The Long Embrace of Change

The Long Embrace of Change

Part VI

I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in just a day. I reflected on this as I walked toward the doctor’s office. 

Actually, I’d been changing for a while.  On the outside, this was obvious, and it wasn’t just that I’d pierced my ears or hadn’t had a haircut in months.  My body’s shape was changing, and I wasn’t sure it was all exercise and diet.  My abdomen was thinner than ever, so I suppose that’s why my hips seemed to spread out further, but my chest was also expanding.  It almost looked like I’d started to sprout a pair of budding breasts.  Physically, I felt fine – my nipples felt tingly from time to time, but I assumed that was from the piercings.  And I wasn’t obese, either – quite the opposite, in fact – so what I had weren’t the kind of man-tits you see on fat people. 

Rationally, I should have seen a doctor.  I didn’t know why it was happening.  But I did nothing.  In part, this was from embarrassment.  I mean, how does one go to a doctor and explain that he seems to be growing a pair of tits?  But more than that, I didn’t dislike it.  In fact, part of me deep in my core actually liked it.  My nipples were becoming more sensitive, and I found myself rubbing and pinching them after each bath.  In public, I wore loose clothes to de-emphasize my proto-bust; but at home, I would strip and look at myself in the mirror.  My hairless body, my pierced ears, my tits – the effect was almost, well, girlish.  I don’t know why I got excited, whether it was fact of the change or the image in the mirror.  I would get hard, and while I looked at my feminine chest, my hands would play with my masculine genitals until I came.

My mind was changing, too – changing in ways I couldn’t actually name.  My attention was less and less focused on research.  I no longer had a future in science.  My work was getting slow and sloppy, as if I didn’t really care, as if it was all an afterthought.  I was wasting my time and didn’t belong.  I needed to get off the path I was following and find another. 

So yesterday, a Monday morning, I quit grad school. 

My advisor wasn’t surprised.  He’d seen my dedication slip over the past few months.  He’d seen the careless mistakes I was making, and he’d watched me daydream for hours at a time.  I’d stopped participating in seminars – I’d just sit still while the others discussed the subject.  I was going through the motions, but that’s all – I was no longer progressing.  Whatever inner drive I’d had when I started was long gone. 

I didn’t really tell him I was quitting for good.  I mumbled about needing time off, about finding myself, about looking for direction in life.  Maybe I’d come back, I said.  I knew I wouldn’t, and I think my advisor understood that.  So he wished me well and helped me clean up my bench.

The hardest question to answer was what I’d do next.  I had no real idea.  I was distracted away from my work, but not toward anything in particular.  I really didn’t know where I was headed. 

Quitting school meant giving up my fellowship.  That meant getting a job.  I didn’t mind that, really – something mindless, mechanical.  Something to keep the bills paid and my hands busy while I sorted things out.  I was also asked to leave subsidized student housing near campus, so I’d have to find another place to live.  They would have let me stay through the end of the month, but I wanted to get out.  Not sure why – I just did. 

I got really, really lucky.  Unbelievably lucky.  Right after telling my advisor of my decision, I decided to go for a walk.  Instead of heading toward my apartment, I went the other way.  Something compelled me to go that way – I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t think of a reason not to go that way, so that way I went.  And eventually, I came across a white building on a corner with a sign in the window that said, “HELP WANTED.”

It was in the window of a beauty salon called “Kim’s Circle.”  The rest of the building was taken up by apartments.

I’d never been in a beauty salon before and Kim, or whoever ran the place, was probably looking for someone specifically trained to work in one.  I was nervous about going in; what if someone saw me?  What would they think?  Did straight guys – even straight guys who were looking less masculine – work in beauty salons?  But something in my head was telling me I should do this, that I was supposed to go in.  Besides, I had nothing to lose.  If they wanted a hairdresser, they would say so, and I would be on my way.  If they wanted someone to sweep floors, I’d have a job.  So I gulped and walked in.

The first thing I noticed was the smell – a mixture of the chemicals women use on their hair.  There was a row of chairs facing a long mirror against one wall.  A couple of women were having their hair done, but they were seated toward the back of the salon.  A tall woman stood at the front counter.  She had jet-black bobbed hair, and when she looked up, her dark brown eyes seemed to see right through the back of my head.  She intimidated me. 

“Uh….hello?” I said, stuttering a little.  “I saw the ‘help wanted’ sign out front….I’m looking for work….”  The back of my throat was very dry, and the words were coming out in squeaks.  “…I’m not a hairdresser or anything, but ….well….I can lift things and stuff, push brooms…..that would...” 

She introduced herself as Kim. I felt frozen in place while she spoke, glued in place by some invisible force that almost seemed to come straight from her eyes.  She expressed surprise that someone would be asking this soon – the sign had just gone up a few moments before I walked in – but for some reason I can’t explain, her face didn’t seem surprised at all.  And it wasn’t just that she wasn’t surprised to see a man ask about working in a beauty salon.  It was as though she knew I – not just some guy, but me – would be asking at that particular time. 

“We’re just looking for general labor at this point – someone to help clean up, keep inventory, maybe stay at the front desk while the rest of us are occupied.  Keep the magazines stacked neatly.  What’s your background?”

Whatever kept me immobilized suddenly snapped, and I blinked once or twice before responding.  Her eyes seemed to soften a little as I relaxed and told her I’d been in school studying biology, but that I’d recently dropped out and was looking for something to keep me going.  I didn’t say anything about trying to make sense of my life, but her eyes seemed to whisper the truth to me – that I was adrift, and she knew it. 

The job paid minimum wage, but it came with basic benefits and, since I’d had been educated, I might be given extra pay if I could keep some of their computer work in line. 

She handed me an application form.  I hesitated after filling out my name, when I got to the address lines.  I looked up at her, but before I could tell her of my status, she asked, “Got a place to stay right now?”

I shook my head.

“Well, you know,” she said, her eyes drilling right into mine, “I also manage the apartment complex in this building.  If you’re willing to help out with maintenance and cleaning around the complex, you could stay in one of the studios up on the top floor.  It’s small, but you can’t beat the location.”

I stood still, unable to speak.  I hoped my eyes were expressing the gratitude I felt.  They must have, because she took the application form, filled out the address for me, and handed it back.

Once the form was finished, I handed it back to her.  She didn’t actually look at it, though.  No one else had applied, she said, and she thought I’d be perfect for the job.  I could start work the following Monday, but could move in to the new flat that afternoon.

“Just a couple of things, though,” Kim said.  “If you’re going to live at Silk-Trappe, we’re required to have you checked over by a doctor.  A liability thing – the insurance people insist on it.”

I gasped.  It had just occurred to me that, because I was no longer in school, I could no longer use the student health clinic on campus.  “No problem,” Kim assured me, “there’s a doctor who works through our system who can see you at no cost.  In fact, we’d prefer that you saw our doctor.  I’ll arrange the appointment for you. How long before you can move in?”

“I can be back in a couple of hours,” I said.  I didn’t plan on keeping most of the stuff in my old apartment.

“Good.”  Her smile was bright, but her eyes continued to radiate power.  “Come on by when you’re ready, and I should have your exam scheduled by then.”

By mid-afternoon, I’d gotten the few belongings I’d decided to keep – some clothes, a couple of books, some cooking things – and moved over to Silk-Trappe.  I told the student housing managers they could give the rest of my things to other students.  Kim met me on the sidewalk and took me to my apartment on the top floor.  It was a small efficiency – it had a single room with a bed, a simple kitchen set against one wall, and a clean bathroom.  There was a TV on a wood stand in one corner.

“Help yourself to whatever food is in the apartment.  We keep some things for one of our employees here – clothes and such.  She won’t be here for several weeks, but we have no other place to put them.  I apologize if they get in the way; you can move them if you like.”  The look she gave me when she said that was almost predatory, and it gave me a shiver for reasons I didn’t understand.  “Come by the salon Monday morning at 8:00 sharp.  We’ll set you up with a uniform, maybe clean you up a little.”  She ran the fingers of one hand along my ponytail as she said that.  “We’ll probably have some work around the apartment complex later this week as well, but I’ll give you a couple of days to settle in first.”

As she turned to leave, Kim held out a slip of paper.  It said, “Dr. Allen, 2550 10th St., noon tomorrow.”  That was only a couple of blocks away. 

Until then, I had little to do.  It took very little time to unpack, so I looked through the apartment.  The kitchen cabinet was stocked with bottles of fortified water, and there were cans of diet milkshake in the fridge.   The closet held some blouses and pullover dresses, a couple of which had the name “Tina” embroidered on them.  I didn’t know who Tina was, but the clothes suggested someone approximately my height and weight.  They were about the same size as the shirts I was hanging up next to them.  The drawers attached to the base of the bed also had some of Tina’s clothes – panties, bras, some socks and stockings.  My own belongings fit easily in the remaining space.

After unpacking, I grabbed a bottle of water and started flipping through the channels on the TV.  I hadn’t watched much television in my former life as a grad student – odd how in less than 12 hours, I’d already thought of it as a “former life” – so I didn’t know what would be on.  I settled on a channel that was showing nature programs and began to relax.

I don’t actually recall what I watched, but it must have kept my attention.  Something snapped me back to attention, and I realized it was midnight.  I turned off the TV, brushed my teeth, and hit the sack.

The next morning, I had breakfast – a diet shake, with my usual pills washed down with protein water – and took a shower.  For some reason, I decided to shave my face, but not my body.  While waiting to head out for the doctor, I turned the TV on.  The same blank feeling came over me, and before I knew it, I felt slapped back to reality just in time to get dressed and head out to meet Dr. Allen. 

I opened the drawer to pull out some clothes.  I pulled out a pair of briefs, but as I did so, my hands brushed against a pair of satin panties evidently belonging to Tina, whoever that was.  They felt cool and smooth, and something inside me stirred.  I’m not sure what it was – whether it was the simple feel of the fabric against my skin or the image, coming without warning from deep in my head, of me actually wearing them.  I could almost hear a voice saying I should put them on, that I’d feel good wearing them, that they’d flatter my almost girlish figure.  I found my right hand reaching for them, but I held it back and stared at it for a moment.  Part of me was actually going to pick up the panties and put them on!

The thought of wearing panties wasn’t exactly disturbing, mind you - but I’d never even thought about wearing womens’ clothes before.  I’d heard that most transvestites are straight, and I had no problem with the concept of cross-dressing, but I’d never had any urges before.  That’s what caused me to stand still, staring at my hand – the feeling that these panties would feel good against my still hairless thighs seemed to come from nowhere.  It had simply never occurred to me before.

After a few moments, I decided that since the panties weren’t mine – they belonged to Tina – I should probably wear my briefs.

I grabbed a shirt and pair of jeans from the closet.  My eyes looked at one of the sun dresses left for Tina in the back of the closet, and a similar image sprang to mind – one in which I was actually wearing the bright yellow sleeveless dress, my smooth legs emerging gracefully from below the knee-length skirt, my hair let down and falling around my shoulders.  I shook my head and stepped back, amazed with the ease at which this feminized image of me came into being.  My face, hands, and legs were those of a woman, not of a man – and yet, they were mine.  A voice seemed to whisper in my ear that this was right, that it was how things were supposed to be.  And I actually liked it.  I shook my head again, trying to shed myself of this surprising mental picture like a dog shakes water from its fur, and put my own clothes on. 

As I walked toward the doctor’s office, the changes of the past 24 hours coursed through my head.  So did my recent sudden thoughts and urges – I’d never had anything like them before.