ALL NOVEL Step Two: Acquiring Estrogen
-- Day -11 --
"Alright," said Dr. Rousseau, "So, I don't want you to have the impression that I'm interrogating you on whether you're 'really' trans - I don't think that's a helpful paradigm - but I'm required to ask you some questions about your gender history, if that's alright?"
I nodded, my gaze cast at the various odds and ends that inhabited the clinician's office. This was it, the part where I successfully fooled this person into thinking I suffered from gender dysphoria with a carefully concocted tale. Right.
Uh. I wasn't completely blanking. I just- forgot some parts from the nerves. It would come back to me when I started telling it.
"I, uh, always th- knew I was a girl?" I felt suddenly and severely uncomfortable. She would definitely see through my deception at this rate - I should've done more research, or practiced the lies beforehand.
"Are you alright? You look like you're gonna throw up..." her eyes pierced into me with condescending concern. Well, I didn't need her pity. I clenched my fist tight, jagged nails digging into my palm. I could do this.
It helped to frame this interaction as if I were playing a WRPG. It was nothing personal, and it wouldn't cause any harm - I simply had to speak the correct dialogue options, and I would get the intended result. I couldn't remember what I came up with, but I knew it would be best to stick closely to my real past to avoid getting caught in a lie. Thus, I resolved to just reframe interactions, stretch the truth, and tell only small, unfalsifiable lies.
The words fell out easily, if stilted, then - "I engaged in typically feminine behaviours as a child - when I first started elementary school, my friends were all girls. They must've realized I was a boy at some point, because eventually they all decided they didn't want to be my friend. I felt sad about that. A year later, the only boy I was friends with decided I wasn't worth his pity, so I was left alone. It got worse in middle school. The pieces of shit in my class decided I was a prime target for bullying because I was small and nerdy. They'd call me a fag for hating sports - which makes no sense, because there's no correlation between homosexuality and athleticism, and sports are objectively a barbaric and outdated tradition with no place in a civilized society, and-"
I cut myself off, realizing I had gotten sidetracked. God damn it, Eric. At least I didn't say anything unsalvageable - though I ended up falling into my typical speech patterns, rather than a more constrained female vocabulary.
The doctor frowned, "I'm sorry that they treated you that way. I know all too well how mean kids can be."
Okay, it didn't seem like she suspected anything. Despite the lapse, it looked like I was keeping up the ruse. Maybe I shouldn't try so hard - presenting an image closer to reality was much simpler, and as long as I didn't completely give the game a way, I should be fine.
Simple as that. I was kind of a genius.
***
-- Day 0 --
The pharmacy loomed ahead of me like an executioner's block. Perhaps that's hyperbolic, but I couldn't shake the anxiety that shrouded itself over me. It felt decidedly embarrassing, going here to pick up a bottle full of estrogen. As if I was announcing to the world that I had officially failed as a male.
The conversation with the nurse practitioner had gone surprisingly well - I had managed to leave with a tentative 1 milligram daily prescription of estradiol, and a requisition form to get a blood test in a few weeks.
The past week and a half had blurred by with the typical blend of scrolling, gaming, and masturbating - and a few showers. Fuck off. I could have picked up the prescription days ago, but I struggled to build the nerve. Well, no longer! I was gonna carpe all over this diem and begin the slow process of reconstructing my body and life as soon as I could.
Now, standing here, I couldn't afford to allow some pathetic feelings of anxiety to keep me from doing this. I had done the hardest part - I got dressed in a non-descript gray hoodie and jeans, and mustered the motivation to leave the apartment. Twice in two weeks - unprecedented in the past two years.
I pulled the hood over my head as I entered the building - I didn't know why I needed that extra layer of anonymity. It wasn't like like I cared about the opinions of anyone I'd come across here.
( approached the counter, opened my mouth to speak, and noticed exactly who was on the other side.
Seriously? Of all fucking people?
The world was clearly out to taunt me with bullshit coincidences, for working behind that counter was - most likely - the person I least wanted to see me doing this.
And, relatedly, the reason I got expelled.
***
Allow me to recount my last day of high school - or, in other words, the most shameful day of my life.
Of all my classmates, the one I hated most was Sean fucking Murphy - the platonic ideal of masculinity embodied in physical form. What should've been impossible standards for any male to achieve were effortlessly exceeded by this complete asshole. Worse yet: he had the audacity to pretend he was all virtuous and kind, but I knew he murdered kittens in his spare time. I could tell.
Girls always seemed to be hanging off of him, while I was left glaring daggers at them from the back of class. Intense jealously welled within me at each one of these interactions - it reminded me, acutely, of the injustice within the world. As a physically subpar male with no wealth, I was doomed from the start to be alone.
It was after one of these encounters that I made a severe mistake. Despite his clear physical superiority over any other guy at my school, Sean fucking Murphy had remained single for the large majority of his time in high school, aside from a couple ill-fated flings in his freshman year.
This streak was broken, however, in the school hallways at the end of that one horrible school day. As I was evacuating the hell that was the school building via my typical route, I saw him making out with Zoey Wilson by the back entrance. She wasn't even that hot - like, a 6 - so I didn't know why he chose her, when he had so many options.
Regardless, I saw red. I wasn't sure exactly why I got so enraged - I figured it was due to reaching a breaking point with the way that females, and society as a whole, treated inferior males such as myself.
I regretted what I did next. I knew I had anger problems, okay? I was trying to work on it. It was the only emotion I ever felt, those days.
I retrieved a pencil from my backpack - I was always anal about keeping them severely sharp, because I hated blunt pencils - and gripped it tightly in my shaking hand. Zoey brushed past me -I was completely ignored, as usual - but my eyes were laser-focused on that asshole known as Sean fucking Murphy.
Why did he deserve to have people bowing at his feet simply for his physical superiority? I was likely thousands of times more intelligent than that idiot, but because of this unjust world I was relegated to being ignored, or even avoided. It pissed me off.
When he turned to leave, I dropped my backpack and rushed him. Fuck him and his strong jawline and his fucking six-pack. I jumped on his back and tried to stab his neck with the pencil.
"The fuck?!" he grabbed my wrist carrying the pencil, and elbowed me in the shoulder with the other arm. I managed to hold on to his back, but my wrist was held tight. He grabbed my arm and pulled it over, throwing me off. I collapsed to the ground, but I wasn't deterred. With a snarl, I scrambled to my feet and tried to tackle him - terrible idea, I weighed about a hundred pounds less - but he shoved me to the ground, pinning me by the wrists.
"What the hell is wrong with you, dude?!" he glared down at me, clearly severely pissed off. I failed to reply, though, because the worst possible thing happened.
I popped a boner.
Okay, I wanted to make one thing clear: I was not a fag. I was aware that homosexuality was a natural phenomenon observed across many species, but two men doing sexual shit together is still weird and gross. Massive turn off.
No. It was simply an autonomous reflexive response to a feeling of powerlessness. It could happen to anyone. It didn't mean anything.
Anyway, things suddenly got very awkward, and-
***
"Uh... hello?"
I was drawn back to reality, realizing I had been staring blankly into space for an uncomfortably long time.
Desperately, I hoped he wouldn't realize who I was - unfortunately, I had to get that estradiol. I didn't want to have to do this again, or at least until the bottle ran out. Crossing my fingers - figuratively, anyway - I droned the required words, "I'm here to... pick up a prescription for... Eric Henderson?"
He blinked - a sure sign of recognition dawning in his eyes. Shit, shit, shit. "Wait- are you-" he began, but I bolted out of that pharmacy faster than I had ran... probably ever.
When I was panting for breath a street and a corner away, I realized I already told him I had a prescription before aborting - if he checked what it was, I would probably die from the sheer emasculation of him knowing - or thinking, rather - that I was a tranny.
On the positive side, he looked noticeably less fit than he was in high school - a fitting fate for a jock, to peak in high school and fall off after. Ha.
I didn't know what to do now, though. Wait until someone else's shift? I raked my hand through my hair - the hood fell down when I was running - and realized what I could do to pass the time when they got caught in that horrible rat's nest.
***
I closed the apartment door behind me as quietly as I could, carrying the prescription baggie in my other hand.
The haircut had gone well - it now hung past my ears without a tangle in sight. It was somewhat embarrassing to specifically ask for an androgynous style, but my tried and true strategy of burying my emotions worked as well as always.
I even managed to pick up that estrogen, after, while someone else was working at the pharmacy - no, I did not watch the building until I saw him leave, just to be sure. Success!
I wasn't quiet enough, apparently, because my mother appeared from around the corner with the same suspicious glare as I always got these past couple days. Seriously - what did she even think I was doing?
"So, what's that?" she asked.
I followed her gaze to the small white bag in my hand. I shrugged, "Uh, antidepressants?"
She sighed. "You do know I just want to help you, right? I'd appreciate if you'd just- let me in. Do you know what it's felt like, seeing you waste away in that room with no sign of change? I want to be part of your life, Eric."
I shrugged and brushed past her, shutting my bedroom door much less quietly than the previous one.
God, I hated the constant sense of disappointment that radiated from this woman. Could she mind her own fucking business? I got it. I fucking got it, okay? I was a worthless gifted kid burnout with no job. A leech on society.
She didn't need to remind me.
I collapsed onto my bed and exhaled deeply. I dropped the bottle of estrogen from the baggie, which I crumpled and threw to the other side of the room.
I studied it: a thin, orange bottle with a white label - and one could clearly see estradiol written on the surface. I pulled off the lid, and extracted one of the small, circular, purple tablets. There was an indented line on one side, and a small 'E1' engraved on the other. It looked inconspicuous, but it held the incredible power to slowly transform me into a - hopefully attractive - girl.
Well, bottoms up, right?