NothingSpecial: gender-bending transformation stories, comics, and occasional poetry =^_^=
Consciousness came with a start, but not in the jolt-awake-from-a-nightmare sense. I was simply awake again…sort of. Not really. The first red rays of sunlight filtered in through the cracks of my eyelids, and my thoughts felt like molasses; my head was throbbing. What had I been doing last night? Had Gil finally cajoled me into going out and partying?
No, no…he insisted that it wasn't that kind of party, I remembered, and I wasn't lightweight or dedicated enough to get blackout drunk on whatever cheap beer they were serving up to go with pizza and first-person shooters. I wouldn't have been at the kind of party where I'd be unable to remember it afterward, and I didn't remember being at any other kind of party, so I couldn't have been at a party. But I was with someone…multiple people? …And a rat?
This was the damnedest thing. My thoughts were slow and my memory was slower – but not fuzzy and disjointed from an exhausting day or late night, or the parties I wouldn't have been at. My brain was just grinding slowly away on piecing everything together, while all around me the world was screaming by at the breakneck speed of one second per second.
Coffee. Coffee would help. I preferred tea for my evening relaxation, but in the morning, you need coffee for that raw caffeine jolt. I would find the coffeemaker. Just as soon as my limbs responded.
My body was, somehow, even more sluggish than my mind. The limbs moved strangely – at full strength, but in slow motion. Glacially, I rolled onto my stomach, then rose to my hands and knees, sliding my legs off the bed like drifting continents. The time it took to stand on my feet should have felt like a Herculean effort, but it was more like an invisible tractor dragging my limbs along; slow, deliberate, puttering, and graceless. I took a single step forward…and ground to a halt.
Time was dilating around me like I was entering a black hole. The dawn was accelerating, until the sunlight flickered like in a time-lapse nature film. None of my limbs would move another micron; I was frozen in the last stage of the step, my left leg trailing as I came to rest on my right foot. The throbbing in my head pulsed out what seemed like a steady metronomic beat, but anyone outside the black hole must've heard a decelerating series of faint clicks…
A figure in white flickered across my field of vision, like water damage on an old silent film. I could only catch the briefest glimpses before it was somewhere else. Had I been drugged, or was I being haunted, too, on top of slowly losing my mind at the event horizon?
Then a touch, quick and juddering but firm, like seismic tremors…
And then there was a lurch in my whole perception, as if my very existence was halted for a moment, and then accelerated. Was I having a heart attack? …In a black hole? While being haunted? God damn it, Gil, why did you put these ideas in my head? Well, he'd only gotten me on the heart attack specifically; the synthesis of the mystery elements into the (non-)proverbial spectral black-hole coronary was on me.
But I was thinking again, thinking clearly – and the lurching snapped back and the world slowed to something resembling normal speed. And then came a second lurch, and a second snap-back, and a third…
"Ye gods," said Emma, softly wheezing, "that right there is a lot of torque."
Energy and movement returned to me, and my brain began working overtime to fill in the blanks. I half-tripped coming out of my single step, skipped forward, landed on the ball of my foot, and pivoted toward the sound of her voice, coming face-to-face with…a disembodied head on a dresser. Now it all came back to me: the library, the lab, the accident, the flight back to the dorm, the girl in the mirror…
The girl in the mirror, right now, looking back at me.
I stared into the glass, past Emma's head, at myself. A familiar unfamiliar reflection greeted me: a girl with silver-white hair, fabric "skin," and a big brass blade turning lazily behind her. And no clothes on.
"Well," Emma said, her gaze traveling as far down my body as possible without tilting her head, "I guess that answers that question."
I leapt back with a yelp, away from the dresser and toward the bathroom, but I stumbled backwards, unused to the weight of the key on my back. And, as whatever malevolent luck-god was now presiding over my life would have it, I backed right into Tammy, coming the other way with a pile of clothing in her lap. I caught myself on the doorjamb and avoided toppling us both onto the tile, but it didn't make things much less embarrassing.
I whirled around with a mortified "Sorry!" Then her surprised expression reminded me, and I shot my hands down to cover up – and brought an arm back up when I realized that I now had two parts to cover. And then experienced a full-body cringe over the single most embarrassing moment in my life.
Tammy, for her part, gave me a funny look for a minute, but quickly recovered her composure. "Stu," she asked, "what's going on? Why are you naked?" Her eyes narrowed. "Emma…?"
"Hey, don't look at me," my decapitated classmate called from behind me. "She was like that when I got here."
I sighed, feeling my embarrassment intensify. I wished I could still blush, just for catharsis. "I couldn't sleep, because I had to see myself," I said. "And when I'd had a look in the mirror, the only thing I wanted was to go to sleep."
Tammy nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I bet. And that's why your clothes were just lying on the bathroom floor?"
"Um, yeah."
She sighed. "Well, unlike my roommates, I haven't had to repeatedly ask you not to, so I'll spare you the lecture. But what was all that fuss about just now?"
"I had to wind her up," Emma said, picking herself up off the dresser and coming over. "Then she freaked out on me, then you showed up."
They both looked at me. "I—" I stammered, "I realized I was, um, naked, and, yeah, I freaked out. That about covers it."
Emma eyed me curiously. "You didn't realize it in the fifteen-plus minutes you were just standing there mid-step?"
I shook my head. "It was hard to think. It took forever to remember stuff, and everything was moving super-fast around m—wait, fifteen minutes!?"
She whistled. "So the world speeds up from your perspective as you run down? Wild. And yeah, thereabouts. What was it for you?"
"I, uh, don't know," I murmured. "I wasn't counting. It was just…surreal. And…" And scary, I wanted to say – but the experience wasn't really as scary as my confusion over it and the ideas my agitated mind conjured up. I thought I should feel more freaked-out over it, but with hindsight and without chemicals overtaking reason, I couldn't honestly say it was as bad as all that.
Tammy put a comforting hand on my arm. "You okay there?"
I sighed and nodded. "Y–yeah. It was just freaky experiencing it without knowing what was happening. I mean, this is all still crazy, but at least I can process it, now that things aren't happening a hundred times too fast for my brain."
"Well, it's over for now," she said. "But seriously, get freaking dressed already."
I grimaced, the embarrassment returning. "Uh, yeah, right. Th–thanks for picking these up," I said, reaching out to her for the only clothes I had available. She handed them over, then got a mischievous expression on her face.
"Y'know," she said, "you don't have to wear these, if you don't want to. The Little Divas have damn near an entire costuming department between them; we could find something more to your taste, if you want."
I frowned. "Um…you want me to wear your roommates' clothes…?"
Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just taking an opportunity for petty revenge?"
Tammy considered that for a moment, her caudal fin twitching. "…Not just. Besides, they'd never notice." She looked a bit embarrassed to admit it, but shrugged it off. "You don't have to, I just figured you might want a choice. I'd let you borrow mine, but they wouldn't fit you."
Honestly, I hadn't thought about it until now. Last night was so utterly overwhelming – confusing and shocking and impossible to comprehend – that I'd hardly thought about the clothes I ended up in when the change took me. I had a rough impression, but I hadn't thought much about how they made me feel. Even now, holding the dress up for examination, it didn't seem overly frilly or anything; just a simple, understated black dress tailored around my winding key. I certainly didn't hate it.
But I wasn't eager to be wearing women's clothing, either. I was still struggling to even process this, let alone form definite opinions on something this tangential, but I could imagine feeling self-conscious about going around in a dress, even one this plain and modest – and even if I accepted this body as "me" in any sense other than that it was the one I was currently inhabiting (which I didn't,) I didn't see why I should have to re-orient my entire "style" around it.
Well, I didn't really think I had a "style;" I pretty much wore whatever, as long as it was comfortable and more or less fit what people expected of me. But…wouldn't that basically be what I had been wearing? What constitutes "fitting" apparel for a…a clockwork machine-doll-thing in the shape of a young woman? Would people find it weird to see this going around in jeans and a T-shirt? But—
No, this was ridiculous. People were going to find me weird in any case, and the college didn't have a dress code anyway. And I really just wanted something loose and comfortable that I didn't have to think about. "I guess," I replied. "All I really want is a pair of jeans and a shirt."
Emma frowned. "Aw, you're no fun."
"Back off, it's her—his call," Tammy said. "Um…okay, Alicia's probably around your size; that's her side of the room." She gestured over to the bed I'd slept in, near the window. Great, I thought, the one with the heavy perfume. I'd probably end up infused with it by the end of the day…especially with this fabric "skin." But it was better than having no alternatives, I supposed.
I went to Alicia's side of the dresser and stood there, reluctant to start rifling through some random girl's things. After a moment, Tammy joined me. "C'mon," she said. "Like I said, these two have enough clothing for a whole orphanage, and we'll put them back when we've gotten you some other clothes. Besides, you've got underwear; we'll just be borrowing a top and some pants."
She started opening the drawers, skipping the top one (which she couldn't see into anyway.) Meanwhile, I took "my" clothes from her and tossed them on the bed, then dug out the panties and slipped them back on after a moment of hesitation; even with "nothing" there, going commando would be too awkward.
A minute or so later, Tammy held up some kind of shirt. "I figured they'd have these," she said, handing it to me. "Here, give it a try. I don't know what we're gonna do about tops for you in the fut—uh, for the time being, but this you can button around that key, and it's about as neutral as you're gonna get."
I took it. It was a button-up shirt (blouse? I had no idea…) in pale lemon-yellow – cut for a woman, but fairly plain otherwise, except that the buttons were down the back, like the dress. Was this a thing, then? It rang a vague bell, but I'd never looked into this stuff much. But it was just the thing for my predicament. Shrugging, I slipped it on and spent a moment straightening it, then another minute fumbling with the buttons, fastening all but the pair nearest to my key. The fabric was a bit stiff, but it'd work.
"You know," Emma said, "there are other options. Like, something backless, or maybe a bandeau top, if you could get it to sit comfortably over the shaft?" There was a bit of mischief in her voice, and I was sure she saw this as an opportunity to play dress-up with me. I gritted my teeth, but didn't say anything. The latter term didn't conjure up any specific images for me, although I could probably work it out, but the teasing tone told me everything I needed to know.
"Yeah, I'll let Stu make the decisions here," Tammy said, heading that off before it could go anywhere. "For now, let's just get dressed and then—" There was a growl, and after a moment we realized it was her stomach. "—and then go get some freakin' breakfast," she finished. "I don't know if the change has anything to do with it, but I'm starving."
She found a pair of pants and handed them to me – faded jeans, the pale blue denim pairing nicely with the color of the top. I slipped them on, zipped them up, and fastened the button, then frowned. "These are, uh, a little tight."
She failed to suppress a chuckle. "Sorry, Stu, it's just how they do these things. We can look for a looser fit later, but they're actually supposed to be like that."
It didn't take a theoretical physicist to understand that they were supposed to flatter the wearer's lower half, and practicality was secondary at best. But seriously, how was I supposed to fit my wallet, or keys, or cell—
I stopped short, realizing that I'd had all of these with me in the lab last night, and I had no idea what happened to them. "Shit!" I hissed. "My wallet…!"
Tammy nodded, only half-understanding what I was worried about. "Yeah, that's just gonna cut off the circulation, in those pants," she said. "Or, uh, I guess maybe not. But…here." She went to the bed and dug through the pile of clothes, handing something to me. "Looks like that was provided for."
It was a black leather purse, in a simple, clean style that matched the dress. I popped the clasp and opened it, then breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of my essentials. My wallet had changed to match the purse, but thankfully the contents were untouched. Had this been with me the whole time? I hadn't noticed it, but I had had other things on my mind.
I shook off the thoughts of last night and sat down to put on the stockings. Note to self: put socks on first, I thought; at least with pants this snug. The cuffs bunched up so tight that it would've cut off the circulation, had that still been applicable. (Now, it was just uncomfortable pressure against the metal shell that gave the leg shape.) I put on the shoes, and got up to take stock. Oddly enough, I did feel better wearing something closer to my usual outfit.
"Right," Tammy said, "that's fine until we get you some other clothes. Emma, I already showered; go ahead and freshen up and borrow whatever, and let's get going. I need food yesterday."
I'd lost all track of actual time in the strangeness of waking up, but it was still early for a Saturday; and with the cold and damp of last night's storm, the campus was pretty quiet. We made it out of the dorm and down to the bus stop without seeing anyone besides a couple pledges, sitting on a bench in the quad and trying to chase off a hangover with enough hair-of-the-dog to make a whole new dog out of; they probably wouldn't have noticed if God himself came walking by.
Which was fine by me; I wasn't eager to be noticed, even if nobody would recognize me. Whether they knew or not, I knew, and exposing this thing-that-was-me to the world felt like accepting this twist of fate, or at least submitting while it had the upper hand. The rational part of my brain knew this was nonsense, but part of me still wanted to just hide in a cupboard and never let anyone see me like this, so that it wouldn't "count." (Never mind that Tammy and Emma had already seen me plenty.)
It surprised me that this wasn't more deeply uncomfortable than it was, being out like this – or the situation in general. But the shock from last night had mostly worn off, and the strangeness of this morning was fading. And there was that thing again where my emotions in this form were more abstract and controlled, not blocking my discomfort, but preventing a total freakout; my classmates' presence helped, too. And at least it was quiet out…
Even the bus was fairly quiet, though we did attract a few stares. Metamorphic science as a field of study had been around long enough that demi-humans were a much less uncommon sight these days, as successive generations of transformees had children who inherited some or all of their non-human traits, who then grew up and had kids themselves, and so on and so forth. For having initial populations as small as a single individual, the number of fifth- or even sixth-generation demi-humans in the world was surprisingly high.
Of course, some were better-represented than others,° but it was an oddly consistent trend, especially with human birthrates trending downward in many first-world countries. Various theories had been put forward to explain this, but many were founded in or hijacked by groups with pretty obviously speciesist and/or sexist views, so that it was something everyone else felt awkward talking about.
° (The large initial population of mermaids, at the start of the Baby Boom, had enough of an impact down the line that many major coastal cities had full-fledged marine developments, and underwater construction had skyrocketed in the last three decades.)
I hadn't thought too much about it myself, but it seemed like the desire for companionship after a traumatic event, our natural tendency to find comfort around others like ourselves, and natural human(oid) "urges" were plenty sufficient to explain it. But I hadn't considered it relevant enough to my life to really bother studying up. But now…I didn't know how my classmates felt about it, but a part of me couldn't help considering it, in the abstract.
Tammy was now part of a significant majority-minority group among demi-humans, but she was also plainly upset about it, for whatever reason. But then, I'd gathered that she had a stable and supportive home environment, and that probably meant a more positive outlook on family (or so I assumed.) I knew nothing about Emma's background before she mentioned cows yesterday, but she seemed well-adjusted, if reckless; she was also probably the only demi-human like her in the world, and might subconsciously want more of her kind around. But then, I was also unique, and as for me—
I stopped short, practically wrenching my thoughts off that track. It was irrelevant anyway, I told myself; I knew what I'd seen in the mirror last night. Still, it kept nagging at the back of my brain, and I had to focus on refusing it any headspace for the rest of the trip, as the bus picked its way down the damp hillside streets towards the lakeshore. Finally, we reached our stop.
My go-to spot for coffee in the Lakeside business district was the little bakery/café in the basement of the old Dewey-Setzer Building near the harbor museum, but Tammy was clear that she wanted some serious breakfast, and all they offered was organic whole-grain muffin type stuff. The Lakeside Grill on 27th Avenue had killer breakfast entrées, but the line to get in was best measured in parsecs, especially on weekends. We ended up at a little diner on Grand Avenue, where the coffee wasn't as good as the one and the food wasn't as great as the other, but we could at least get both.
It wasn't too busy, but there were enough people around – old retired guys shooting the breeze, delivery drivers stopping in for coffee and a sandwich, an elderly lady completely absorbed in today's crossword, and a frazzled mother with two young children in tow – that our entrance caused a bit of a stir. The entire room (save for the crossword lady) radiated an aura of mild astonishment, and the waitress at the counter was clearly at a loss for words. If it were the climate for them, I'dve expected a tumbleweed to go rolling by.
(I wondered – when they looked at me, did they see an artificial construct in the likeness of a human, or a girl who happened to be made out machinery? And…which would be preferable?)
To her credit, the waitress quickly recovered her composure and seated us in a corner booth, with enough room for Tammy to stretch out her tail under the table and Emma to set her head atop it, and for me to huddle as far into one corner and out of sight as possible while allowing my key to turn. "Can I, uh, start you off with something to drink?" she asked, clearly trying to get a feel for the situation – and, probably, figure out if anything she might say would be considered offensive.
Funny, I thought, she wouldn't have given us a second thought if we'd come in here yesterday. I glanced at Emma. Guess if this were a few years ago, she'd have to worry about "smoking or non?" But I gave her the most pleasant smile I could muster after the last twelve hours. "Just water for me."
Tammy also ordered water; Emma went for coffee right off the bat, then gave me a curious look. "Wait, can you even drink like that?"
I stopped and thought about it. I'd just gone with what I felt like, but… "I'm…not sure," I said. "I don't feel thirsty, exactly – like, no dry mouth or anything. I'm not hungry, either. But I could use a glass of water, somehow."
My decapitated classmate thought for a moment; as she did, the shimmery, smoke-like haze above her grew denser and more turbulent. "Oh, right!" she said, at last. "Your breath last night – it was normal. Y'know, warm and a little moist; I remember that struck me funny. I bet whatever does your voice now, it starts with a little steam jet or something." She frowned. "I wonder how it boils the water…?"
While she was off on that tangent, the waitress came back with our drinks. I cautiously took a sip of water, feeling it travel down my throat to somewhere inside me; nothing disastrous seemed to happen. "Are you ladies ready to order, or do you need a minute?" I heard her ask. I cringed, feeling self-conscious at the term, but tried to keep it hidden. It wasn't her fault that I looked like a girl now.
"I'll have the full-platter breakfast," Tammy said. "Scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sourdough. And orange juice. Oh, one of those apple-cinnamon muffins, too."
Emma stared at her in surprise, but ordered an omelette for herself; I didn't order anything, since I wasn't hungry and had no idea what would happen if I tried to eat. When the waitress had gone to put our orders in, Emma laughed. "Damn, girl! So much for the sushi diet…!"
Tammy gave her a Look. "Don't jump to conclusions just 'cause you only ever see me at lunch. I always have a solid breakfast; it kickstarts the metabolism. Besides, I am legit starving here. Don't ask me why, but I gotta eat."
I nodded. "It makes sense; your lower half is around 30–40% longer now, and probably close to three times the mass." The latter figure was normally more like twice, but most mermaid transformees didn't start as longtime paraplegics.
She frowned, sipping at her water; across the room, something set the geezers off into uproarious laughter. "So that's why it felt like so much more work moving around," she said. "Jeez, that's gonna shoot my dietary plan all to hell." Then she glared at Emma. "You're kicking my tail. Stop it."
"Oh, sorry," Emma said. Then, more cheerily, "On the bright side, it's gonna be a lot easier to exercise, now that you can just go to the pool." Tammy looked briefly irritated, but said nothing, and I wondered again what she thought of all this. Emma took herself by the forehead and tilted her head back, putting the coffee cup to her lips to take a sip. "Or, wait, can you? Does the chlorine matter? Stu?"
"It's not great for merfolk," I said, shifting around in my seat as my key slowly turned towards full-horizontal position and started dragging against the cushions on the seat back. "It irritates the soft tissues in the gills, so they have to hold their breath like normal humans; but it's no worse for them toxicologically than for the rest of us. Plus, the school has a freshwater pool for them."
"Anyway," Tammy said, blatantly changing the subject, "after we're done here, we should head up to the mall and pick up some clothes for Stu. Alicia's stuff seems to fit fine, but if they're doing the artist-loft fantasy thing, they're probably gonna move their stuff over the weekend." She frowned. "Cripes, I hope my new neighbors are less annoying."
I wasn't sure how to respond. I still wasn't comfortable thinking of this as something even semi-long term, and even if I conceded that point, it wasn't like I only had the dress and nothing else. And I wasn't eager to go shopping with Emma along; I had a pretty good idea how she'd act. "I've got plenty of clothes back in my room," I said.
Tammy gave me a sympathetic half-smile. "Sure," she said, "but they're all cut for, well, your old shape. The looser T-shirts would be fine if you cut an opening in the back, but I'm guessing you've never tried on pants or tighter tops cut for the wrong body shape before. Even if you didn't care how you look, it'd be uncomfortable."
My metaphorical heart sank at "your old shape;" I could feel my internal tempo drop. But she wasn't wrong, after all. I wondered how much discomfort I could really feel, with a body made of felt-padded metal, but if I still had a sense of touch, odds were good that I could still feel pain. Besides, as awkward as it felt going around in public as a "girl," doing so in obviously ill-fitting clothes would just draw further attention, which was exactly what I didn't want. I sighed and nodded.
"I'm gonna need some new tops, myself," Emma put in. "Pulling something on over this…smoke-stuff…is this kind of brain-frying sensory overload, and I only have a handful of button-up shirts."
Tammy chuckled dryly. "I suppose I'm the lucky one here; all I really need to do is cut slits in the sides of some of my skirts. But between that and fixing up Stu's T-shirts, we're gonna need a sewing kit."
As she was saying this, the waitress sauntered up with several plates balanced carefully on her arms. "Here you are, girls," she said warmly. "Let's see…uh, you had the omelette, right?"
Emma didn't try to perform a nod with her head sitting flat on the table; she just reached for her plate. "Yep, thanks!"
"And, uh, these are yours, right, hun?" She set the other plates down, arrayed in front of Tammy, before producing a carafe apparently out of nowhere and refilling Emma's coffee. It was an impressive spread: three strips of bacon, four sausage links, three enormous buttermilk pancakes, two eggs, scrambled, a pile of hash browns, two slices of buttered toast, and the muffin and juice on top of that; it made me wish I was hungry. Tammy didn't even pause, attacking the meal like a woman possessed.
I stared in mild amazement for a bit, then turned to watch Emma instead, which was downright surreal. She left her head sitting on the table atop a handful of napkins, tilted to one side with the natural angle of her jawline. Her body, seated to the side, took forkfuls of omelette and conveyed them to her mouth, without even once stabbing herself in the face. She wasn't even paying close attention; could she just sense where her head was in relation to her body? Her head bobbed up and down as she chewed, the muscles tensing like normal when she swallowed, the food going God-knows-where…
After the strangest meal of my life to date, Tammy went to use the bathroom and Emma took her head up to the counter to pay the check. I was left alone in the booth, nursing my water and wondering if I'd ever get to eat again. While I waited for the others to get back, I heard one of the kids a couple tables over – the girl – stage-whisper: "Mom, is that lady a robot?"
The mom actual-whispered something back; I couldn't hear, but it sounded scolding. "But she's got a key in her back!" the girl replied.
"An' the other lady was missing her head!" her little brother exclaimed, not even bothering with the whisper – or his indoor voice, for that matter.
"Nuh-uh, it was on the table!" his sister shot back.
Their mother glanced back at me with a look of embarrassment on her face, then answered them with a rapid-fire string of hissing syllables; I still couldn't make it out, but I knew the pattern well enough. Whatever she said, it was clearly the last word on the matter; both of them quieted down after that, though the girl kept turning back to stare at me before her mother made her stop.
A couple minutes later, my classmates returned. As we made our way out, one of the old fellows at the table by the window turned to me, with a strange expression that I couldn't read. He was hunched with age – he must have been well into his eighties – and had the kind of perma-stubble you get when you're so wrinkled that you can't get a clean shave anymore; his thin, wispy hair frizzed out from under one of those embroidered veterans' caps. He nodded at me as if we knew each other; this baffled me, but we were hustling out the door and I wasn't inclined to go back and investigate.
"Who was that?" Emma asked, when we were out on the street. I shrugged. "You got me; I've never met him before." What was he thinking? Was that a creepy-grandpa moment at the sight of a…a pretty young lady? It didn't feel like that; at least I didn't think it did, having never been on the receiving end of those before. There was nothing lecherous in his expression, just an odd look of recognition. Maybe it was just senility, I thought sadly.
We went back down to the bus stop, and I put the whole thing out of my mind; I'd probably never see him again, anyway, and thinking about it just made me unsettled, though I didn't know why. A few minutes later, the bus pulled up, and we boarded and headed up the hill.