Subtly, her breasts pushed against the shirt. The soft cotton feeling great as it gently brushed against the sore and tender flesh, she turned sideways, struck a couple posses, tried to stick out her chest, then faced forward. Peering into the mirror, her reflection looking back, she found that she didn’t like what she saw. The shirt and leggings Mrs Emcie had loaned her fit great, weren’t tight or form fitting, but they still managed to emphasise that she was a girl, something she desperately didn’t want to believe. Glancing down at the leggings, she thought about what she’d placed in the crotch of them, how comfortable it felt, as well as how pleasant it smelled and grimacing, she found herself upset that she smelled like a girl, as both the panty liner and the body wash made her smell, strongly, of berries and, faintly, baby powder
Memories of growing up a girl coming to her, reassuring and comforting her that this was her life, that she wasn’t a boy, even if she acted a bit tomboyish sometime, and that, truthfully, she didn’t want to be a boy, as she was happy being a girl. Whispering, “No,” she found herself disgusted that memories of Karen where becoming more prominent and it was getting harder and harder to remember who she had been before putting on the costume. Leaning closer to the mirror, studying her face for blemishes, it slowly came to her that at some point she’d stopped using male pronouns to describe herself and standing up straight, she struggled to force herself to think of herself as a guy.
A huff of agitation coming to her, she muttered, “I am not a girl. I am a boy. I don’t care how cute and comfortable these clothes are. I wear clothing appropriate for a boy. My name is,” and striving to remember, her vision slipped down and staring at the white t-shirt with very, very light grey horizontal stripes, she eventually whispered, “Karen,” in a trembling voice.
Scared, uttering, “No, no, no, no,” over and over, she hugged herself and tried harder to think of herself with the terms he, him, himself and other male pronouns, but found it increasingly difficult as her mind kept returning to her name.
“It’s, it’s, it’s,” she stuttered for a moment and thinking back to the previous night, before she’d put on the costume, she tried to bully her mind to recall her masculine name. Seconds slipping by, she absently reached down and began folding and unfolding the small, pink packaging the panty liner had come in. Starting to breath in through her nostrils and exhale out through her mouth in an attempt to calm herself, she shut her eyes, then opened when a eureka moment struck her. Looking confidently at the mirror, she stated, “It’s Karen.”
Aghast at what she’d said, and that she could no longer remember her male name, she leaned forward. Placing her hands flat on the sink, she pressed her face against the mirror. Whispering, “Dammit. What did I ever do to deserve this,” she found herself enjoying the cool surface pressed against her cheek.
The seconds passing, she eventually straightened up and peering at her reflection, she resolved, “Fine. I may be a girl right now. But not always. The first chance I get, I will become whoever I was before last night,” even as feelings of confliction settled over her about whether she had ever been a guy and she recalled points of her life growing up a girl and how she didn’t want to be a boy.
Absently picking up the pick wrapper from where she’d dropped it, Karen stared at it a moment before folding it and tucking it into the waistband of the leggings. Giving her reflection one final look, and feeling unsure about her looks, her body and that she had somehow been betrayed, she huffed in agitation before leaving the bathroom. Outside in the hall, she paused and hugging herself, she wondered briefly if there was some way she could sneak off without having to deal with her situation. But thinking this would be hurtful to Mrs Emcie, Karen figured she should at least stick around for breakfast and to see if she could start to put together the pieces of last night.
“Besides,” she thought. “I still need to figure out what happened to Soyala,” and starting toward the stairs down, she stopped at the top and tried to figure out who Soyala was.
Mind flashing to titbits of information, she remembered that Soyala was her best friend and had been so since the two first met shortly after Karen’s mother had moved in next door to Soyala’s family, about the time when she’d been three or four. Thinking that the memory was off, Karen was certain her best friend had a different name and that she was in some way involved with the costume. But what those connections were, she was at a loss to make them as her mind kept insisting that Soyala didn’t go by any other name, she, Karen, had always known Soyala by the name the other girl had been introduced as and that her best friend only had a partial connection to the costumes they had worn, with she, Karen, also making a contribution.
Even more memories coming to her, including one of her mother telling her that there had been a number of reasons why she’d moved them to where they were living and that Karen would know one of the major deciding choice some day, Karen eventually groaned, “Great. Even my memories of my best friend are mucked up,” and feeling frustrated, in addition to conflicted and unsure, she sighed heavily and started down the stairs.
Downstairs, it didn’t take her long to find Mrs Emcie, as the woman was busy inside the kitchen washing dishes from what Karen could guess has been Mr Emcie’s breakfast. Stepping through the door, noticing a calendar hung on the wall stating the date as November 1st, a Saturday, she immediately turned her attention to Mrs Emcie when the woman announced, “There now. Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day,” in a cheerful tone. Giving the woman a nod, Karen hugged herself and replied, “Yes, ma’am,” as she walked across the kitchen and sat down.
Mrs Emcie, moving away from the sink, still smiling, explained, “Cassie should be getting up soon. It’s almost eight in the morning. But, in the meantime, what would you like for breakfast? I could fry you up sometime. Or, if you want, we have hot cereal, cold cereal, bagels, I think there might be a couple doughnuts left, and we have a couple bananas still.”
A feeling of shyness creeping over her, Karen drew one of her legs up onto the chair. Hugging it, causing the fabric of the leggings to pull tight against her crotch as her small breasts pressed comfortably into the shirt, she shrugged and said, “I’ll have a doughnut and a banana, if that is all right,” as she realised more and more of her life as the unknown boy was slipping from her and that the way she was sitting and how she had her arms wrapped around her leg felt rather comfortable and natural.
The need to fight this coming over her, she asked herself, “Why?” Listening at Mrs Emcie asked, “Would you care for some orange juice?” and she answered, “Yes please,” Karen tried to figure out the reason as she felt more of former life slip away to be replaced by the girl she’d become.