The Objectively Most Rational Decision

Chapter 6:
-- Day 35 --

I didn’t realize the flaw in my plan until I had - quite literally - bumped into him.

Unfortunate, because I was specifically trying to avoid that scenario. It was the same day of the week as last time, and I arrived at the pharmacy at the exact same time as I did last time to find someone else working there.

You know, the time immediately after he left.

...A classic blunder.

Upon collision, Newton’s third law of motion had a disproportionate effect on the smaller body: I fell backwards, landing on my buttocks and scraping my wrists on the pavement. Ow.

I was too stunned to immediately say anything, which - in hindsight - was probably a good thing.

“Crap! Sorr- ...oh! Hey!” he spoke too fast, and clearly recognized me halfway through the apology. He reached an arm out to lift me up.

I considered it. Was he aware of my new (and false) trans identity, or was his last frame of reference for me that day two years ago? I assumed that if it were the latter, he wouldn’t extend such a courtesy towards me. That would imply the former, which was a mortifying thought on its own.

I clearly spent too long thinking about it, because he pulled the arm back up and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “Uh. Sorry for bowling you over. Oh yeah, you ran away last time - How’ve you been, dude?”

...Seriously? I tried to stab him in the neck with a pencil. That’s not a situation where, when you meet that person again, you go ‘how’ve you been, dude?’. Operating under the assumption that the experience didn’t give him some form of amnesia, he clearly had some angle. What was it?

Also: he said ‘dude’. Either he really didn’t know, or he was one of those people who used ‘dude’ as a gender neutral term. That I always hated, because it was the lexicon of the idiots who used ‘like’ as every third word. Aggravating.

I pulled myself to my feet, rubbing my abrased wrists and wincing. “You... do know who I am right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in that way I had practiced many, many times.

“Ah, yeah! Eric, right, from high school? I get you were going through some stuff, dude. I hope you’re doing better, now. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Stop saying ‘dude’, dude. It was literally the most annoying shit ever. Learn better words, God damn it.

Anyway - I wanted to figure out what he was up to. It was clearly something, and it bothered me that I couldn’t figure it out - despite having the intellectual upper hand. More information was necessary. “...Okay? Uh... why are you talking to me? You should hate me, or something,” I questioned. Seriously, though. It was fucking weird.

“Yeah, y’know, like, what I just said. It was obvious you were hurting back then. I really hope you’re doing better now, and found whatever you need to be happy,” he smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head again. That was also aggravating. I didn’t know why, it just was.

Okay - if he was going with mind games, then two can play at them! If he thought he could get one on me, he’d have another thing coming. The beginning of a diabolical idea rooted itself in my mind, but I’d need time to work out the details.

“...Yes! I did. I’m doing way better now. I can tell you all about it later, actually. Not right now. I’m busy with the es- uh, the prescription. The one I’m picking up, right now,” I said. That delivery was absolutely atrocious, Eric. nice one, idiot.

“Oh! Yeah, totally, dude. You love to see it. We could talk over coffee, or something? There’s a nice little shop down on 8th Street that I always- ah, long story. I can tell you about it later, it’s kinda cute. How about, like, nine in the morning on Friday? Unless you’re busy that time or-”

“No, that’s fine,” I interrupted, “Bye.”

When I entered the pharmacy, my mind was running with so many parallel lines of thought that I almost couldn’t keep track of them.

I was gonna get to the bottom of this.

***

-- Day 37 --

How, exactly, does one do a girl voice?

I knew that the range of vocal quality varied plenty within the trans community. Some just sounded like guys, but a rare few could believably imitate the tones of a true female. At the end of the day, it was simply the careful manipulation of one’s vocal chords.

So, of course, it was incredibly difficult.

“Hello,” I attempted, but it was shaky and my voice cracked and I didn’t sound like a girl at all, just a pubescent boy.

“Testing,” I tried again, but this time it was laughably falsetto and sounded absolutely awful.

I needed to hit some range that remained steady without falling into a ridiculously fake pitch. It was harder than I thought. As I was getting myself increasingly frustrated, a knock on the front door of the apartment distracted me from my fruitless attempts at a girl voice.

I could hear my mother getting up to open the door, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. The front door was shut, and a few seconds later she knocked on mine.

“Eris, there’s a package for you.”

Yes, I changed my mind on the clothing issue. I wasn’t originally planning to wear girl’s clothes until much later, but new circumstances forced me to accelerate the rate of my own feminization.

I was going to win this psychological chess match.

I all but jumped out of my bed, and managed to not trip on any of the junk cluttering my room. Opening the door the minimal width required to fit my arm, I snatched the package out of her hand.

“Okay,” I said, trying to shut the door - she blocked it with her foot. God damn it, I didn’t want to talk!

“Please tell me if they fit. I understand if you don’t want to show me yet. I love you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

So I shut the door.

I returned to my bed and tore through the manila packaging, revealing the treasures inside: An elegant magenta sundress, as well as a matching set of underwear. I... didn’t know why I bought the latter. I impulsively ordered it with the dress. Goes to show that you shouldn’t shop online while mildly horny. Oh well - I guess I needed a bra for the outfit, anyway.

Now to see if they’d actually fit. I certainly hoped they did - I doubt I’d have time to order clothes again.

The panties were fine, if a bit too small. They felt like it would leave a red imprint on my hips if I left it on for too long, and the lace around the edges was a bit itchy. It would do.

Next challenge: a bra. I had never actually worn one before, for obvious reasons. I figured that it really couldn’t be that hard. I dangled the bra by a strap, and tilted my head. Yeah, looked simple.

I inserted the hooks into their slots, and pulled the bra over my head like a shirt. Easy as-

Ow! A sharp pain flashed from my nipple when the tight bra rubbed across it. Wait, holy shit - did that mean?

I pulled the bra back over my head, and looked down at my chest. It didn’t look different - maybe the nipples were a little more red? I trepidatiously pressed my finger down on one of them. Holy crap, it was sensitive. Besides that, there was - what felt like - a hard little disc underneath.

Boobs! Well, no. Not boobs, barely even breast buds - but the beginnings were clearly there. The hormones were actually doing something. I was really turning into a girl.

I collapsed down on the bed as an odd sense of giddy excitement welled within me. I must have looked a pathetic sight, laying there in a pair of girly panties with an unquenchable grin stuck on my face, but I didn’t care. I was really doing it - leaving behind this worthless life for something new, something better.

Was I seriously crying again? Ugh. Girl hormones.

***

-- Day 38 --

Of course the dress didn’t fit. Why would things ever be that easy? Now, since another order would surely not arrive in time, I had to physically go to a retail store and purchase women’s clothes. Hell had arrived on Earth.

I refused to let my mother tag along - that would be the peak of embarrassment - nor did I trust her to choose suitable clothing by herself. Thus, I had to go at it alone.

Shit.

Okay - just look natural. Easier said than done, considering a gray hoodie and jeans tend to lose their inconspicuous quality when in the women’s section of a clothing store. I kept my gaze locked firmly to the floor ahead of me - if I couldn’t see the weird looks, then they didn’t exist.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, so I ended up wandering aimlessly through the aisles, trying my best to avoid other people. Until, eventually, my eyes were drawn to an article of clothing: a black, pleated skirt. It wasn’t a dress, nor was it a particularly feminine colour, but it was a classic, wasn’t it?

I snatched the skirt from the rack and tried to hold it as discreetly as possible - so, not very. I needed a top to go with it, so I had to continue on this quest. Fuck fuck fuck-

Trying to ignore the rising heat in my face, I shambled as fast as I could to an aisle for shirts. No, no, maybe, no - oh, that one might work. It was a light purple blouse with frills around the buttons and poofy sleeves that drew back in at the wrists. I didn’t know what the style was called. Why would I know that?

I quickly grabbed that, too.

I was not going to go in a changing room for this, so I found a secluded corner and held the clothes up to my body. I wasn’t sure, exactly, how to tell if they would fit - they kinda looked like they would. Good enough?

Now for the most dreaded part: standing in line and purchasing them.

I stared at the floor even more resolutely than I did before, as I slowly pushed forward in the line. Death would genuinely be preferable to this. I knew they were all looking at me, judging me. They probably thought I was creepy and perverted. They weren’t far off, honestly. Why did I do this, why did I do this, why did I do this-

It was now my turn at check-out. I shakily placed the two articles on the counter. Why was I so anxious about this? I wasn’t usually like this. For some reason, all my confidence evaporated when I had to reveal my own degeneracy in public.

“It- It’s for, uh-” I quietly began some paper-thin excuse, but I trailed off when I realized it was utterly futile. The clerk behind the counter - whoever they were, because I was not going to look up - absolutely knew what I was buying it for.

“Do you want a bag with that?” she said.

I nodded emphatically - at least I wouldn’t have to carry the clothes in plain sight when I left the store, and they stocked men’s clothes too so it wouldn’t be obvious that they were women’s clothes. Phew.

After I paid - with cash I got from my mother - and snatched the bag, the clerk said, “Have a nice day, hun.”

The persistent warmth in my face got twice as hot, and I rushed out of the store.

***

Well that was just about the worst experience ever. I wished I could buy clothes online without having to worry about whether something would fit me. Ugh.

I managed to make it to my bedroom without my mother ambushing me, and now it was time for me to try on the clothes for real. I had reclaimed a small section of floor space from the clutter by piling more of it in the corner. The closet door was a sliding mirror - a fact I had always hated about my room, but didn’t care enough to change. It would finally be useful now.

When I pulled the panties on again, a boner grew within them. This happened last time, too. Gross. I had a couple of hypotheses for this: either it was from the physical stimulation from the unfamiliar fabrics, or I was a...

Yeah, probably just the first one.

Next was the bra, and this time I conceded to Google for a way to put it on without causing nippular torture. On backwards, clasp, spin. Easy. I pulled the skirt up my legs, buttoned the blouse and tucked it in, and finally I turned to look in the mirror.

...Ew. I needed to shave there.

Wait. I needed shoes! And socks! Fuck - it was too late now, I’d have to get them quickly tomorrow morning. It was a problem for future me, not today me.

I excoriated my reflection further. Looking up from the legs, it was not a particularly convincing sight: Sharp features, straight waist, empty cups. God damn it, whenever I tried to look like a guy it emphasized my feminine features, and every time I tried to do the opposite it emphasized my masculine ones! Why couldn’t I just be one or the other, completely?

I fucking hated my body. It was gross and weak and unable to decide what it’s supposed to be. Absolutely fucking worthless.

Holy shit, stop crying. You fucking piece of shit, Eric, stop being such a fucking goddamn crybaby! Get over yourself!

I collapsed on my bed and threw off my clothes as quickly as I could without tearing them. The estrogen’s effects were most obvious in my emotional state: It was weird and uncharacteristically intense and I was suddenly crying all the time. I absolutely hated it and yet a small part of me was in awe - I had never felt any emotion besides anger quite like this before. It was incredible, and incredibly annoying.

I tried to distract myself from my female emotions by thinking about my (admittedly underdeveloped) plans for tomorrow. I was going to give femininity the full extent of my efforts, and whatever terrible, potentially blackmail-y plots he had brewing would be completely shattered by the emphatic declaration of my new gender! Ha!

I was finally going to get one over on Sean fucking Murphy.