Stand and have felt a bit of a high when he won the argument. As Tina, though, it wasn't just the competitive thing. The thrill came primarily from surprising boys, impressing them. To a point it was abhorrent. But worse than that, it was addictive. ------- Mike's lack of tact continued after the lunchtime rush when he decided to announce: "You make an awesome girl," Jon almost spat out his tea. "Mike! Seriously! Fucking hell..." Caught between angry, hurt and a sinking feeling of agreement, Tina didn't speak. Mike, heedless or inspired, barrelled on regardless. "I mean, the way you suck your lip when you're thinking... or hold your hands behind your back when you're waiting for someone to finish their point. You're a natural!" Compliments. Tina didn't know why he - or his troublesome body - should care about what Mike thought. But the way in which those words stoked the flames of his blushes, the fluttery warm fires they fanned. And at that moment he hated and felt drawn to Mike, all at once. Tina found refuge in another coffee and a weak retort of: "Thanks for trivialising my mess of a life..." "Just trying to see the positives. And you're hardly hating this, Tina," he added, voice turning cruel "You're not that good of an actress," "Actor," he replied "If you say so. Tina," And he looked away, eyes watery, prayed for customers or a hole to swallow him up and take him away. Mike might've had a warped view, but there was more than a grain of truth at the heart of his opinion. And Tina knew it. It should've felt more wrong. Half a day ago it had felt as if he'd been kidnapped, targeted for life termination. But since waking his memories had been made liquid, his worries undermined by a comforting alternate reality. And now when he reached for those old feelings of fear, terror - anger, even, it was though he was grasping through treacle. Warm and sweet and smothering. So hard to feel any of those prickly emotions. And ontop of all that, he'd really overestimated how much caffeine little Tina could tolerate. That familiar bounce tingled up from his ankles. The giddiness usually associated with drinking 3 full pots was already in full swing. And deep down he knew this was probably hindering any attempt to remain grumpy and objective. Unfortunately, like attention from would- be customers, the little-girl-coffee-hit was addictive. Worse, he fretted, the whole addictive angle experience was downright corruptive. Not just a freak accident, but another piece of some meticulous, manipulative plan. More customers pulled him away from potential paranoia, funnelled to him by an amused Mike. Mike, the man who had unhelpfully made Tina very aware of his little twitches and habits. Aware, verging on insecure, he licked coffee from his bottom lip, noting one boy's reaction: the subtle widening of his eyes, the polite coffee, a shift of weight from one foot to the other. All that from an almost innocent lick of the lips! Something Tina had done when she... he! was a boy anyway. Frightening, really. And he couldn't win either way. When he tried to keep habitual little actions in check, he felt dull, flat and fake. Too much hard work with no real reward. So, between the shameless desire for approval and his over- caffienated state, Tina loosened up and went with the flow. Mike breathed a undisguised sigh of relief. And later Jon shook his head as the till clanged shut again. "Keep this up and we'll be closing early!" he chirped, glancing about the aisles. They had been rifled through and ravaged by very interested customers and quite the mess. Jon frowned, just slightly, the soft skin of his forehead furrowing. And, bolt from the blue, something began to tug at the edge of Tina's mind. A nagging sensation, an unknown itch set in motion by that subtle but unhappy frown of Jon's. Words leapt forth from Tina's mouth before he could think them: "Do you want me to tidy up a bit?" Jon raised an eyebrow, his lips tugging into that honest, earnest smile. "Oh, you don't have to," But it was like Tina had almost located that itch. Just needed to move left a bit, up a smidge... "It's cool, I want to help," the words came again, and that was it. He'd definitely found the itch, could feel imaginary nails scratching at it. Sweet relief tinged with the realisation of where relief came from. Jon. Helping Jon, even. He expected Tina's cute little voice to fill his head at any moment, teasing, goading. But the threat was enough, and before he knew it he down down amongst the books and toys, straightening up the shop floor, led by another set of anachronistic half memories shared with Tina. Like he'd worked here in a dream. But whereas he tended to forget dreams more and more as he woke, it was gone midday and these memories were only becoming more cohesive. Bit by bit. "Uh..?" came a gruff cough behind him. Lost in thought again, Tina realised she had bent at the waist to organise a rack of action figures. The chubby boy stood behind him had eyes fixed on Tina's bottom, framed between his lily white thighs and rucked up skirt. Blushing furiously at what the guy could be thinking. He span 180, steadying himself on the toy stand. Apologetically, or even guiltily, the boy grabbed a couple of toys without looking which and scampered away. The boy left, only adding to the days profits, before Jon piped up: "That was..." "If you say 'awesome' I'm going to throw something big and pointy at you," "No," he cooed, rounding the counter, advancing down the aisle towards Tina. "Unexpected, maybe," "You're telling me..." and the girl turned back to tidying, reaching up high this time to return a B-Movie flying saucer to the top shelf. Even wobbling on tiptoes, he couldn't manage. And like earlier in the morning (a relative age ago), Jon leant in to help. Up so close, Tina's nostrils filled with his musk (boy soap, sweat and tea), the warm flesh of his arm brushed her cheek and that familiar flutter whipped and thrashed beneath his belly. But this time, even as Jon moved away, it didn't stop. The flutter became a thrum in the muscles of his thighs, his belly. These muscles tightened and twitched of their own accord, expectantly.A gasp caught in his throat, turned into a girlish grunt of surprise. The muscles quivered in synch, shaking so hard his knees almost gave. He blinked, carefully, as the world blurred and swam back into focus. He could hear something on the periphery of his senses, just out of earshot. "Tina..." repeated Jon, voice heavy with concern. "Tina: are you okay?" "Mm!" he replied. "Peachy Went a bit faint, like a headrush. Girls, eh?" Tina felt far from peachy, barely even normal, but normal had become a pretty fluid concept. And worry seemed pointless and tiresome against the backdrop of such bouncy, happiness (no matter how out and out odd). "Maybe you should sit down...?" Jon asked. "You're very lovely," Tina heard, and it took him a moment to realise it wasn't just in his head. Somehow it'd been his, out loud. The inner-Tina giggled. Jon sniffed, stifled a cough, rubbing one weathered hi-top into the old, tweed carpet. His awkwardness sat at odds with Tina's inexplicable elation. "You're right! Sitting down is probably a good idea," and he bounced back behind the counter, hopping onto her little stool. Various parts of Tina's body jiggling on impact, prompting another flutter, shiver and flood of warmth to the muscles in his middle. And this should've been weird, horrible - perverse even. But it was that treacly, rose-tinted feeling making it so hard to worry. He'd always been a happy drunk, anyway. "Come on," announced the girl-shaped boy "My world's been turned upside- down. I'm allowed to come off as a bit weird, aren't I?" Roles reversed, Tina's voice seemed to have a calming effect on the older boy, who followed her back behind the counter at a more sedate, considered pace. "Of course. I mean, definitely," Words queued up behind Tina's lips, meanwhile, several sentences vying to be spoke first. Enthusiasm unbridled. "It's just... full on. I have this theory, actually," The lanky boy perked at the mention of a 'theory'. "Really? Like what?" "It feels like..." and Tina paused to consider his words, lowered his voice. "Its almost Pavlovian. If Pavlov had been training people to be girls, maybe," "I don't get you," "Positive reinforcement. I make you tea, I get a reward. I chat to boys: reward. Accidentally flash my bottom: reward," he felt a red hot blush flash across his freckled cheeks at this admission, but carried on anyway. ""And every time I feel small, or cute, maybe, I get an even bigger happy," Jon stroked at his chin, finger rustling against two-day stubble. "Interesting. Devilish, really. Aren't you... worried?" "I should be!" Tina chirped, gesticulating emphatically. "Logically, I should be freaking the fuck out. And yet it's so hard to stress when I'm on a high..." Then a thought hit home, a sharp spike of suspicion. "You won't tell Mike, will you? I can trust you, but this could be.... used against me, you know?" "Mike's not a bad person. But I know what you mean," Jon smiled. "Thanks for telling me, though. Your secret's safe with me." And despite the inherent risks and the undeniable fact that the world could be a horrible place, Tina believed him. ----------------- Mike returned soon afterwards, carrying a cardboard box smeared with grease. A flick of his wrist revealed four very dangerous looking pastries and, as if on cue, Tina's traitorous tummy gave a rumble. It was true, he reasoned, they'd skipped any solid breakfast and hunger was not unreasonable. At Mike's insistence, he picked up an overloaded vanilla crown and took a little bite. Chewing thoughtfully, it was then he spotted the nodding approval, the smile born from both excitement and anticipation. "Dude," Tina tutted, nose wrinkling up. "You're weird. And a voyeur, even," He fought the urge to lick the thick, white cream from his lips, wiping it away with a finger instead. Non-plussed, Mike shrugged and devoured his own cake in short order. With remarkable restraint, Tina forced himself to eat his treat more demurely. Jon watched on, quietly tickled by the whole scene. "Maybe," he announced, after a long moment. "It's a Freaky Friday deal?" Mike gave him a disparaging look, pausing with his second cake inches from his mouth. "Referencing a Jamie Lee Curtis film? Really?" "It's a book, you philistine," "Oh." The big man took solace in his cake, ignoring the smirk shared between Tina and Jon. "Maybe," Tina reasoned "Although what moral am I supposed to learn?" "To respect how difficult girls have it compared to boys?" "I'm a nurse! I pole dance once a week, I'm a lot more enlighte-" "Back up there!" Mike interjected. "You WHAT dance?" Tina took a deep, weary breath. Irritated more at her loose lips than the boys' reaction, with even Jon being drawn in to the buzz of excitement. "I'm not getting into a debate on gender-politic with you two Neanderthals. Except to say: boys can dance, too," This sounded absurd, even he had to admit, in Tina's sing song voice. Anger just made him seem more adorable. "I don't want to know about dudes stripping," Mike fired back, dismissive. And Tina groaned again. Taking another patient breath, and with the aura of one who had been down this road of debate more than once, explained: "Right. It's pole dancing. Noone takes their clothes off. It's acrobatic. Takes work and discipline. And yes, sometimes it's downright hot. Boy AND girl wise," he finished. "But... guys?" Tina shot him a look, and Mike's shut up. "Given your cake consumption, you could do with a little pole exercise, y'know," Used to dispensing abuse rather than receiving it (especially from sweet little packages), Mike could only huff and stayed quiet. Jon chuckled, quietly, behind him. "Maybe," the taller boy added, then "You were a perfect candidate to be zapped into Tina?" That word made Tina's flesh very sensitive, all at once, and she had to fight the urge to squirm. 'Perfect' was a dangerous, distracting word. He'd never felt perfect before. "I don't really believe in... binary gender... like, socially speaking," he explained, taking slow, calming breaths. "But maybe. It's all conjecture for now, I guess," "I'll have a think," Jon announced. And it was sort of lovely, Tina thought, how the boy was taking such an interest. Even an analytical one. "So you're putting the men in white coats on hold?" Mike asked, attempting to regain some momentum. "Not to inflate your ego any further, Mike, but I have to admit you're right. Noone's going to believe my story. I'll have more of a chance to figure this out if I'm outside of a padded cell," The man did little to hide the sense of self-satisfaction such a statement gave him. "That's a shame. I'm sure they'd love hearing you rant about your 'gender-politic shit'," "Shit?" Tina asked, tiny fingers bunching into tight fists. Losing the battle to stay off his soapbox, the tiny figure took a step towards Mike and glared. "Gender effects every little thing you do or think, you prick. Every comic you sell," he continued, flinging an arm out at the shelves of books and prints "The concept of heroism! The classic hero, the angry anti-hero, the maverick. What it means to be a man... And the girls! Sidekicks, eye-candy," "I don't do chick comics," "Excuse me?" Tina laughed, eyebrows arching high. She poked at the Manga compilation Mike had been leafing through all day. "'chicks' love this stuff. Girls who look like boys, boys who dress like girls? You don't have to like the gender idle, but you can't dent it," Between the volume and content of the argument, they'd attracted a small, rapt audience of sixth-form boys. Mike was too flustered to notice. "I can and will," he said, sulkily. "I know more about comics than you do, anyway," "It's just my opinion, obviously," Tina shrugged, a picture of magnanimity. Inches away from coming off as smug in victory. Again finding comfort in the familiar, he couldn't help but be shocked by the stark differences between arguing these points in this body, compared to his old. Physically smaller, he was towered over by the fuming Mike. Every impulse, every fibre of the new body wanted to back down, to be shy and accepting. But buoyed by success and coffee, the stubborn soul deep down refused, won out. "Um..." ventured one of the on-looking boys. "What girls in comics do you like, then..?" "Me? I always had a lot of love for Medusa. She started off as a two- dimentional femme-fatale type with the Frightful Four, but then she had this crush on Johnny Storm and helps out the Fantastic Four instead.. Then it turns out she's actually an Inhuman and fianc? to the ruler of an entire race. She's an angry girl, yes, but she's 3D. She's Technicolor," and with that, he took a breath. Or tried to. Before he could shut his mouth, that brainwashed girl part of him added: "Plus, she's a redhead. And we rock," Another squirm took hold, somewhere between his belly and thighs. The ability of this other him - her, really - to take control so effortlessly like that was terrifying. Still rapt, the six-formers were all nods and interested 'mm' noises. Ever the entrepreneur, Mike dropped the argument and wasted no time in selling them all manner of Fantastic Four merch, related to Tina's point or not. "Read about it, come back and Tina will be happy to chat to each of you," He smiled, waved them out of the door. Only when they left did he flash a genuine grin. "Psycho-bitch or not, you're a hit with the young, naive and horny demographic," "Technically," Jon wagered. "She's probably younger than them. Er, he, sorry..." he corrected, but the damage was already done. Comfort in the familiar aside, Tina's body was not only tiny, but very young. He was too young to drink, legally. To gamble, drive... If he did run away, the police would have to treat him like a child. The thought was horrible, and yet only caused the still warm feeling below his belly to intensify. Vulnerability was a thrilling fear, a frighteningly real possibility. Inexplicably his thighs quivered below the counter, squeezing together tightly, his fleshed puckered up and goosebumped. "Suppose I can chalk up vulnerability as a reinforcer," he grumbled, under his breath. "What?" "Nothing," he spat back at Mike, flustered, so put on the back foot by not entirely unpleasant sensations. But the warmth spreading about his body soon faded. The energy and enthusiasm from moments before replaced - and drained - by real worry. He added feeling so up and down to the list of things he'd just have to get used to, and tried to ignore the tears threatening to roll down his freckled cheeks. ------------ Hours later, he was up again. This time on his tiptoes, waiting for Mike to catch the barman's attention. Closest thing to a boss the shop had, he had decided the bumper profits deserved a mini-celebration. So they'd ended up in a geek-friendly bar within a stones throw of the shop. The bar was pretty dingy, the majority of lighting aimed at the framed movie posters and pop culture merchandise decorating the walls. Despite the dank, Tina still felt somewhat self conscious. Not only had he been made to leave the comfort blanket of the shop, he'd redressed. Simply put, a full day in the underground geek sweat reservoir that was the shop made getting out of his Koffing hoodie quite the relief. A lot of Tina's tiny bedroom was dedicated to clothes storage. And eager as he was to find something - anything - nondescript to wear, Tina's wardrobe was pretty polarised. He put a lifetime of denim dislike aside and picked out the least tight pair of jeans he could find. Although not curve hugging, they sat low on his hips, giving a good view of the black lace-top boyshorts he'd put on earlier. Hardly a saintly choice of underwear, but were significantly more low key choice than some of the fancy fayre crammed into various drawers and boxes. He'd struggled into a plainish black bra next, covering his top half with a tight, black tee. The Umbrella Academy logo sat on his ample chest, his cute - round, rather than flat - belly poked out below. Tina was hardly skinny and the curves looked adorable on his new body. The temptation to show off more skin nagged at him, the reward of attention from random guys - as well as Mike and Jon - glistened in the distance but he shook his head, resisting. As much as he'd tried to keep the outfit non-sexual, Mike whistled lewdly when Tina joined them downstairs, while John remained noticeably shy and silent. The oversized silver buckles on the black pumps Tina'd picked out 'click-clacked' as he trotted along trying to match the boys' much larger strides. Back in the bar, Tina grabbed at his pint with both hands, as Mike ferried the other two beers back to the table Jon had snagged on their way in, a cosy four seater next to the dancefloor. "Anyway?" Mike asked, lowering himself into a chair. "Do you think a drink that size is wise?" Tina glanced down, shrugged. "I always drink a pint!" "But you're tiny now," he chipped in, beard staining his beard from the first sip. "I mean, you look cute with that big glass all to yourself but you might want to be careful is all," As another flutter swept through Tina's insides, he mentally underlined 'cute' as one of those rewarding, distracting terms table to fuck with his body. Jon seemed to watch, and smile, neither of which helped. He took an extra large glug from the beer, taunting the boys with apparent invincibility. Whether burying his head in the sand, clutching to a comfort blanket or simply ignoring the gravity of the situation, Tina treated it like any of evening of drinking out with the boys. Drank a little too quickly, spoke too loud and took a metaphorical load off. Unknitting the cosmic trap someone or thing had struck him in could wait. Mike, with drink, was simply Mike but ore so. No surprises there. Jon became quieter, however. Almost brooding. Withdrawn, like something was bothering him. But it was just a blip on an otherwise fun evening. Odd, but fun. The tense atmosphere from the arguments in the shop had dissipated, diluted by pint after pint of potent booze. Near ten o'clock, Mike vanished outside for a smoke. The table went quiet, with a tipsy Tina swinging his legs from high upon his chair, whilst Jon stared aimlessly over the rim of his fifth pint. Empty. "Are you okay, Jon?" he enquired, voice wavy with drink not not yet slurred. He grunted. Uncharacteristically inarticulate. "You seem quiet is all," "Well, I'm bloody sorry my volume levels are upsetting you," he said, any semblance of his usual demeanour gone. "Um... what?" "Today's not just been hard for you, y'know..." Tina's brow furrowed. The alcohol had turned his mind into something close to treacle again. Slow to think. "I don't get it," "Do you have any idea how hard it is to be around you? You're all sweet and pretty and clever and perfect and confused. You can me lovely over and over. Fuck. Mike's right. You make such a GOOD girl," Alcohol had certainly rolled out the red carpet to his vulnerability complex, stripped away his meagre defences. 'Pretty', 'clever', 'perfect', 'GOOD girl'. Between the drink and the anger in Jon's voice, each word made his thighs and tummy twitch harder, more insistently. "Stop it, Jon," "Why? You like that last bit, don't you?" and suddenly his gaze went darker. Beyond brooding, into malice. "You say it worries you, but deep down you love being a good girl..." Tina's squirmed turned into a noticeable buck of the hips. Thankfully too small to make the chair move, his unexpected arousal remained private. But Jon didn't let up. "Maybe you want to experience all the girly stuff. Like your first crush..." "No!" Tina whispered. He knew what Jon was doing. Using incriminating information against him. Twisting secrets he said he'd never twist. "You don't want to do this..." "You think I'm lovely... A good girl," the young man, both drunk and power drunk to boot, added. "Would naturally have a crush on me," Unlike previous meddling with his mind, this landed with a thump. Heavy, tall and undeniable. Straddling his conscious and unconscious minds, rewriting his firmware. And suddenly Jon looked different. Taller. His arms were more toned. Those eyes of his, even slanted with malice, were brighter. Twinkling, even. Tina grasped for ire. For hate, even. He certainly should hate John for his betrayal. But no. It was impossible. Every attempt hit a rose-tinted wall. And all at once Jon's palm was hot against his cheek. A gasp escaped from parted lips and suddenly Tina was very, very warm. Flushed. Old and new sensations clashed, melded together. A feeling reminiscent of the first time Clare G brushed his hand mixed with out and out arousal. Jon slumped back in his chair, smiling stupidly. For better or worse, before he or Tina could talk further, Mike arrive back in his chair with a thud. "Oh. Ha! Tina," he began, theatrically. "You're witness to a rare event. Note the glassy eyes, the loose bottom lip, the slack jaw," he went on, gesturing at Jon like he was some museum exhibit. "The once a year event of Jon Seeger: pissed!" and Mike barked with laughter. "Unlike you and my good self, Jon is not a happy drunk." ---------- Tina managed to avoid being one-on-one with Jon for the rest of the night. Every time he glanced his way Tina's tummy was invaded by butterflies. And every time Tina gave into the urge to look at Jon, it was the same but more so. Hiding behind Mike seemed the safest way out, and Tina did so until they traipsed back home. The little girl shaped boy scurried up into bed barely wishing the boys goodnight. Hidden behind closed doors, his clothes felt odd. Dirty, an extension of his mood. And stripping out of them didn't help, as it was through removing them he came face to face with the obvious wet spot on the inside of his knickers. Cursing Jon through gritted teeth, he slipped into his fuzzy Koffing hoodie and climbed into bed, wishing there was a lock on the door or that the room would stop spinning. --- To be continued...