In front of the mirror, I stand with my pants unbuttoned, hands trembling and heart racing. My reflection is both familiar and strangely different, like an alternate version of myself. At first glance, I look like the person I’ve always been, but now, under the harsh bathroom light, I begin to notice details I hadn’t seen just after making my last wish.
I approach the mirror, scrutinizing my face with renewed attention. My beard is absent. Usually, even after a close shave, there’s always a slight shadow, the hair roots under the skin. But now, there’s nothing. Just smooth skin, barely covered with a faint, almost imperceptible fuzz. I run a hand over my cheek, and I’m once again shocked by the softness of my skin. The sensation of my fingers gliding over this face is disorienting. It’s not the rough skin I knew; it’s almost… silky.
My gaze slowly drifts down to my neck. Something is off here too. It appears slightly slimmer, more graceful, almost feminine. My Adam’s apple, though never very pronounced on me, seems to have completely disappeared. A wave of panic rises within me as I probe my neck with my hands, searching for that bony protrusion. But it’s gone. My heart races at this discovery, and I feel a mix of terror and disbelief.
I then turn my attention to my torso. I’m still wearing my t-shirt, and I hesitate to remove it, fearing what I might find underneath. But I know I must do it, I need to understand the extent of the changes. Slowly, with measured movements, I take off my t-shirt. My eyes close for a moment as I lift the garment over my head, mentally preparing myself for what I’m about to discover. When I open them again, my breath catches.
My chest is flat. It’s an immense relief. There are no breasts, no feminine curves in this area. But… it’s not exactly like before either. My skin seems softer, almost satin-like under my fingers, and my pectorals have a slightly different shape. They are less defined, softer, as if the muscle tissue has lost its definition. As I run my hand over my chest, I’m surprised by an increased sensitivity around my nipples. A mere touch causes a reaction, a slight hardening, unusual. I feel a warmth rising within me, a warmth that seems to emanate from my lower abdomen, the same strange sensation I can’t understand.
I spend a moment gazing at my torso, trying to convince myself that it’s nothing, that it’s just stress, anxiety distorting my perceptions. But every detail I uncover reminds me that this is not a dream, that what I’m experiencing is very real.
My eyes travel down my torso, and I notice a very slight curve at my hips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but my pelvis seems slightly wider than before, or maybe my torso and shoulders have narrowed. I’m not sure, but this change makes me uneasy. I know something is wrong. Yet, my pants still fit well, which makes me think it’s more likely my torso that has changed.
And then there’s my pants… My gaze falls to the part of my body I dread examining. Under the fabric of my boxer briefs, I know something fundamental has changed. I hesitate to look, fearing that confronting it directly will make it even more real. But I know I can’t keep avoiding it. I must face this reality, as frightening as it may be.
I swallow hard, then, with almost deliberate slowness, I let my pants fall to the floor. The sight of the front of my boxer briefs, completely devoid of the familiar bulge, hits me like a punch in the stomach. It’s shocking, disturbing, and I feel almost dizzy. My gaze instinctively moves to my legs, and there too, I notice a difference. They seem to have a slightly different shape, softer, more… feminine.
I remain motionless for a moment, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. I know what’s under my boxer briefs; I’ve already felt it with my fingers, but now comes the moment of truth. Am I ready to see what’s happened to me? To confront this new reality?
With a trembling hand, I begin to remove my briefs. My movements are slow, almost hesitant, as if I hope my member will miraculously reappear, returning to its usual place. But as I reveal my lower abdomen, it becomes evident that this isn’t the case. The skin is smooth, devoid of any masculine protrusion. My heart races, and I feel a wave of nausea rising within me.
I let my briefs fall to the floor, exposing this part of me that I never imagined seeing differently. I don’t want to believe it, but there’s no escape. This is no longer my body, at least not the one I knew.
With a trembling hand, I explore this area. At first, I touch gently, still hoping to find that my member is simply hidden, maybe folded back. But as my fingers trace the contours of this region, I realize this isn’t the case. What I feel under my fingers is not masculine.
I discover a small, soft elevation, the mons pubis, where there should only be a flat expanse of skin. Lower down, my fingers encounter a fine opening, a slit that gently extends under the pressure of my touch. I feel my legs trembling beneath me as I fully grasp the extent of the change.
I now have a clitoris, a small, sensitive protuberance I’ve never had before, and with each touch, a wave of sensations, both new and terrifying, washes over me. Lower still, my fingers trace the contours of my labia, soft and delicate, surrounding an opening that I now recognize as a vagina. This realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I feel panic rising within me, my breaths becoming short and ragged.
I close my eyes for a moment, hoping it will all disappear, that I’ll wake up from this nightmare. But the sensations are all too real. The warmth emanating from my lower abdomen, the moisture forming between my legs—everything confirms that I am not dreaming. My body has changed in an irreversible way, and I am now faced with a reality I had never imagined.
I collapse onto the edge of the bathtub, legs trembling, head in my hands. How did I end up here? How am I going to live with this body?