NothingSpecial: gender-bending transformation stories, comics, and occasional poetry =^_^=
I slept well enough, but I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. There was a hardly a part of me that wasn't experiencing a dull ache, and it felt like every bone in my body had gotten a visit from the Trash Compactor Fairy. I had a suspicion that this was due to changes overnight, but it was a good ten or fifteen minutes before I finally summoned the willpower to heave myself up off the bed and investigate.
Well, one thing was for sure – I'd filled out a bit up top. Things might've squished a bit yesterday, but there was now a measurable delay between the time my torso lifted off the mattress and the time my breasts did. My tail had grown out considerably, as well – and it was actually mobile now. I could feel it arc with the rest of my spine as I gave my aching limbs a full-body strreeetch – followed by a full-body cringe as I realized what I was doing. How many of these damned behavioral quirks was I gonna have to deal with!?
With a murr and a shake of the head, I got up and padded over to the bathroom. By this point it almost felt routine: sleep, wake up, go see whatever the hell my body decided to do to me this time. My legs were still getting…leggier than I was used to, but I had less trouble with it today; and at least they were still human in structure. My face didn't feel like it was resigning from the Homo sapiens club, either…
…aside from the ears, anyway. They were the first thing that jumped out at me from the mirror; not quite in position yet, but a lot closer than they'd been yesterday. They'd broadened out, too, and the fur was really coming in; it looked to be mostly a soft gray, with no pattern visible yet. Unlike the tail, they didn't seem to move, and I still felt that lack-of-response in my brain; the musculature, I'd read, wouldn't develop 'til they were in place.
As for the face itself…I still didn't know how I'd end up, but it'd tipped the balance from not-sure to leans-feminine. The nose was a little smaller, the jaw more delicate, the brow-ridge less pronounced; my Adam's apple had shrunk a bit, as well. I couldn't tell if the skin was smoother, or it just seemed that way since I wasn't used to seeing myself this clean-shaven; I'd sacrificed the facial hair for masking purposes, for all the good it did me, but there wasn't even stubble now.
I glanced down at my chest, feeling incredibly self-conscious. I could tell from the mirror that they were nothing like huge, but it felt that way, compared to what I was used to. Enough to tent out my pajama shirt, anyway (at least with the hem tucked into my waistband,) and clearly visible in profile when I turned sideways and looked over at the mirror.
They were also sore as hell. I'd known about that from my sister's kvetching when she started to "blossom," but it was an entirely different thing to experience it myself.° It was funny, I reflected; at the time, that'd felt a little weird, like it was one of those Things Man Was Not Meant To Know – not that we'd ever held strong taboos about this stuff,°° but you get a cultural sense for it even if it's not taught to you directly. And now I was living it…
° (Plus, she got to develop normally, while I had to speedrun it over the course of a few days.)
°° (Mom being a nurse, we'd had a lot of weird medical conversations around the dinner table.)
Shaking my head, I gave the rest of my body a look-over. Yes, the proportions on my legs were still shifting, and no, there was no sign of them going all digitigrade and cat-pawed. I wasn't sure why I felt relieved; not like that was going to be the biggest adjustment in any case…but, well, fewer things to re-learn meant fewer opportunities to make a spectacle of myself. Were my hips still broadening? My shoulders were definitely narrower…
I turned 'round and glanced back at the mirror. My tail had about doubled in length since yesterday, hanging down almost to my knees, and with the fur coming in (also gray, with a white splotch at the tip) it was looking less freak show and more catgirl. I watched it twitch antsily in reflection of my own emotions as I processed that thought; I knew I was becoming one, but every day brought me closer to the end of the becoming…
That wasn't the only thing that made me feel awkward, either; getting a look at my back side drew attention to, well, my backside. If the first couple days had changed anything much in that department, I hadn't noticed; but between butt, thighs, and calves, my lower body was developing (subtle) curves. Add in the fact that I suddenly had a prow, and…
Aw hell, I realized, I was getting a figure. Not much of one, at present, but who knew where it'd go from here? Again I found myself wondering what I even wanted to look like – and feeling freshly awkward over it, as some part of my brain engaged in baseless and unasked-for speculation on the theme of my newly-foxy neighbor, another part protested that this was not genetically likely, and yet another part was really Not Okay with even considering the question. Casting about for something else to focus on, I scratched nervously at my scalp…and was suddenly keenly aware that I hadn't had a shower since Monday evening; my hair was all greasy, and my skin felt substantially grungier than usual.
The thought of taking one – of touching my changing body – was a little intimidating, I'll admit. The Internet hivemind took all of about three nanoseconds since the start of the pandemic° to associate "guy-turned-catgirl in the bath" with "gender-flipped sexual self-discovery," which made a lot of novice catgirls self-conscious about it. And while I knew that was just the Internet being stupid, and I could tell myself I rejected it, I still couldn't help but feel awkward…
° (Which the memesheep dubbed "nyandemic," a construction that I furiously loathe, refuse to accept, and wish to shoot the parties responsible for.)
Honestly, though, it was more that I felt like it'd make things more real, somehow. That was irrational, I knew; this was happening, whether I acknowledged it or not, and anyway I'd already had to get hands-on with my tail. And what else could I do, swear off baths and lick myself—
I cringed, forced that thought out of my head, and doffed my pajama shirt, my enhanced nose driving home that it was way overdue for laundering. I was surprised it'd taken me this long to notice, but the last few days had been just filled with distractions – like, for instance, the sight of my new breasts in the mirror. The realization wasn't as arresting as yesterday, but it still took me a good minute to tear my gaze away…
And even that just left me free to contemplate the final step…but there was no getting around that, either. With a sigh, I shucked off my shorts and underwear – and yes, there you had it: a developing mound, a patch of what was now downy white fur, and…that was it. There was really nothing left to signify manhood; even the remaining nub of what had been my penis was no longer outwardly visible. For a long moment, I just stared down at what wasn't there anymore.
It was funny to think: I couldn't really see without the aid of a mirror, but I knew this wasn't technically complete. The structures were probably still forming, the gonads were in transit, and it'd likely be another day or two before the upper and lower ends of the canal joined up. Even my uterus was still growing, to judge by the twinges and the very strange sensation of having a new space opening up inside me. How was I supposed to categorize° myself like this…?
° (Damn it!)
Yesterday it'd been deeply uncomfortable to think about; today, it was more confusing. Clearly, I no longer counted as a man, or even an ambiguous in-between – but it felt bizarre trying to think of myself as a woman, when I couldn't help wondering if it should be asterisked: under construction, pending final review. What was I in the meantime, then? I found myself getting all addled and emotional trying to sort it out; gah, was this a hormonal thing? Was that also something I'd have to deal with!?
Then my thoughts were wrenched off in a different direction by the sound of some small critter skittering through the attic, tiny claws scrabbling against the sheetrock of my bathroom ceiling. I found myself turning to stare after it, ears straining to triangulate, brain still confused at their refusal to pivot – and then my senses returned to me, and I realized what I'd been doing. With a sigh that sounded a lot more teenage-drama-queen than I was comfortable with, I hopped in the shower and set the water running.
Part of me felt antsy and weird at the sensation of it spattering my skin and matting down my fur, but all of me knew I needed this. It was strange to think that I was developing a sort of "cat side" to my brain, with its stupid alien instincts that kept intruding and making me feel like an idiot; but even it understood wanting to feel clean and well-groomed. I'd never been very particular about "grooming" in the human sense – it seemed like a lot of pointless effort when I didn't care much about how I looked in the first place, and sue me, I'm lazy – but this was just basic hygiene…
Just basic hygiene, I told myself, as I felt the water running down my altered form, just basic hygiene. I gave my face a thorough scrubbing, feeling the changes in structure for the first time. I didn't have to get all weird about this, no matter what a bunch of gibbering primates online thought; it'd be plenty weird enough without pushing beyond whatever the hell constituted my "comfort zone" right now…
I shampooed my hair and rinsed it, then did it again; ye gods had I gotten to be a mess over the last few days. I left my ears and tail alone; the fur was too new to have gotten all that grungy, and I didn't know how delicate it might be right now. If I was stuck with cat bits, I didn't want them all mangy. But I couldn't help prodding around the base of the ears as I lathered up; it was bizarre to feel something so clearly non-human and have my brain recognize it as a "normal" part of me. The tail was one thing, I had no basis for comparison there; but these were my ears, just not the ones I was used to.
And…okay, it'd be lying to say I didn't feel weird about soaping up and scrubbing down my increasingly feminized body. The Internet is convinced that the universe runs on porn logic and a woman's body is one giant erogenous zone constantly ready to go off at the slightest stimulation;° but I'd gathered that there was some truth to the notion that women are more sensitive to touch, and I had no idea what to expect here…
° (It isn't.)
I squirmed, rolling my hips, trying to get used to the feeling of "nothing" between my legs; it was a new flavor of bizarre. It's not like phantom-limb syndrome,° where the brain knows there should be something there and there isn't; as far as my grey matter was concerned, everything was present and accounted for, and it was none the wiser re: what hadn't finished forming yet. But I still remembered the sensations as I'd experienced them my entire life, and the reports coming in from Ground Zero were very different.
° (Or so I'm told, never having taken up amputation as a hobby.)
A lot of former guys talk about this like it's a lack of something, but it's more that the disparity between what you're accustomed to and present experience makes you very aware of what you aren't feeling anymore. You never give much thought to the basic sensations of having your reproductive organs dangling between your legs in daily life, but when they're suddenly not, it's hard to stop noticing. All my bits were there, in a sense, but not where I expected them to be…or what. Some of them were smaller, some were inside-out° – and I hadn't even finished changing yet…
° ("Outside in…?")
Feeling all weird and trying not to think about it, I soaped up the washcloth and ran it down my whole arm and side – and twitched when the other arm trailed across my still-tender breast. Then the other arm and side…and the other breast. (God, they weren't even that big – how did anyone manage with these things!?) I huffed in annoyance and reached around to scrub my back, which was less trouble than usual; whether it was from becoming a woman or becoming a cat, I was definitely more flexible.
Steam clouded the bathroom; water clattered against the shower stall. The seconds ticked by as I ran the washcloth down the outside of my legs. Then up the inside of my calves. Then across my stomach and shoulders. Then around my buttocks and the base of my tail. And then…
…well, shit. I was officially out of parts of me that weren't a little awkward to think about lathering up. But it wasn't like this was going away any time soon; I'd have to get past this sooner or later, and I really did need it. I sighed, took a deep breath, and dabbed carefully around the perimeter of the pubic mound; at least this wasn't actually tender, just suffused with the same dull ache as the rest of me, which the shower was gradually soothing. My cheeks felt a little flushed, but it was probably from the hot water; this was just basic hygiene, after all.
I scrubbed down the inside of my thighs, then gave my right breast an experimental heft. Yep, still sore. I hoped this wasn't going to last long, but I couldn't remember exactly what Caitlin had said about it back when, just that it was a point of aggravation – with which I could now heartily concur. I lifted it and gently scrubbed around and underneath this part of my chest that'd never had an underside before, then did the other. I left the nipples alone, on the theory that if the rest was still tender, they were probably worse – but there was no missing that they were noticeably larger, and the areolæ wider.
Well, that was everything, or near enough. I turned slowly, letting the water sluice over my frame and rinse off the soap; God, that felt good. I hesitated for a moment, then heaved a sigh and shut off the tap. I felt at least 80% more…well, it was hard to say human, now, especially when a certain part of my brain was already prodding me to do something about my sodden fur. I'd have to get a hair dryer, I mused, as I stepped out of the shower and began to towel off; it was still coming in and it was already dense enough to get completely bedraggled.
Plus, there was the rest of my hair – which I did my best to squeeze the water out of. It didn't seem to be growing out any quicker than usual, but I'd gotten shaggy enough over the preceding months that it hardly mattered; mostly because I was too lazy to bother doing anything about it,° but post-lockdown it'd also meant deciding between appearances and risking my humanity and manhood. Naturally, appearances lost.
° (That, and it was a subtle way to needle Bryce, who plainly didn't think it was a very "professional" look, but was too concerned with appearing open-minded to actually put it in the dress code.)
It was weird to think that the equation was suddenly flipped: I had nothing left to lose by going for a haircut, but I wouldn't be Considered Scruffy just for having it out this long, either. In fact, keeping it as short as I used to would put me further outside the norm….not that I cared about that, or anything. After all, I was never going to pass for normal again, so the only remaining factor was the hassle of maintaining it. Which was non-trivial, I thought, yanking my comb through two and a half days' worth of tangle and snarl, but probably manageable if I wanted to…
Did I want to? I hadn't really thought about that since high school, and coming back to it now brought on a whole lot of uncomfortable memories. Back then, I'd told myself I was just trying it out for the hell of it…but if I was honest with myself, it'd been a way to maintain a degree of separation, a partition between myself and the rest of the world. And between typical adolescent oiliness, lack of experience with it, and my general social awkwardness, the end result had been…how had I put it to Nicole? "Stringy-haired, hollow-eyed cave goblin?" Yeah, that about covered it.
But I didn't need that anymore, really. I was…at least baseline functional…around people, now as much as could reasonably be demanded of any responsible-ish adult type person; I didn't need some kind of built-in security blanket just to deal. What I did with it from here was entirely up to me; but what did I actually want…?
I shook my head, and my still-damp hair tickled at the base of my neck. Damned if I knew; but there'd be plenty of time to figure that out later. I could always cut it, and if I felt stupid with it short, I could always grow it back out. And hell, here was something about my appearance I still had a say in…
And there, I thought, licking the back of my hand to tidy up the last stray locks. I'd gotten through cleaning myself up in…a more or less normal-ish manner, like a normal hu—person, no matter what the chimpanzees on the Internet thought. It was just basic hygiene…which was good, because anything more would be a complication I really didn't need right now. Especially not since I found myself still standing naked in front of the mirror.
I stood there for a long moment, letting several different flavors of confusion and emotional jumble duke it out in the pit of my stomach; then I took a deep breath, turned away, and began digging through the closet. My pajama shirt needed laundering, and it was the last one I had that wasn't worn to tatters; I really ought to order some new ones. I tried on one of my other shirts, but the fit was all screwy; too loose at the shoulders and…well, not tight around the chest, yet, but snug enough to irritate the sore bits.
With a quiet growl and a lot of brooding over how much I'd have to fork out for clothes when this was done, I stalked out to the living room and grabbed my hoodie off the back of the recliner. It was the one worthwhile thing I'd gotten out of the company apparel buys,° and it really was nice: warm, roomy, and most importantly, made with a soft, fleecy inner lining that was about the gentlest fabric I owned.
° (Bryce was convinced that, if he bought us branded clothes on the semi-regular, we'd feel obligated to wear them, and this would somehow advertise us to anyone besides our own clients – the problems being that A. we never went anywhere besides the office and on-sites, and B. only Curtis actually wore them. I had three dress shirts with Fulcrum Solutions's generic identikit logo embroidered on the lapel, and I'd tried one on exactly once.)
I pulled it on and zipped it up; blessedly, the backing patch for the embroidery wasn't too stiff and sat well above nipple-level. It felt weird to be shirtless under what was technically a jacket, and I was sure I'd feel some strange new variety of under-dressed if I actually went out like this – but what the hell, it'd do for now.
That got me wondering how I was going to work around my tail. Threading it through the fly of my boxers worked (aside from mussing the fur, which I was sure I'd find even more annoying going forward,) but the pajama shorts weren't outside wear,° and that wasn't even factoring in…however much leg it'd show. I tried putting on a pair of jeans backwards; no dice. Not only were they also tight in some places and baggy in others, but even men's pants are designed around the fact that people are not front-to-back symmetrical. Plus, the zipper chafed at the base of my tail, and I knew that'd drive me up the wall even if it didn't rub things raw.
° (Not even for that strange period where people thought wearing basketball shorts in public was cool.)
I sighed; I was gonna have to live with skirts until the garment industry caught up, wasn't I. Okay, hardly the greatest indignity facing me in all this, but it irked me on principle, even if I'd no longer be Considered Odd for wearing one. I hadn't even gotten used to having my altered legs, yet; I definitely had no desire to draw attention to them.
Could I cut a hole in women's jeans without compromising the structural integrity? No idea; my sewing experience was limited to clumsy button replacement. Maybe I could find a tailor?° Or, denim skirts were a thing, weren't they? That'd be…maybe sort of vaguely like the same thing…? Less fluttery, at least. I wondered how long you could get them; but then, was it possible to wear a really long skirt without looking like a Fundamentalist homeschooler? And would it feel confining for my tail…?
° (Oh DAMN it.)
I shook my head, pining for the time before I had to think about this stuff. I'd decided long ago that I couldn't be bothered to care about fashion, and as a guy you're more or less allowed to do that; bathing, a certain bare-minimum amount of maintenance, and remembering to wear slacks and button-up shirts to the office are really all it takes to move out of the "slob" tier and into "unremarkable background entity," which I was…more or less comfortable with.
But I was aware that social standards were different for women; my sister put in more effort on her casual day-around-the-house look than I did going to job interviews, and while part of that was that Caitlin had a genuine (if low-key) interest in these things, she'd confirmed my suspicion that people's expectations were higher and you got more and funnier looks if you fell short of them as a woman.
I wasn't looking forward to having to navigate that. Of course, I could reject the idea on principle, declare me an island unto myself, and demand to know why I should care what people thought of me…but no matter how rational it might sound in my head, societal pressures and damnable hardwired social instinct make it difficult not to internalize other people's reactions. And here I was, facing the prospect of maybe having to try after years of never bothering to learn…
A little shudder ran up my spine. Good Lord, I thought, my sister'd absolutely be ready and willing to help…which got my mind all in a jumble at the realization that I hadn't even told her, or my parents. I groaned, shook my head, and finished dressing. I'd worry about that later; I wasn't even done with this part yet.
I hunched forward, tail lashing moodily, and heaved an aggravated sigh.
It was a little later in the morning. I'd gotten as far as bagging up my laundry, then got stuck in a loop, alternating between pacing around the living room, trying to figure out how to sit like this, puttering with my guitar, and meaning to go to the laundromat but avoiding actually doing so, cycling at an ever-accelerating rate and growing increasingly irritated with myself.
If only I'd sprung for a washer and dryer when I moved in…but I could just go to the laundromat, I'd told myself. If only I'd gone to the laundromat at the start of last week, I fumed…but I'd been worried about minimizing my exposure risk. If only I could make myself go now…but I felt weird and self-conscious enough about what I'd seen in the bathroom earlier, to say nothing of going out in just a jacket, boxers, and pajama shorts. If only I had anything else to wear…but I couldn't go to the damn laundromat!
Right now I was in the "sitting" phase of the cycle. It was less uncomfortable than when my tail was an immobile 8" stub, but still annoying; unlike my limbs, it bent one vertebra at a time rather than pivoting on a joint, and while my spine was more flexible, it couldn't turn 90° all at once. So if I sat cross-legged on the floor, I had to hunch forward just to avoid kinking it – and then it brushed across the carpet with every involuntary twitch, building up a static charge and picking up God-knows-what. (When was the last time I'd cleaned in here…?)
But, if I sat in the recliner, the back of the chair got in the way and it had to pass between my thighs, which felt all weird; and my agitation got the dumb thing to lashing back and forth, thwapping the inside of my knees. Ditto for the couch, though I could also hunch over like I did on the floor, as long as I turned sideways. I wondered if I'd ever be able to sit comfortably on anything besides a barstool again. I could try seiza, I guessed, if only I hated my knees and ankles…
That was the most obvious bit of musculoskeletal weirdness for today, I thought, going back to pacing, but it wasn't the only one. My gait was still weird; I wasn't developed enough in the bust to feel top-heavy, but I kept instinctively trying to rely on my diminutive tail as a counterbalance, and it was disorienting that neither end of me was quite what my brain expected. Was my proprioception adjusting to changes that hadn't happened yet? Did some part of me secretly know how I'd turn out…?
My hands were smaller, too, the fingers slenderer; not by a lot, but enough that it was throwing off what little I'd commited to muscle memory re: chord fingerings. I paused by where I'd set the guitar and ran my hand down the neck, seeing how far I could comfortably stretch and wondering if it wouldn't be different again tomorrow. I felt irritation prickle at the back of my neck; was there a single aspect of my life that this wasn't going to alter in some way?
The dull ache from this morning hadn't returned, but I still felt weird and out-of-sorts. Okay, things were less off than they'd been yesterday, as I gradually settled into my new proportions…but they were still shifting, still throwing me off a game I'd never really been on, still making me feel awkward and self-conscious about what I was becoming, what I used to be, what I wasn't yet…
I glanced over my shoulder at the door, trying to summon up the momentum to force myself outside, into the car, and down the road…but it was no use; I was too uncomfortable at the thought of going out like…this. Worse, it added (minimal) injury to (self-assessed) insult, as craning my neck 'round scraped the edge of the embroidery patch across the top of my tender breast. I winced and lurched back the other way…and hissed as this dragged the cold brass zipper up against the edge of my nipple.
My shoulders tensed, and for a moment I just stood there fuming, incensed at everything this stupid disease was putting me through. I felt little pinprick tears at the corners of my eyes – from the physical discomfort, surely – and made a concerted effort to get ahold of my emotions. It wasn't even really painful, I told myself, things were just…sensitive right now. That'd pass, eventually, right…?
I was jolted out of my brooding by a knock at the door. It didn't make me jump like the doorbell had; in fact, it was strangely soft, as if the caller realized my hearing was sharp enough to catch it anyway. Better than yesterday, but I was still in no mood for visitors – not looking like this, not dressed like this. But I thought I knew who it was; with a sigh, I went to the entryway, moved the blinds aside, and peered out the little side window next to the door. Sure enough, it was Nicole. I was only just realizing that I hadn't seen her in a couple days; surprising, after she'd shanghaied me over to her place for the entire weekend. But I'd been all huggy and infectious then, hadn't I; of course she had to keep an eye on me. It was only responsible.
"Omyagod I'm sorry," she said, when I opened the door to let her inside. Her whiskers twitched and her tail lashed, and the smell of agitated cat-woman filled the apartment. "I rrreally meant to check on nyew, but I got tied up with work Tuesday and then Gillie got it into his head to eat some pantyhose. Got stuck at the vet all yesterday…"
"Eat…some…?" I stared at her, feeling like my ears should be flattening out. What did you even say to that?
"He gets all frrreaky about feet," she explained, the way pet owners do when they realize they're the only ones who think their animals' bizarro behavioral quirks are normal. "Dunniaow if you rrremember, but he about buried himself in nyewr shoes on Saturday." She shook her head. "Firrrst time he's done that, though. I'm gonnya have to toss the rrrest out; nyat like I have a use for 'em, niaow."
"Is…is he alrrright…?" I felt a weird mixture of embarrassment and relief at the sound of my voice; it'd settled firmly into a feminine register, but not overly high or breathy. I wondered if I still sounded kinda nasal outside of my own head.°
° (I never was sure if that was because I still had my adenoids.)
"Bless his pointed little head, mya," she nodded, then turned her attention to me. "How 'bout you? Nya doin' okay…?"
There was a brief moment there, when I'd finished parsing the question but hadn't started thinking about it yet, where I still felt vaguely coherent; then my brain began to go over the files, recalling everything I'd been through, everything I'd felt in the last forty-eight hours, and I was suddenly struggling to keep from falling apart completely. I felt myself power-cringe, trying to shrink into my own torso like a damn turtle. Was I okay, hell! I gritted my teeth and tried to keep from tearing up again. When had I gotten this emotionally unstable? It must be a hormone thing, damn it…
"G–gotta do mya laundrrry," I sputtered, trying to make myself stabilize, to power through it. I could focus, I could make myself focus, if I could just find something to grab onto, to make myself work toward. I was an adult, dammit, not some awkward adolescent flying off the handle at the slightest provocation…
Nicole gave me a knowing look. I felt myself bristle at it; okay, she wasn't actually laughing at me, but some part of my brain brooded over the idea that she could be, that it wouldn't even be unreasonable, that I must seem objectively ridiculous right now. Cheeks aflush, I glanced pointedly away. "Wh–what!?"
"C'myan, nyew're nyat goin' to the laundromat like that," she said. "I've got a washer 'n drrryer, nyakniaow. Let's go get your stuff running, and then we can talk."
Oh joy. I was not in a mood to have Big Important Conversations right now; not dressed like a hobo, not with my emotions jumbling up at the drop of a hat, not when I couldn't even figure out how to sit right, not while I was freaking SORE in the freaking TITS. But…God, this wasn't going away, was it. Even if this was the nadir, the most awkward it'd ever be, I'd still be stuck like this for…a good long while, if not forever. And if just thinking back on the last two days could mess me up like this…
"Fine," I sighed, sounding all moody-teen-girl again and getting freshly irritated over that. I got my laundry together and threw on a pair of socks; it was warm enough out now, but it'd gotten plenty cold the other night. My shoes were already too big for me – yet another thing I'd have to replace – but it beat going barefoot on the concrete.
She said nothing while I put my clothes in the wash, and focused on keeping the inquiring cats at bay. Did I smell like one of us to them, now? I could pick up on their curiosity, at least, even if they hadn't been vocal about it. Gilligan seemed none the worse for wear, but I caught a whiff of sterile clinical air, other critters, and what was probably a general anæsthetic coming off him. What ridiculous little creatures they were…
When I stepped back into her apartment from the garage, I felt a furry pair of arms wrap me in a hug from behind, and long, stiff whiskers tickling at my cheek. Nicole stayed carefully clear of my bust; she must've known what I was going through, but then of course she would.
God, "my bust…!" I felt silly, flaky, irrational for letting it get to me, but even feeling all six of hers pressed softly against my back couldn't distract me from the weirdness of the thought. Everything was different now, so much of what I thought I knew was changing, the rug was being pulled out from under me and there was nothing I could even do but ride it out and hope to God that I'd somehow manage to land on my feet…
It was all pressing in on me, the memory of everything I'd been through. I felt blood rushing to my head and bit my lip almost hard enough for my goddamned cute-little-fangs to break the skin, trying to maintain control over my emotions. I didn't want to have a breakdown, damn it…but my eyes were already watering, and before I even knew what was happening I found myself crying hot, angry tears into Nicole's soft, fuzzy shoulder.
I don't know how long it went on; my mind was in total chaos, a snarl of pent-up emotions I'd hoped to deal with later – preferably, never – all crashing down on me at once. My tail lashed angrily, my ears felt like they should be pinned back, my fangs were bared. I'd felt paranoid about getting too close to others, scared of losing myself to whatever I might become, confused about what was happening to me, uncomfortable acknowledging the truth, indignant at losing to the virus, uncertain about how I'd end up, hideously awkward about facing the world like this, and now mortified about being a total basket case…
Through it all, she kept holding me – not saying anything, just gently stroking my hair, scratching at the base of my ears, rubbing my back. Eventually hot, angry tears gave way to soppy, maudlin ones and great, heaving sobs. I felt ridiculous, standing there bawling my eyes out, but there was no damming it back up now…and despite my embarrassment, I couldn't help but feel comforted by Nicole's touch. Finally, as the emotional turmoil began to subside and I was left merely a sheepish, snot-nosed mess, she asked: "Feeling better niaow?"
I glanced away, still embarrassed. "Feeling like an idiot, morrre like," I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and realizing to my annoyance that I didn't have anything to wipe that on. I settled for my hoodie; I could always run it through the wash, later.
She gave me a sympathetic look and a last pat on the back. "It's nyathing to be ashamed of, myakniaow," she said, padding over to the microwave to set something warming. "Sometimes we just need that, 's all."
I bristled a little, despite myself. "'We?'"
I could tell she was rolling her eyes, even from behind her; the ears flicked back briefly and her tail gave a lash. "People, I mean," she said. "Everrry niaow and then nya just gotta let it out, or you'll go crazy." She turned back to me and shrugged, smoothing down the damp, mussed fur on her shoulder. "Plus, I mean, nyew're prrrobably getting a big ol' dose of hormones you're nyat used to dealing with, rrright? Nyo surprrrise that it's takin' nyew a bit to adjust."
"Yeah, nyat thrilled about that," I groaned, feeling all self-conscious again, as she led me over to the couch. Rasputin was perched territorially on the armrest, as usual, but I pointedly ignored him and turned to face the other way; that let my stupid tail hang off the corner of the cushion, anyway. I hesitated for a minute, worried that I'd sound like a jackass, but I had to ask: "It, mya, it's…nyat always like that, is it…?"
She made a bemused little churr and gave me a Look. "You rrreally think we're all hysterical wrrrecks?"
"Wh—!? N–nyo!" I sputtered defensively. I really didn't; it wasn't like the women in my family were, anyway, and if I'd met some girls who were total flakes in college, I'd known plenty of guys who were just as stupid and irrational. But there was so much about people I didn't get, and now I was being drop-kicked into a mirror-universe where I'd have to deal with things I'd always had the nagging feeling I'd never really understand…
"I–it's just, mrr…" I sighed, glancing away and feeling like my ears should be flicking back. "It's what I worry about," I said, my voice so small that it would've been completely under my breath if not for her enhanced hearing. Her sympathetic expression returned, and she reached over and gave me a gentle squeeze of the shoulder; her thick pink paw-pads felt so funny doing that…
"Mya, nyo offense, but is this, like, a boys-don't-cry thing…?" she asked. The microwave pinged, and she went to get it, handing me a mug of what turned out to be warm milk with honey and ginger, and sitting back down with her own.
"…Nyat really," I said, taking a long sip and feeling the warmth soothe my insides the way the shower'd soothed my aching frame. "I just…I don't like feeling like I'm nyat in contrrrol of my own emotions, that's all." Was that really so abnormal? I stared into the mug, wishing it could soothe my mind as easily.
We sat there for a minute, saying nothing, as I tried to keep myself from thinking back over the decades, running through awkward memories I'd rather have forgotten. Nicole brought her mug up to her lips and lapped gently at it in cat-fashion; she looked like she wanted to ask, but she could tell I didn't want to talk about it. "Well," she said at last, "it's nyat 'always like that,' but what is? People're differrrent, and we're people, what can nya say?"
I took another long sip, sighed, and shook my head; that wasn't as reassuring as I'dve liked. She glanced back up at me from her mug. "Nyew're rrreally worried about this, huh?"
"I dunniaow what I'm even gonnya be when this is done," I said, staring into my cup again. Rasputin pivoted on the armrest so as to thwap me in the small of the back with his tail; I ignored him. "I dunniaow what it'll be like trying to live as this. I don't even kniaow what I don't kniaow. Can I even do this? What if I can't!?"
She shrugged. "I mean, it's nyat some pass/fail thing, Kit; it's just life. Nya do the best you can, and if you scrrrew up, you get up, dust yourself off, and try again. It's nyat like the Girrrl Police'll haul you off to the gulag or something." She scooched over and put an arm around my shoulder. "As far as what you're gonnya be, well…besides the obvious, that's for you to decide, isn't it?"
I drained my mug and took a deep breath. She probably wasn't wrong, not in the sense she meant it, but… "I meant more like, am I even gonnya be the same perrrson? It's obviously doing stuff to my brrrain—" I frowned. "Like that," I sighed. "These dumb speech tics, I mean, and all the other instincts. And if it's re-wiring that, what else is it changing about me? Will I be able to tell?"
I shook my head. It was strange, trying to articulate this to someone else; I wondered if I sounded all crazy and paranoid, but it was a valid concern, wasn't it? Okay, I didn't think I felt that different, right now, but what if I couldn't even recognize it? I didn't normally break down crying when I was having a bad day, after all. But on the other hand, the circumstances were pretty exceptional, between the weeks of constant stress and fear and the raw fact of having my entire body overhauled – and, yes, the resulting changes to my brain chemistry. But how could I truly know!?
Nicole didn't look at me like I was crazy, at least. She frowned thoughtfully; then one ear flicked 'round to a rear-facing position. "Snickerrrs, OFF the counter!" she hissed. Surprised, I turned – sure enough, there was the grey tabby, caught just as off her guard as I was. She slunk back down to the floor, her body language indicating that, fine, she didn't really want to be up there, anyway. Nicole allowed herself a little self-satisfied smirk° before returning to her contemplation.
° (Which I was still kind of amazed I could read on her…)
"Well, nya don't seem like another perrrson to me," she said, with a languid streeetch that began with her arms but rolled through her whole upper body. She gave me a sly grin. "Low-key strrressed, like, all the time? Bottles it all up inside 'cause he's nyat comfortable admitting it? Totally the guy who's been my nyabor for, what, thrrree years?"
"Hey," I said, glancing away and feeling like my ears should be flicking back in annoyance.
"Sorrry," she chuckled, and began to gently scratch my ears again. Now that I wasn't out of my gourd on a virus-induced high, it felt weirder to be doing this…but it was calming, and I really did need it, and anyway it wasn't remotely the weirdest thing about my current situation. Slightly embarrassed but too emotionally spent to care, I sighed, closed my eyes, and let myself nudge into her touch.
"I rrreally do mean it, though." She adjusted herself on the couch, tugging the corner of her skirt out from under her so her tail could move more freely. "And…think about it this way: in nya sense, humans're just overgrrrown monkeys, rrright? Our social dynyamics are full of it."
"I mean, nyeah…" She wasn't wrong, but I didn't like thinking of myself that way; I was a more-or-less reasonable person making mostly rational decisions, not a thrall to dumb instinct…present circumstances excepted. "But we're way more than just that," I said, though I found myself thinking of all the occasions people'd given me reason to doubt it.
"Exactly," she replied. "So if there's morrre to us than just the monkey-mind, and somethin' crazy comes along and swaps that out for a differrrent set of instincts, it's nyat like everrrything else is just gonnya go away, is it?"
I could see what she was getting at, but I had a hard time believing it was as simple as all that. "I, mya…I don't think we're that modular," I said uneasily. "I mean, nyew can't just drop a house on a differrrent foundation and expect it to stay up. Even with, like, cars or computers, changing one part can nyaffect a whole system, and they're designed for that."
"Surrre, I guess," she said, shrugging. "Like, I'm nyat tryin' to say nyathing's gonnya change; nyew got a taste of it yourself, alrrready. Heck, I'm still finding out how differrrent things are niaow, and I even kinda liked the idea goin' in. But, well…" She redoubled her efforts, gently rubbing at my scalp with the squishy pad in her palm as she scratched; it felt strange, but strangely nice.
"Nya didn't ask for this," she said, "it just happened. But just 'cause you're nyat the same as you used to be, it doesn't mean nyew're someone else. Cat-Kit isn't gonnya be exactly like prrrimate-Kit, but cat-Kit's still gonnya be Kit, nya get me?" She gave me a fangy grin. "And…I'd bet that goes for girrrl-Kit, too."
I bristled, but couldn't quite bring myself to pull away from her touch; instead, I turned my head and brooded – at that, at the thought that there might not even be much I could do about these instincts, and at the reminder of how I'd spent the weekend. (What an absolute fool I must've made of myself…)
"…You knyew, didn't you?" I muttered stiffly.
Nicole gave me a sympathetic look, but couldn't hide a trace of a knowing smile on her face. "Um, myeah," she said. "It was kinda harrrd to miss."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I wasn't quite sure why that irked me as much as it did; it felt like another nagging suspicion that, while she hadn't really been laughing at me the whole time, she might've been in a position to.
She chuckled softly. "Didja rrreally need me to spell it out for you?"
I made to answer, tail lashing, then stopped short as my brain insisted on considering the question first; ultimately, I said nothing. After a moment, she leaned back and folded her arms behind her head; I felt a little disappointed to have her stop scratching, but also strangely aware that, in my current mood, I'd probably hit my freak-out point if she continued. (Was this just going to be my life now…?)
"I tried brrreakin' it to Frank," she said, her whiskers twitching ambivalently. "Couldn't get thrrrough, nyat while…she…was all fuzzy in the brrrain. Nyand then, next morning, she just looks over at me and says, 'It's happening, isn't it?' Still out of it, all huggy with Alex, but she just…put it together, I guess." She shook her head slowly. "I don't think it can stop us from rrrealizing, but…maybe there's some things nya can't just tell people, things we've gotta figure out on our own."
I sat there for a minute, running it over in my mind, the tip of my tail twitching in agitation. Should I have realized? Could I have realized? Would it've helped? Would it have been easier to come to terms with this if I'd still been whacked out on my own neurotransmitters, high enough on the warm fuzzies to cushion my psyche from the shock, or would it have compromised my judgement re: having my gender and species scrambled the way it'd played merry hell with my social instincts, and made me get stupidly into it and do stuff I'd feel horribly embarrassed by later? I shuddered at the thought.
Anyway, with the initial shock long since passed, it'd be silly to continue brooding over what-ifs; for better or worse, I was facing this stone-cold sober.° But it was deeply weird to think about what came next; I'd been worried for so long about losing a battle to retain my sex and species, and that phase was over now. Yet this wasn't The End; there'd be tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, for decades to come.°° Like it or not, this was the start of a different phase of my life…
° (Random hormonal outbursts notwithstanding.)
°° (Unless I got hit by a bus or something.)
…one where a bunch of things would be different for me, in ways I didn't even know yet, and where I wasn't even sure what I'd be. Okay, Nicole's reassurances might make me feel a bit better; but if I was still me, yet different…was it really up to me to decide who the new me was? Could I handle that, when I never quite felt like I'd gotten the old me together? What if I couldn't figure this out, either!? Could I ever really be okay like this? Should I be? My brain swirled with questions…
Nicole leaned back and shifted around on the couch, letting her tail slip between her legs and assuming a normal human-type posture. (I'd noticed when she hugged me, but we were already the same height; even assuming that part of that was from walking on her toes…) "Anyaway, I was gonnya ask," she said, batting idly at her own tail. "Nyat to prrry, but…how arrre you comin' nyalong?"
"Coming along" was a little irksome – like I was baking a pie or something, not having my entire body remodeled without my asking – but I heaved a sigh and thought it over, trying to figure out where to even start. "…Nyew could say I've 'brrroken grrround,'" I said at last. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink, and my tail lashed at the air.
She nodded. "I figured; Frank was about the same. Mya, I dunniaow if that's a 'condolences' thing…?"
"Hell if I kniaow," I said. I was getting a little fed-up with the vocal tics; I tried to measure out my words, focus on enunciating… "It was freaky to see it in prrrogress, but it's nyat like anything's actually gone…but then people make it such a big deal culturally, and what do I even think…!?" I shook my head, staring into space.
She said nothing, waiting for me to continue; but truthfully, I didn't know what to make of it. Congratulations, me, you've got a furshlugginer vagina, aren't you just thrilled? A brand-new body part you never asked for! A fun new angle on questions of how people perceive you and what they want out of you! A whole galaxy of new euphemisms to feel weird and uncomfortable about, in a rainbow of flavors: twee, crass, cutesy, florid, tittering-schoolboy "clever" – you got it, we name it!
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!!! Order now and you'll also receive a set of breasts and complementary curves! (Sizes may vary. Offer void where prohibited by law. Void offered regardless.) We'll even throw in a rich heritage of associated cultural baggage stretching back to the dawn of history! That's right, you get the reproductive tract, the secondary sex characteristics, and the disruption of your social comfort zone, all for the low, low price of just the entire rest of your life – and it really, really works!
I grimaced and shook my head – how the hell was I supposed to feel about that!? But my fuming was interrupted by Scraps, who moseyed over, hopped onto the couch, and promptly made himself comfortable in my lap. It didn't exactly cure my disgruntlement, but I reached down and absent-mindedly scratched him under the chin. Why do we do this for cats, I wondered? It makes them happy, but there's no guarantee they'll even acknowledge it, let alone…but there he went again, purring up a storm between my legs. Okay, sure, I thought, but it's not as if this is usual cat behavior or anything…
"I just…I can't stop thinking about it," I said, at last. "How it'll all end up. Even if I am still me, I'll be all different, and I don't even know what that'll look like. But my dumb brrrain keeps jumping in with speculation, and then I have to sort out how I feel about that, even if it has no basis in reality…" To say nothing of whether that's even a normal thing to be thinking about, I thought.
"Curiosity's killin' the Kit, mya?" Nicole said wryly.
"More like I've already seen what it can do," I said, "but I have nyo idea what to expect. Is…is whatever I end up as…gonna be the kind of thing that people think of as 'prrretty?' 'Cute,' 'hot,' 'a total bombshell,' any of those things? Would I want that? What do I want to look like, and why!?" I sighed. "I never had to think about that before; now I'm stuck knowing I'll arrive somewhere, but nyat where."
She nodded knowingly. "'S only nyatural, if it makes you feel any better. I had nyo idea how I was gonnya turrrn out, as a teen; all I could do was look at my mom 'n guess. I bet nyew didn't either, didja?"
"No," I said with a groan. Her talking about it in that context made me feel all weird; it'd been one thing with my sister, but hearing it from some other woman I just happened to know felt oddly initiatory, like I was becoming part of a group I'd never belonged to before. "But going through that once was more than enough."
"Mya, can't dispute that," she chuckled, tail lashing slowly; down in my lap, the calico arched his back up into my lower abdomen as he nudged into my touch, still rumbling like an engine. "But…if it helps, that's all more a state of mind than anyathing. Nature plays its part, sure, but 'prrretty,' 'cute,' 'hot?' Those're all how we choose to prrresent ourselves, I think."
Her whiskers twitched, and she gave me a fangy grin as she got up off the couch and padded into the kitchen.° "Whaddya think they sell makeup for?" she continued, rummaging through the fridge. "People try to look a certain way 'cause they want to be seen that way. Sometimes it's 'cause they imyagine other people will like 'em better, sometimes it's that they're trying to exprrress how they feel inside – but it's all prrresentation. Nyathing wrrrong with that, but it's somethin' nyew choose."
° (Our apartments were built in an open-plan style, to save on walls; I could've followed her even without my enhanced hearing.)
I turned that over in my brain as I scritched Scraps's ears. It was weird enough trying to process the question of how I wanted to look; re-framing it as a question of how I wanted to be seen made it a little easier to wrap my head around, but no less confusing to consider. I already had a pretty clear notion of who I was as a person, didn't I? Dry, snarky, detached, a loner, never getting involved, lurking in the background and never quite fitting in with the rest of the world? I could still be that when this thing was done with me, couldn't I?
But did I want that, or was it just that I didn't know anything else? Why shouldn't I want it? Was it so wrong to not fit in, like they try to hammer into you as a kid? Was I under some obligation to involve myself with the group, to draw attention? Was it a bad thing, to be a loner? I found myself almost instinctively getting hot under the collar, thinking about that – and I felt my tail stiffen up, the fur beginning to puff out. Whether or not I engaged with people was my business, dammit!
But…
…did I like being alone…?
I shook my head violently in an attempt to dislodge the whole line of questioning from my brain. Gahhh, maybe it was less trouble to just think of it in terms of looks after all. But trying to do that just brought me back to everything I'd already been running over in my head…
"…What about Frank?" I asked uneasily. Nicole had fetched something from the pantry, and I heard the soft crack and crunch of the can-opener; the pungent aroma of fish drifted over, and despite being all worked up, I couldn't help turning my gaze in its direction.
She snorted. "Okay, sometimes Nature's just unfair. Girrrl got blessed, what can nya say?" She drained the tuna and dumped it into a bowl, where it mingled with the tang of mayonnaise, then began to blend it with a fork. "'S that what nyew're all moody about?"
"It won't go away," I groaned, cringing and feeling myself redden at the admission. Even if I knew what I wanted, what if I just got stuck with…with something like that, regardless? It might not be likely, but surely it wasn't impossible. Could I even handle that? Was it a thing you could get used to being…?
She padded back over and put a hand on my shoulder. "Kitten, nyanless things take a serious turrrn in the next coupla days, I don't imagine nya have to worry about it," she said, with a sympathetic smile. "By this point, it was prrretty obvious how she'd come out. Nyew're prrrobably stuck down here with the rrrest of us mortals. Here, lunch."
She handed me a sandwich on a plate; some buried kid-instinct still balked at seeing it cut angle-wise rather than down the middle,° but after many years it no longer truly bugged me. (I wondered if I'd ever get that kind of a handle on these instincts…) "Can nyew, uh, have brrread?" I asked, as she tucked into her own. I knew there was some uncertainty around catgirl dietary restrictions, especially for the anthropomorphic types, but I'd never looked into it closely, hoping it'd never be relevant.
° (Even now, I cannot offer a rational explanation for this; it was pure kid-logic that that is How You Do Sandwiches. My mother, in mild exasperation, once cut a square out of the middle as a prank.)
She shrugged. "Nyo harm done nyet," she said cheerily. "Even the kitties can eat it, it just doesn't do 'em any good. The chives're a differrrent story, but I think that's in the dosage."
I took a bite; she had added chives to the mix. It was a nice touch, even if it was the tuna that commanded my attention. Scraps shared the latter sentiment, raising his head off my leg to offer an inquisitive look; Rasputin signaled his interest by resuming the caudal assault on my lower back.
Feeling slightly silly for indulging him, I dabbed a bit of filling out of the sandwich and offered it up on my fingertip, after checking for chives. He licked it clean with his delicate sandpaper tongue, which got me wondering about mine; I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, yet, but it wasn't something I normally paid much attention to. I ignored Rasputin for a bit, but eventually relented and gave him some; Nicole smirked, but said nothing.
Neither did I, for a bit. I hadn't realized I was hungry 'til I smelled the fish, but I hadn't actually had breakfast, what with all the Big Emotional Mess this morning; and having a bite helped take my mind off that, too. I sighed, and for the first time this morning week it wasn't a sigh of disquiet or exasperation. The apartment was warm and comfy, even as oddly-dressed as I was, the midday sun filtered in from the windows, I had food (nourishing and tasty,) a cat was curled contentedly in my lap, emitting a soft, strong rumble, and that was joined by a gentle, relaxed thrumming welling up from within my—
Oh for God's sake. I was purring, wasn't I.
I'd read once that science wasn't 100% certain how or why cats purr. I don't know if that's still true; the topic, unsurprisingly, attracted more attention post-pandemic. I gather that the how in catgirls is about the same as in cats, as far as they've been able to determine; something involving rapid modulation of breath by laryngeal action,° possibly triggered by a dedicated oscillator in the brain…?
° (This, by the way, makes it pretty much impossible to speak intelligibly when your dumb cat brain gets a good purr going. Which is just super convenient when you're trying to hold a conversation, let me tell you.)
Effectively, your breathing is chopped up into a series of little micro-breaths; this naturally throttles your respiratory rate, meaning that it's both an expression of and an aid to relaxation. You feel the vibration in your chest (even though the aperture is up in your throat,°) which is soothing in the same way that feeling it from a cat you're petting is; purring kicks you into a feedback loop of self-sustaining contentment.
° (I'd bet this has something to do with the properties of standing waves in a closed pipe, but I'm no acoustician.)
As for why? I wasn't sure. I normally associated it with happiness, to whatever extent that applied to non-sapient critters, but I couldn't see how that'd make sense here. Was it just some animal-brain thing where safe + comfortable + needs met = chill mode, regardless of all the complicated people things I still hadn't figured out? It was annoying to think that some part of my brain was downplaying everything that stressed me, but it was hard to keep being annoyed, between the relaxing effect and the other comforts surrounding me at the moment.
At any rate…it wasn't like forcing myself to feel stressed would accomplish anything, would it? I'd have to deal with the stressors at some point, but nothing happening right now had any bearing on that. It was mildly embarrassing to realize, sure, but for now, maybe it was okay to just—
And then I stopped purring – not from any kind of shock, but because the needs met flag had just gotten cleared, in a way that I had a lifetime of familiarity with; it wasn't 'til I was already moving to dislodge the cat from my lap that I put the pieces together vis-à-vis the data points of I have to go to the bathroom and my manhood has officially Checked Out. I power-cringed, prompting Nicole to flick a curious ear in my direction, but she didn't ask and I didn't feel like bringing it up. Beyond even showering, this was not negotiable, even if it made me feel awkward on a couple levels.
I'll spare you the gory details, but I earned this the hard way and I am damn well going to rant a bit. Yes, as a woman you have to sit down to pee, barring certain novelty methods which I am dimly aware of but have no interest in pursuing. No, it's not a tremendous, life-altering inconvenience, certainly not compared to the other stuff you have to deal with when Fate schedules you for a curvier, fuzzier refit.
And for the love of God, Christ, Mike, Pete, Satan, angels, principalities, powers, all that is good and holy, all that is evil and profane, every other spirit or deity whereby anything is sworn in any religion ever practiced throughout history, all things in Heaven and Earth, all things out of the same, and any other God-damned thing I didn't cover in the preceding, it is not titillating! It's going to the friggin' bathroom, which is to say it's a mildly gross bodily function that's a relief to be done with but a nuisance to have to deal with in the first place, and the notion that it's some sort of titter-worthy blow to the remains of one's masculine pride to have to alter your pissing habits° (as compared to, y'know, anything else about the experience of becoming a woman) is frankly bonkers.
° (Besides, it's a scientific fact that nobody feels dainty and feminine when they're on the can.)
But boy howdy, you know what is a weird, awkward nuisance? TRYING TO USE A CONVENTIONAL TOILET WHEN YOU HAVE A GODDAMN TAIL. A lot of people think of them as a sort of mystery appendage sprouting from some ambiguous point in the vicinity of the lower back,° but – and this really shouldn't need saying, but apparently it does – the tail is an extension of the spine, and, as previously noted, A. the spine normally ends between the buttcheeks, and B. it doesn't make sharp turns all at once.
° (I can almost understand this with normal people, but it's also true of a bunch of furry artists, to judge by things you stumble across on the Internet, which is truly baffling. You'd think they of all people would care about these things.)
The upshot of which is that there's just no good way to sit.° Try to sit normally, and you kink your tail against the seat; hunch forward, and you brush it across cold ceramic;°° try to sit at an angle, and those dumb horseshoe seats leave one thigh sitting in the gap; straddle it backwards, and have both thighs hugging the damn bowl. It is absolutely no coincidence that old-timey raised-tank designs have been coming back into vogue recently.
° (Cleanup is also a thrillingly delicate operation, depending on the nature of one's business.)
°° (And God help you if you're in a public restroom. There is not enough UGH in the world to properly convey that experience.)
Aside from that exciting discovery, it was just…odd…being in a woman's bathroom. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first since I was facing the prospect of being one – which gave it an extra jolt of strangeness on top of my being a territorial animal by nature and finding anybody's private spaces a little alien. Oh look, I thought, it's the same tub/shower I have in my apartment, only she's got little bottles of stuff lined up on it. What purpose do they serve? Will I need them? There's hair implements on the sink counter; should I get some of those? Will they help? With what? Is anybody gonna tell me, or am I just supposed to know? I got that weird feeling again, like I was being initiated into a world formerly beyond my ken…
I reemerged just as Nicole's washer chimed, and stalked out to the garage before she could ask me if I was doing okay. Swapping my laundry over wasn't difficult, but it felt heavier than usual; as far as I knew I'd neither gained nor lost muscle tone,° so it was probably due to losing height and having shorter arms, plus a bit of not-used-to-my-new-center-of-gravity for good measure. I sighed, annoyed, and hoped that it wouldn't be too much of an issue; at least my job didn't involve a lot of lifting and carrying.
° (Not that I had much to begin with. Sue me, I'm in IT.)
She had a thing of dryer sheets on the shelf; I went to grab one, but its cloying smell assaulted my nostrils, and I hurriedly tossed it back in the box. I used to kinda like that scent, but you don't realize how incredibly chemical a lot of perfumes are 'til your sense of smell is supercharged. I noticed that her jug of detergent was unscented, and wondered if she was as sensitive as me, now; then again, maybe if you decked yourself out in whatever blend of oils and herbs and whatnot followed her around, you were better equipped to handle it.
Snickers was posted at the corner of the entryway when I got back. We regarded each other warily, and I crouched and extended my hand. She drew back and turned to stalk off, but didn't hiss at me this time; cripes, maybe I was being accepted as one of the clowder…
I fidgeted uncomfortably as I returned to the couch. The apartment was warmer than the garage, and having my hoodie zipped up with no shirt on underneath was making me feel a little toasty; I hadn't broken into a sweat, yet, but it felt like I probably would. I went to unzip it, then got all self-conscious upon remembering why I had it closed in the first place.
Nicole cocked a fuzzy eyebrow. "Take off nyewr coat, stay a while?" she quipped.
"I…don't have anything on under it," I said, my cheeks a little flushed. "It was the only thing I had that wasn't kinda snug on…nya, tender bits."
"Kinda thought so," she said, and glanced down at herself. "It was a li'l weird havin' to deal with that again, but I was all prrreoccupied with the other stuff that was happenin' to mya."
I eyed her curiously. She'd touched on this earlier, but I hadn't really thought about it 'til now – what was it like for her? Sure, she'd more or less wanted this, and she'd only had her whole body altered into an entirely different species and got a pass on the really awkward part, but it still must've been strange to experience. I almost asked, but she was already giving me a perky grin. "If nya want, nyew can borrow some things of mine."
For a moment, I wondered whether I should feel weird about that. I was aware that swapping clothes was a thing with the fairer sex,° but I was used to filing it under Things Man Was Not Meant To Know. To the extent that I thought about clothing at all, I classified it as a functional necessity: a sort of combination of armor and territory-that-goes-around-with-you to the inner monkey-mind, keeping everything else out and you in. The idea of exchanging that with a stranger was…not exactly abhorrent, but deeply strange.
° (On the occasions my sister'd had friends over, you'd swear they were cycling through every possible permutation of each other's ensembles.)
On the other hand, it was hardly the most fundamental norm that was being upended on me, and I did kinda want to be in a state that my brain could classify as "actually dressed" – it was one thing hanging around my apartment in barely more than my skivvies, but quite another to be over at a neighbor's like this. I nodded – a bit reluctantly – and followed as she rose and ushered me into the master bedroom.
"Nyew'll want something with a looser fit," she said, rummaging through the closet. "Mya got any prrreferences style-wise…?"
I considered it briefly, but couldn't think of what to say. "…Hell, I dunno," I said at last, still feeling weird at the question of how I wanted people to see me; but I trusted her enough to not deliberately mess with me, and I could always say no. "I didn't know you even owned clothes like that," I muttered, as she passed over a surprisingly professional-looking pencil skirt and blouse/jacket combo; I couldn't remember ever seeing her in anything that wasn't granola-hippie wear.
It was meant to be under my breath, but I still wasn't used to her enhanced hearing; thankfully she didn't take offense, and merely churred in amusement. "Nyever kniaow when nyew'll have to be all Rrrespectable," she chuckled. "The county officials're one thing, but everrry niaow and then we'll get some mucky-muck with the Board of Education comin' by for a Visit."
"'Prrresentation?'" I said, feeling chagrined on her behalf; I understood wanting to be taken seriously, but the thought of having to put up an elaborate front just to be Considered Acceptable reminded me of why I'd stopped wearing a tie to job interviews.° Some people judge you even while they feign tolerance; better to let them sort themselves out of your monkeysphere as quickly as possible.
° (The last time I'd been job-hunting, a pair of cretins in standard ex-Valley faux-casual "dress shirt and tie with no jacket!" wear had called me "green" to my face while making it explicit that I could look forward to treating the first ninety days as a cram school for the privilege of keeping the job. As many gripes as I might've had for anything at Fulcrum, it was a spiteful pleasure to tell those knobs I'd accepted a better offer.)
"Prrrecisely," she grinned. "Herrre, see how this suits myew."
She handed me a flowy pale-yellow blouse in some light, vaguely-gauzy fabric I didn't know enough to put a name to, and one of her patchwork-quilt skirts. I was mildly surprised by the latter – I'd never been clear on whether she had multiple different ones, or I was just misremembering the length and arrangement of patterns on a single garment – and a bit miffed at the former, which struck me as about the '70s-est thing imaginable unless it'd also come in "harvest gold…"
…but, screw it, there probably weren't any options I wouldn't feel at least moderately embarrassed over. I took them and ducked into the bathroom; whether or not she'd feel awkward about me changing in front of her, I knew I would. The blouse was simple enough (and definitely a looser fit than any shirt I owned,) but I had a hell of a time getting my tail to hold still long enough to slip it through the waistband of the skirt; I had a newfound sympathy for that catgirl in the hardware store.
Feeling…yes, "moderately embarrassed" was about right…I avoided the mirror and rejoined Nicole, who looked me over and nodded thoughtfully to herself, but mercifully avoided sharing her assessment. "Nya good with that…?" she inquired.
I shifted my hips antsily, feeling the hem of the skirt brush across my shins. It was lighter than I anticipated, probably because my brain saw quilt patterns and assumed blanket, while this was just a backing layer and an assortment of swatches with no stuffing in between. Thankfully, it hung well past my knees, though that meant it completely covered my tail, which twitched restlessly beneath the fabric; I was glad I'd left the boxers on underneath, just in case.
"It's all, er…billowier than I'm used to," I said after a moment, glancing down at my legs.
She laughed. "Prrrobably a firrrst for you, mya?"
To my irritation, I hesitated just a bit too long in replying, and she cocked an eyebrow and flicked her ears forward in curiosity. Dammit, this was not where I wanted the conversation to go…but I sure as hell wasn't going to leave that question raised and knocking around in her brain for speculation. "My sister's into cosplay," I clarified, trying not to think too hard about the specifics, "and…let's just say she's verrry good at cajoling."
"…I see," she replied, totally failing to keep a mirthful twinkle from her eyes or stop her whiskers from twitching.
"A–anyway," I said, glancing away in annoyance, "it rrreally is…less uncomfortable…so, mya, thanks." The feeling of all this loose fabric floating and fluttering in an abstract kinda way around a shape that was still undergoing renovations was weird in its own right, but at least I didn't feel like I'd get both sweaty and clammy hanging around in this.
Nicole smiled gently. "Nyat a prrroblem. I was gonnya take Frank and Alex shopping on Saturday; nyew're welcome to join us."
"Shopping trip" was not how I'd planned to spend the weekend, nor how I particularly wanted to, but there really was no getting around it. The tenderness would pass, but if my shirts didn't fit right now, they certainly weren't going to fit any better by the end of this; and who even knew how long it'd be before pants were an option again. And that was just the start of it…
"Gahhh," I sighed, "I'll prrrobably have to buy damn nyear a whole nyew wardrobe." I wondered if my socks would even still fit.
"Don't s'pose nyew've ever been brrra shopping, either," she said, idly licking the back of her hand and running it over some mussed spot on her forehead. She hadn't inflected it as a question, but I noted one ear pointedly re-orienting towards me.
"No," I said, slightly annoyed; but it was true, I didn't have a practical understanding of how the sizes worked. There were guides online, but I might as well get the rundown from someone who already knew. It was a little weird to consider, but on the scale of today's weirdness, it hardly registered; odds were that I'd need one, when all was said and done, and it'd be stupid to inconvenience myself for the sake of stubborn pride.
"Myew'll get the hang of it," she nodded, then hesitated for a moment. "And if nya have any other questions about, mya, 'girrrl things,'" she said, "feel free to ask, okay?"
I still felt pretty strange at that, but didn't bristle this time; it probably wasn't worth getting worked up over, was it. And I didn't know that I really wanted a sherpa, but… "Thanks," I said.
When my laundry was finally done, I gathered it up, thanked Nicole again, and went home. Some good it'd done me; it wasn't like most of it'd fit, anymore, so at best I'd saved Goodwill the trouble and put myself through a big stupid emotional breakdown…
…or, well, maybe another way to look at it was that I'd put myself in a better spot to have a big emotional breakdown. Had I really been carrying that much stress the whole time? I thought I'd been coping about as well as anyone would've, but no sooner did I have someone there for support than I was completely falling apart. I felt embarrassed as hell, thinking back on it, but…at least I did have someone there for me.
Anyway, it was well into the afternoon, and I could feel another wave of drowsiness coming on; I wondered, in mild exasperation, how much longer it'd be before I was finally done. I was kinda hungry, but didn't feel like making anything; but it turned out Nicole had left some of those ready-to-eat salmon-steak pouches in the pantry. Geez, I really did owe her a proper thank-you, when this was finished.
After I'd eaten, I went to change for bed – and got a surprise from the bathroom mirror, a look at myself in Nicole's clothes for the first time. The blouse flowed gently around my torso, loosely outlining my developing bust without irritating my breasts; my hair was just long enough to spill over the shoulders. The skirt swished gently around my legs with every step or shift in my stance, except where my tail tented it out in the back. The bright colors and soft, billowy fabric framed the creature in the glass, presenting a vision of gentle, eccentric warmth, and…
…Nope. It just wasn't me.
I cracked a thin smile, in spite of myself; after everything we'd discussed earlier, it was comforting that I was able to say that. Maybe I wasn't turning into someone else, after all; I might not know what to expect, but I could at least hold onto that much. My brain still swirled with questions as I crawled into bed and let sleep take me, but…that was for tomorrow's me to figure out.