You decide not to mess with the makeup right now, but you do inspect the box with a playful smile. Later.
While you debate whether to go searching for a cute pair of flats, you try the heels on a whim. To your surprise, you move about the room as comfortably as if you were simply wearing sneakers. As a final touch, you slip one of your padded bras on underneath your soft, velvety top with its female guitarist.
Inspecting yourself in the mirror, you feel a flash of panic. Not because you've changed but rather because you can still see a boyish presence beneath all these clothes. Sure, you have your padded bra on but it only gives the slightest hint of a bust. You don't have the manliest shoulders but they still seem to jut a little too much in that lovely top. At least you shaved your arms and legs in the bathroom before you got dressed up. Still, you can feel prickly little hairs that you couldn't quite squash.
A flare of uncertainty hits you as you realize you didn't shave your body...did you? Yet your skin looks smoother than usual. This pleases you. You look girlish and pretty. Not delaying with doubt anymore, you step out the door and into the main hall. You hold your breath as a pair of towering football players loom in the hallway.
Before you can take the first step to scoot out of their way, they step back and let you go first. You can feel their eyes on you as a swarm of butterflies leaps through your chest. You nervously check your padded bra to make sure it's not on lopsided or anything embarrassing.
The more you walk around in these clothes, the more natural they feel to wear. Even though you need to tuck your manhood up and back to wear the panties, the positioning is surprisingly comfortable to the point you don't even think about it.
Outside, you catch a sudden breeze as you open the door. It ruffles your hair and flashes it in front of your face. With a sigh, you wish you'd brought a tie with you to hold it back but manage to fashion your bracelet into a temporary substitute.
You do your best to stride confidently around campus with your heels striking the pavement. Your pretty skirt flutters in the breeze too. Past the football field, you make your way to the student services building. Checking your box, you find a lovely card from your cousin, saying you're an inspiration to them.
Your heart wells with joy. She has a tough time with her religious parents. They won't even consider letting her see a therapist and hormones are completely out of the question. You feel grateful your parents recognized the signs early and talked it out and made sure you were happy as a girl. Their support has made all the difference.
Giggling to yourself as you take in the emotions of your cousin, you hear a rough, bitter chuckle and a whispered, cruel F-word you dare not contemplate or repeat. Whirling around, you spy the clenched teeth and folded arms of Mitchell Creaver. If you could spray bile on him, you would open up right here. He's defaced the room where the LGBT Support Club meets and especially has it out for the Trans Students Club, of which you're the president.
Instead of a middle finger, which might get you in trouble, you flutter your Venus necklace and stare him down. Since he's a wimp at heart, he backs down but still leaves behind a bitter laugh. Fuming, you make your way to the gender neutral restroom to let loose a quick cry.
Gazing into the mirror, you pause and are struck by your reflection. Your hair, which should be close-cropped, hangs neatly over your shoulder in your roughly-fashioned tie. Your arms look lean and slender. Your skin has a strange luster to it almost like a girl's. And your nails. They aren't brightly painted but they have been cared for. Resting your hands on your chest, you realize there is something more which is caressed by your padded bra. Peeking, you gape at the development of your nipples, broader and fuller than just a few minutes ago. While you aren't especially busty, your padded bra accentuates what you have to look more like a normal girl.
Under your soft panties, you now have plenty of room, as her manhood has shriveled to a fraction of its normal size. It doesn't even respond to touching your breasts.
You are a transgirl in just about every way and at the cusp of your consciousness are challenges of your life. Coming out to your parents at an early age in fear, only to be met with love. Hormone therapy pushing your body slowly towards girlhood as you howl into your pillow about how slow your boobs are to develop. Mom's encouragement that she was a late bloomer too. Name calling all through junior high and high school along with dark, bleak thoughts. Then being asked out by boys all through high school and even getting named the Queen of Prom. The acceptance of your roommates in college. But Mitchell...
Only, it isn't actually your life. You aren't transgendered. Even though you can remember taking blockers and hormones for a decade. It has to be the light, something seeping through your clothes and into your life and body. It left you male but rewrote enough of you into a trans girl. You know you should hurry back to the dorm and blast yourself with the brightest blue beam but your mind wants more of girlhood.
But if you go too far then you'll become a full girl. What about your cousin? What about your life? It would all vanish away. And Mitchell, that jerk, he would just find someone else to torment...