Story: If You Were a Girl: SMS Edition

This story was inspired by “If You Were A Girl… (A TG Questionnaire)” by 1sm3ghzn. You can find it over at The Changing Mirror, http://thechangingmirror.com/phpbb/index.php There are several other stories on that site based on the questions in the original story. Here is my take on it.


If You Were a Girl: SMS Edition
By Varian Milagro

It was raining again and I hate the rain. That’s not entirely accurate, I didn’t hate the rain itself; I didn’t mind getting wet. It was everyone else’s reaction to the rain that pissed me off. When I was little my mother wouldn’t let me outside to play when it rained. As I got older and got into baseball, it was cancelled anytime it rained. Now, today, I was going to go hiking with my girlfriend, Jessica, but she doesn’t like hiking in the rain.

I was an outdoor person through and through; indoor activities held little interest for me, save one. Once Jessica arrived I’d do my best to talk her into it. If that didn’t work I’d tell her that I’d watch a Rom-Com with her and then once she was comfortable I’d give her a massage followed by nibbling her earlobe. That rarely failed. Unfortunately having Jessica over also meant cleaning, something I hated almost as much as the rain.

I had already picked up all the dirty clothes and crammed them into my only closet and was currently in the process of hiding the dirty dishes under the sink. It made me long for home. I missed home cooked meals, laundry done by my mother, and dishes cleaned in a dishwasher. My crappy apartment didn’t have a dishwasher or a washing machine. I had to wash my clothes at a coin operated Laundromat down the street.

My studio apartment had a small kitchen that was set apart from the rest of the room by a bar with stools. I had my bed hidden behind a room divider. The only other room was a tiny bathroom that barely had room for a sink, toilet and shower. It was all I could afford. I’d graduated from college two years ago and still only had a crappy part time job. I’d lived in it for a year now and besides a poster of the Seattle Mariners I had yet to decorate. Jessica was doing a little better with her English degree. She’d picked up her teaching certificate and was a teacher’s assistant at a private elementary school.

My phone rang, distracting me from my pity party. I turned down the music; The Hives were currently playing “Tick Tick Boom” loud enough to piss off my neighbors if they weren’t away for the weekend. I picked up my phone and saw that the call was from Jessica.

“Hey beautiful,” I said. Compliments did wonders on Jessica’s mood. “Are you close?”

“I just left the house, Ryan. I’m stopping at the Quicky Mart. Do you want anything?”

“Just you,” I said.

“Ah, you’re so sweet and so full of bullshit,” Jessica said.

“I compliment you and you tell me I’m full of it?”

“Anytime you start pouring on the compliments is when you want something and since it’s raining I know exactly that is.”

“I know that you want it too.”

“Yes, but there are other things I like to do besides have sex. I’d like to talk, maybe hold each other.”

“We can do that too, just afterwards,” I said.

“I’m hanging up.”

Jessica sounded annoyed. I needed to think of something to appease her. I wondered if watching The Notebook in candle light would be enough. I walked over to the kitchen and looked in the cabinet above the refrigerator. I had about two shots of tequila and a quarter bottle of Vodka. Jessica hated Vodka. I sent Jessica a text. “Pick up some wine please”. If I couldn’t get her clothes off after a bottle of wine, watching The Notebook, and then giving her a massage, I’d hand in my man card.

Jessica and I had gone to the same college, but that wasn’t how we’d met. She’d tutored to make extra money while working on her English degree. My mom had hired her to tutor my younger brother, Steven. Once we found out that we went to the same college we started spotting each other walking on campus. I eventually asked her out for some coffee and we started dating soon afterwards. If I ever get a decent job I’ll probably ask her to marry me.

I set my phone down and looked around my studio apartment, trying to decide what I was going to do for the next twenty minutes while I waited for Jessica. I could watch television on my 28 inch set, but I didn’t really care for television or movies. I looked over at my treadmill and home gym, the only furniture besides a couple folding chairs, my worn couch and my twin bed. I didn’t have enough time to get in a real workout.

My phone chirped with a new message. I picked it up, thinking it was from Jessica. The message was from a number that I didn’t recognize.

“Check out this questionnaire. It will change your life. Reply ‘Yes’ to start.”

I thought about deleting the message, but with little else to occupy my time I typed “yes” and then hit send.

“Question 1: If you were a girl… would your handwriting be nice?”

I thought for a moment, trying to think of someone that hand wrote anything anymore. All the girls I knew communicated through texts or snapchat. The last girl I remembered handwriting anything was back in high school. And all of them had nice handwriting. There was Felicity Raskin, the head cheerleader. I’d dated her in my junior year. She used to draw hearts for the dot in her lower case ‘I’s and smiley faces for ‘O’s. Then there was Rachel Chambers, I dated her in my freshmen year. Her handwriting looked like calligraphy. Even Samantha “Lilith” Williams, the school Goth and self professed witch, had nice handwriting, although she doodled skulls, ankhs and pentagrams on all of her papers.

I typed “yes” into my phone and hit send. The reply was instantaneous.

“Question 2: If you were a girl… would you like the color pink?”

Nearly every girl I knew liked pink to some degree. My first girlfriend, Penny, had been obsessed with it. She was never without at least ten things that were pink, from her clothes, her lip gloss, her plastic jewelry, to her stuffed animals. It actually led to us breaking up. She’d cried for a week. Every girl in middle school hated me after that. Me, I’d never had a favorite color. Whenever anyone asked me I said “blue”, but only because it was a masculine color and I didn’t have to spend the next ten minutes explaining why I didn’t have a favorite color.

Jessica and Lilith were the only two girls I knew who didn’t like pink. Lilith only liked black, dark purple and red. Jessica claimed that she was allergic to pink. She wouldn’t even wear a t-shirt with the word “Pink” written on it.

I answered yes again.

“Question 3: If you were a girl would your hair be straight or curly?”

I thought about the girls I’d dated over the years. About half of them had naturally curly hair and the others had straight hair. The thing I noticed is that it was a lot easier for a girl with straight hair to m
ake hers curly with a perm or a curling iron, but the reverse wasn’t true.

As I finished typing “Straight and long” into my phone I let out a gasp. My phone case was pink. It had been black a moment before. My sneakers, which had been a dingy grey, were now a pristine white with pink piping. There was a pink, heart shaped pillow sitting on my couch. A memory of Jessica buying it for me last Valentine's Day fluttered into my head. She’d told me that buying something pink had been a great personal sacrifice and that I owed her big time. I remembered her giving me crap when I’d bought the cell phone case on one of our regular shopping trips to the mall. I clicked send and my phone chirped with a new message.

“Question 4: If you were a girl… What would be your favorite color?”

It wouldn’t be pink, that’s for sure. Jessica gave me enough crap about it as it was. I’d always had a hard time coming up with a favorite color, something more than one of my past girlfriends had given me grief about. Most of the girls I’d known had twenty names for white and I could barely name the colors in the rainbow. I pulled my ponytail over my shoulder and played with my hair while I muddled over the question. If I were a girl I’d probably know all about colors, too. I don’t think that I’d have a favorite though; I’d know so many colors that it would be too tough to pick just one. I’d be the type of girl whose favorite color would change with her moods.

I pulled the scrunchie out of my hair, slipped it over my wrist and then went to work gathering up my hair to reform my ponytail. I stopped, looked at the purple, cotton fabric of the scrunchie on my wrist and then brought my hair in front of my face. Memories of regular buzz cuts warred with memories of washing my waist length hair with cucumber scented shampoos and spending 15 minutes every night brushing it until it shined. The new memories took root. I refastened my pony tail.

“While I’d be partial to the mix of colors between red and blue on the color wheel my favorite color would change regularly, like my moods,” I typed.

“Question 5: If you were a girl… what color would your hair be?”

I chewed the inside of my lip for a moment in thought, I’d never been able to stick with a favorite color for more than a week as a guy, how would I be able to stay with one hair color as a girl. I could see myself with blonde hair with pink streaks one week, hair the color of a ripe tomato the next, followed by bright blue hair that faded to turquoise by the time it reached my waist. I’d probably spend half my free time just playing with my hair.

I typed, “My hair color would change all the time. There’s so many wonderful colors; why stick with just one?”

My phone chirped with a new message and then started ringing. It was Jessica. Although tempted to read the message I answered the phone instead. As I put it to my ear I noticed a colorful array of pillows sitting on my loveseat. It had been reupholstered with a soft looking, chartreuse material. A new piece of furniture sat behind the room divider. It was a small vanity, with a large mirror.

There was something very strange going on and I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t own a vanity, did I? When did I buy it? Where did the pillows come from?

“I’m sorry that I’m not there yet.” She didn’t sound very sorry, more annoyed actually. “There’s a line at the liquor store.” She said it in a way that sounded more like an accusation than an apology.

Despite her displeasure, a wave of relief shot through me at the sound of her voice. She grounded me.

“I want to get out of my apartment. Tell me where you are and I’ll come meet you. We can go see a movie or go shopping. I don’t care what.”

“As much as I love shopping, I was starting to warm to the idea of spending some alone time with my man. The thought of curling up together on your loveseat with a bottle of wine is sounding nice right now. I want to bury my fingers in your long, silky hair.” She paused for a moment. “It’s still long, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I retorted. I reached around my back just to be sure.

“Good. I never know what it’s going to look like from day to day. I brace myself every day, knowing it could be the day that you decide you want a short, pixie cut.”

“Ha, ha,” I said. The thought of snuggling with Jessica was growing on me. I loved it when she played with my hair as we made out. Maybe she’d braid my hair, too. “You’re right. Let’s stay in. But hurry please. I feel alone and I need to see you.”

I ended the call and then opened my new message.

“Question 6: If you were a girl… what color would your eyes be?”

I let out a chuckle. A girl who changed her hair color weekly could hardly be expected to keep the same eye color, could she?

“Depends,” I responded.

My phone chirped, but instead of checking it I stepped into my “bedroom”. My eyes were dry and driving me crazy. That’s what I got for sleeping with my contacts in. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to; the color contacts that I bought were too cheap to stay in my eyes for more eight hours. I couldn’t afford the expensive kind, not with how many I bought each month. I sat down at my vanity, dug through all the hair clips, scrunchies, combs, brushes and temporary hair dyes to find my eye drops. Welcome relief splashed into my eyes a minute later. I blinked away the artificial tears and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair looked amazing. I undid my pony tail and brought it forward so it fell over my chest. It was a vibrant purple with wild streaks of blues and pinks; it was freaking cool. Unfortunately, my bland hazel eyes looked boring as shit. I rummaged in the vanity drawer and came up with a pair of periwinkle contacts that went well with my highlights.

“Question 7: If you were a girl… would you like makeup?”

I looked over my crowded vanity again. I’d definitely be the kind of girl who wore makeup. I’d be the kind who felt naked without it. I’d use it to express myself and let the world see the wild, creative girl inside. I’d be as creative with my face as I was with my hair.

“Of course.”

“Question 8: If you were a girl… would you be sporty?”

I looked up at the Seattle Mariners poster on my wall. Hadn’t it been my only decoration earlier? My walls were packed with photos of me and Jessica along with various bits of art I’d picked up at a flea market: pictures of flowers and colorful birds. Fresh cut peonies sat in a vase next to the love seat and a shelf on the wall next to the kitchen held a series of pink ceramic kittens at play.

It wasn’t right. I hadn’t posed for any of the photos on my wall. Where had the ceramic kittens come from?

I looked back at my phone. I had a feeling that it had something to do with the questionnaire, but how could that be? How could a text message redecorate my apartment? Besides, I should be thanking it. The room looked like someone actually lived in it. It was pretty feminine, but it was better than bare walls. The baseball poster looked out of place now. I should probably take it down. It was too bad. I liked Mariners and baseball in general.

I thought about the question. I’d definitely want to be sporty if I were a girl. Probably not baseball though. Girls only got to play slow pitch and those girls were a little on the butch side. I looked at my reflection in the mirror; I’d definitely need a sport that worked well with makeup, contacts and waist length hair. My head swam again. When did I put makeup on my face? It looked nice. I liked how the indigo eye shadow and thick mascara set off my eyes. I licked my lips, tasting the strawberry lip gloss, and thought, when didn’t I wear makeup? I felt naked without it. The guys on the team flipped me shit about it all the time. My mom and brother were cool about it though.

I’d want a sport that encouraged creative expression instead of mocking it. I made a quick list in my head. Football and basketball were out. I’d want a feminine sport if I were a girl. Swimmers wore tight swimsuits that highlighted their curves and feminine assets, but the chlorine would kill my hair. Soccer, equestrian and figure skating seemed like real possibilities. Those sports reminded me of the summer Olympics. Then it hit me. Gymnastics! It would be perfect. I’d specialize in rhythmic gymnastics. It would fit the type of girl I’d be to a tee.

“Rhythmic gymnastics, specializing in ribbon,” I typed.

“Question 9: If you were a girl… would you wear high heels?”

I figured that I would. Gymnasts tend to be on the short side; I’d need help in the height department. I imagined that with all of my dance experience that I’d have amazing balance. I’d walk in heels with a natural grace, able to run in them better than most girls could walk. They’d probably be my default shoe type.

“Yes, regularly.”

“Question 10: If you were a girl… would you wear a skirt?”

“Have you seen my apartment?” I asked aloud. I looked at the walls; ribbons of every imaginable color creating a false ceiling, pictures of flowers and landscapes filling the walls. Matching lilac furniture buried under bright colorful pillows of various sizes. My closet overflowed with high heels; boots, stilettos, sandals and mules. A stranger would assume that the occupant was a girly-girl who lived in skirts and dresses. I wasn’t and I didn’t, but if I were a girl I was sure that I would. I looked at the knee high, black boots I was wearing, my jeans tucked into them. The guys on the baseball team had teased me so much about my clothes and makeup that I eventually quit. Luckily the girls at the gymnasium had broader minds. We even traded tips on makeup and hair care. They let me know whenever there was a shoe sale in town. They were so sweet they let me practice with them even though I couldn’t compete since I was a guy.

“Yes, but I’d also wear skinny jeans, tights and occasionally sweats, too.”

“Question 11: If you were a girl… would you wear jewelry?”

“Yes, but tasteful and modest.” I couldn’t imagine wasting a lot of money on baubles. I’d wear jewelry of course, but it wouldn’t be the main show. After spending an hour on my face and hair I wouldn’t want a pair of earrings to steal the spotlight. I felt a cool breeze run over my thighs, making me wish I’d worn a pair of tights with my knee length skirt. I ran my hand over my hairy legs and then lifted the hem on my skirt, feeling the wool fabric between my fingers. Thoughts of denim entered my mind. I’d been wearing blue jeans, hadn’t I? My legs had been covered earlier. That didn’t make sense. The only blue denim I owned was a skirt. I owned lots of skinny jeans, but they were in every color except blue.

“Question 12: If you were a girl… what size would your breasts be?”

I wanted to type “a big firm pair of tits”, but large breasts wouldn’t go well with gymnastics. I’d need to have a slim, sleek figure. A pair of weighty tits, swaying and bobbing on my chest would be a hindrance in rhythmic gymnastics. Maybe after I’d become too old for the sport, something that came in the mid twenties for gymnasts, I could get them enhanced, but if I wanted to be a real threat on the mat I’d need tennis balls beneath my leotard, not volleyballs.

It occurred to me that if I were a female gymnast I’d need to be younger. At 25 I was already hitting their retirement age. I’d want to be at an age where I still had a future in the sport.

“The largest pair that wouldn’t hinder a promising career in rhythmic gymnastics. I don’t want a pair of boobs costing me a medal.”

“Question 13: If you were a girl… would you be into guys?”

The question threw me for a loop. I was strictly hereto and figured that I would be as a girl, too. Yet, I hated the thought of giving up Jessica, even for a stupid text questionnaire. Even with the age gap we loved each other dearly. We hadn’t told anyone else about our relationship; Jessica said that others wouldn’t understand a woman in her mid twenties falling in love with a high school girl. I never wanted to give her up. I’d be gay for Jessica, but otherwise hetero. I guess that would make me bi-sexual. We’d be devoted to each other, but would have three-ways with a guy occasionally. Not that we’d even gone all the way yet. Jessica said that I had to be 16 first.

Luckily, my birthday was only a couple of weeks away. I started to get hard just thinking about the night we’d have, my cock tenting my skirt and my nipples making dents in my t-shirt. I ran one hand over my cock while the other caressed my breasts. I was tempted to rub one out, but Jessica would be arriving soon. That reminded me that I should put on some underwear. She didn’t like it when I went commando when wearing a skirt.

Sometimes I wished that Jessica was closer to my age. I liked that she was older and more experienced, but I couldn’t help feeling that we’d have more in common if there wasn’t such an age gap.

“I’d be faithful to my girlfriend first, but I’d still think that guys were hot,” I typed.

A new text appeared almost instantly. I wondered how many of these things there would be.

“Question 14: If you were a girl… would you shave?”

“Ew…of course I would.” I hated feeling hair on girl’s legs.

“Question 15: If you were a girl… would you use pads or tampons?”

The personal nature of the questions was starting to get to me. I knew that Jessica used tampons and she seemed okay with it, but the thought of sticking a cotton cylinder into my body once a month creeped me out. Jessica hadn’t started using tampons until after she’d starting having sex. If I were a girl, maybe that’s what I’d do.

“Pads until I popped my cherry,” I typed.

“Question 16: If you were a girl… what type of shirt would you be wearing right now?”

“That’s an easy one,” I said before typing, “Something silky, colorful, flirty and soft.”

“Question 17: If you were a girl… would you be wearing briefs, bikini, thong or boxers?”

I’d actually worn all four types of underwear listed. I typically wore boring, white, cotton briefs as my go to underwear, but for Valentine’s Day, Jessica had bought me a pair of silk boxers with pink hearts. I wore them to bed regularly. For gymnastics I’d tried wearing a thong so I’d have a smooth line in my leotard, but I hated how they ran up my butt crack. Tracy, one of my teammates, hooked me up with some bikini underwear that had an invisible panty line. I wore them at every meet. At practice I wasn’t nearly as particular.

That reminded me that I still needed to put on some underwear before Jessica arrived. I typed, “Bikini panties normally, silk boxers to sleep in, thongs when I’m feeling naughty and don’t care about a sore ass crack” into my phone, tossed it onto my bed and then crossed the room to my dresser. My phone chirped almost immediately.

I searched through my underwear drawer, looking for my cotton briefs. I dug under all of my panties, thongs, and silk boxers, but couldn’t find them. I was about to look in the laundry basket, but then, for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why I’d thought that I still owned cotton boy briefs. I hadn’t worn them since I was a little kid. I slipped a pair of black panties up my legs and under my skirt, loving the silky sensation against my cock and ass.

I ran my hands over my smooth legs. I loved how they felt and looked when I first shaved them, so shiny and silky. I’d taken too long in the shower this morning when I’d shaved my legs and my mom had gotten pissed as usual, screaming that I was hogging the bathroom and using all the hot water. Sometimes I wished I didn’t live at home. Not really practical when I was still in high school and didn’t even drive. A boy could dream though.

I mean my mom was super supportive, driving me to all of the gymnastic practices and all of my meets. She was fully supportive of my lifestyle. She never complained about all the money she spent on hormones. When I came home crying after being teased at school she was always there for me. She’d petitioned the local gymnastics board to let me compete in regional events. I still couldn’t advance to state or beyond, but it was a start. Best of all, when my grades started falling, she’d hired a tutor for me; a beautiful college freshman named Jessica.

I loved my mom, but I yearned for the day that I could have more privacy than a 12x12 bedroom. What I would give for my own bathroom. I looked around my bedroom. It was a cool room. I had it decorated just how I wanted. I’d painted it myself, not that you could see the paint under all of the ribbons, posters of gymnast stars, cute boys, and pictures of Jessica.

I skipped back across the room, the teacups on my chest jiggling slightly.

“Question 18: If you were a girl... what would be your intelligence? One being stupid and ten being high enough to drive the class nerd up the wall.”

“Probably a seven as it is now.” Despite needing a tutor I was pretty smart. I’m not a genius, but then again, I’m no dummy. My problem with school was one of priorities, not smarts. I spent too much time on gymnastics, and making myself pretty. I needed Jessica to help me focus on my homework, not to understand it. Although, quite often, she was a very welcome distraction.

“Question 19: If you were a girl... what type of bra would you be wearing?”

One nice thing about having small breasts is that I rarely needed a bra. None of the girls on the team did, not under normal circumstances. When at practice or a meet we all wore sports bras, but out in the real world it was optional. Not true for girls blessed by the boob fairy. Jessica never went without a bra. Except when bathing, her girls were encased throughout the day. Besides the needed support, the constant bobbing, jiggling and swaying annoyed the hell out of her.

“Whatever type I felt like. It would depend on my mood. If I was in a sexy mood I’d wear one made out of silk and lace. I’d wear a sports bra when competing, but I’d go without a bra whenever I could get away with it.”

“Question 20: If you were a girl... how old would you be, how tall would you be without shoes and what would you weigh without clothes? (Don't lie)”

“Oh my god! How long is this quiz?” I said aloud. I typed, “I’d be my current age of 15…” I heard a car pull into the driveway. I hit the power button on my stereo, cutting off Adele in mid song. I ran to my loveseat and climbed up the back to look out my bedroom window. The loveseat took up a lot of real estate in my room, but I loved it. It was Jessica and my special spot in my room. We cuddled together and watched Youtube on it all the time.

I looked out the window and a thrill shot through my heart, causing me to smile. It was Jessica. I turned around, sat down and went back to my phone. I wanted to finish the questionnaire quickly. I hoped that it was close to the end.

I figured that I would be shorter if I was a girl, especially if I was a gymnast. Rhythmic gymnasts weren’t as short as their artistic counterparts, but they weren’t tall by any means. “Five-four and weigh 110.”

“Jessica is here,” my mom shouted from the downstairs.

My heart leapt again. I loved hearing her name. My phone chirped with a new message.

“Question 21: If you were a woman... what would your name be?”

I typed a quick reply and then tossed my phone onto my canopy bed.

“Amber Tiffany Henderson! Get down here this instant. You’re being rude,” my mom yelled as I opened my bedroom door.

“I’m coming, mom. Jeesh.” I ran down the stairs, my skirt fluttering around my legs and my tiny breasts jiggling in my lacy bra.

“Don’t run on the stairs in high heels!” My mom looked at me like I was juggling chef knives.

“With her gymnastic training she runs in heels better than I run in trainers, Mrs. Henderson.” Jessica flashed me a smile that sent my head spinning. She was dressed in a tight pair of jeans that showed off her beautiful curves. Her blonde hair was in a pony tail. Despite wearing sneakers she was still taller than me when I wore heels.

She handed me a plastic shopping bag as she removed her wet coat. I liked it when it rained. My mother didn’t give me grief about going outside when it rained. I was an indoor girl, through and through.

I inside the bag and saw a bag of Sunchips and a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew. She was so sweet, she bought me my favorite soda.

“Are you hungry, Jessica?” my mom asked. “I cleared a spot on the dining room table. You could study downstairs while I make you girls a couple sandwiches.”

“We’re going to study in my room and we’re not hungry, Mom,” I said quickly.

“I already ate, Mrs. Henderson. We’ll be fine in Amber’s room. If we get hungry or need more space we’ll be sure to come downstairs.”

“All right.” My mom looked kind of disappointed. “In that case I’m going shopping. Your father is golfing and Steven is over at Terry’s. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

My mother removed her purse from the coat rack by the door and then rooted around for her car keys. I led Jessica up the stairs to my room.

“Bye, Mom,” I yelled when I heard her open the front door.

“Bye, sweetie.”

As soon as the front door closed I pushed Jessica into my room and then jumped up on her, smashing my mouth against hers. Having the house and Jessica to myself was one of my fantasies. Now if Zayn Malik from One Direction would crawl in through my bedroom window my fantasy would be complete.

I kicked the door shut. We continued to kiss, our tongues dancing together, as Jessica slowly carried me across the room toward the love seat. Passion raged within my body as my mind struggled with a feeling that something was terribly wrong. Visions of a studio apartment with bare walls and a closet stuffed with dirty clothes. My focus switched back to the moment when Jessica set me down on the loveseat and broke the kiss.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” she said. Her face was flushed and she was panting. She took a step back and gazed at me. “God you’re beautiful. I never know what you’re going to look like. Will it be purple hair and dark makeup or blonde hair and pink eyes? It doesn’t matter because you always manage to pull it off.”

“As much as I love hearing you tell me I’m beautiful, I’d rather be kissing you.” I patted the seat next to me.

“We should start on your school work first. Someone has a test on Monday.”

“My mom isn’t going to be gone forever. Let’s make out first. I promise that I won’t whine once I start studying.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” She sat down next to me and ran an arm behind my back. “Okay, ten minutes of us time and then you hit the books.”

“Deal!”

We started kissing again. She had one hand behind my back and the other resting on my belly. I placed one hand on her thigh and the other caressed the hand on my belly. After a minute I guided her hand to my breast. She broke the kiss and pulled away.

“Not yet. We need to wait a bit longer.”

“Please. Just touch me for a few minutes. We don’t have to go any further. I just need to feel you.”

A mixture of worry and desire knotted Jessica’s face. She answered by kissing me again. She moved my hand to her breast. She held my hand there for a few moments before cupping my smaller breast in her hand. Jolts of pleasure shot down through my body, filling my panties with a warm dampness. I moved my mouth away from hers. I kissed my way over her neck and up to her ear. Her hand made its way under my blouse. She pinched my nipple through my sheer bra and I shrieked.

“Are you okay?” my mother yelled from outside my bedroom door.

Jessica and I froze.

I heard footsteps approach my door.

“Everything’s okay, Mrs. Henderson,” Jessica yelled. “Amber saw a spider.”

I still couldn’t speak. Terror seized my throat. If my mom found out that Jessica and I were an item she’d freak and then I’d never see my girlfriend again.

“Oh…okay. I came back in for the grocery list and then I heard a scream. I thought someone was dying.” My mom’s voice came from just outside my door. If she opened the door she’d smell my desire for sure. She’d know our secret for sure.

“I’m alright, Mom,” I said, hoping that my voice wouldn’t shake. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m going again.”

Neither Jessica nor I moved until we heard my mom’s car pull out of the driveway and then drive down the street.

“Jesus. I thought she was going to bust us for sure this time,” Jessica said as she pulled away from me.

“She’s gone now, let’s continue.” I slid up against her.

“It’s time for you to study, missy. And I expect you to keep your word and not complain.”

I wanted to say that it hadn’t been ten minutes yet, but I didn’t want to piss her off. My mom scared her. She feared getting caught even more than me. Plus, we could still cuddle on the loveseat while I studied. I jumped up, grabbed my English book and then ran back to her.

A thought struck me. “Are you going to see me compete at state at the end of the month?”

Jessica pulled the soda and chips out of the shopping bag. “My sister is going to lend me some money for gas and a motel room.”

I flipped through the pages of my text book. “Why don’t you just ride with us?”

“If I get my own motel room, your parents might let you stay a night in my room.”

“Oh my god, you’re so smart.”

“They may even let you ride home with me. Someone I know will be sixteen later this month. I’ll want to give her a special reward when she wins state and moves on to nationals.” Jessica gave me a saucy wink.

“I might not win.”

“Then I’ll just have to console you all night long.” Jessica gave me a kiss that curled my toes.

“I love my life!” I turned to my attention to my text book, hoping that I could finish quickly so I could make out with Jessica a little more before my mom got home.

As I started to read I heard the rain hitting the eaves outside my bedroom window. It made me think of a man in his mid twenties, living alone with a crappy job and a ton of college debt. I gasped. I’d been that man.

“Is everything alright?” Jessica had a sweet look of concern on her face.

I looked around my colorful, girly-girl room and then at my reflection in the vanity’s mirror. My room sure looked better and so did I. I’d been a pretty decent looking guy, but I was startlingly pretty now. I slid my body against Jessica’s and gave her a kiss. I may have been a man earlier in the day, but I was all girl now. I still had Jessica and I still played a sport. I’d lost a few years, but that just meant more time with my girlfriend.

“I love my life.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s still true.” I turned my attention to the book again, thoughts of my former male life fading into the distant parts of my mind.