Stella(they/them) arrived early for their shift, changed their clothes and decide to onpenly wear a female uniform. Everyone noticed the changes: their long brown hair now flowed gently over their shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. Their cheeks were subtly contoured, their lips lightly glossed, and their once-broad shoulders had narrowed. The custom-tailored scrubs hugged their new curves, accentuating a pair of perky A-cup breasts. The fabric clung to their widened hips, and the way they walked swaying gently was not an act. It was instinct.
That morning, they introduced themself as Stella to every patient they saw.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson. I’m Nurse Stella, and I’ll be taking care of you today.”
The older woman smiled and nodded warmly. “Well, aren’t you just lovely,” they said.
Their colleagues reacted with mixed emotions. When Stella told them they preferred to be treated as a woman rather than a man, most of the nurses were supportive—complimenting her look, chatting about beauty routines during break, even treating them more like one of “the girls.” A few gave them curious glances, but said nothing.
But not everyone welcomed the change.
Their supervisor, Dr. Crowley—a rigid, old-school physician—was clearly not amused.
Before lunch, he summoned Stella into his office.
He closed the door behind them and said flatly, “Stanley, this charade needs to stop. Immediately.”
Stella blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You come to work in makeup, wearing tight clothing, calling yourself a woman. Patients are asking questions. Staff are uncomfortable. You’re a distraction.”
“I’m not a distraction,” Stella replied calmly, though their voice trembled slightly. “I’m a nurse. And I’m still doing my job, no matter my gender.”
Dr. Crowley slammed a clipboard down on the desk. “You were hired as Stanley. A man. If you want to parade around in drag, do it on your own time. If you can’t come to work dressed appropriately, we’ll find someone else who will.”
For a long moment, Stella said nothing. Then they met his eyes. “You mean someone else who hides who they really are?”
Dr. Crowley didn’t answer. Instead, he asked them to go home early—and return the next day dressed as a man.
Stella turned and walked out, their heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor.
They were still shaking, but they didn’t cry. Not this time. Instead, they pulled out their phone and sent a message to Kate: “Crowley gave me an ultimatum. If I come in as myself again, I’m fired.”
Kate replied quickly, her words a warm balm: “Screw him. You’re brave, Stella. I’m proud of you. And I’ll always be here for you.”
Later that afternoon, still processing everything, Stella stopped by a sex shop on their way home. They wandered through the aisles. Eventually, they chose a strap-on and a sleek butt plug. While comparing sizes, she overheard two women talking near the BDSM section.
“David ! I found two collars and two leashes,” one said. “Just like Mistress Tyranny commanded us to buy. We better get the exact ones she wants, or she’ll punish us hard.”
The other woman huffed, clearly flustered. “Don’t call me David, unless you want me to start calling you Patrick!”
Stella paused, eyebrows raised. David and Patrick? Those were the names of Kate’s two friends—the ones they were supposed to have dinner with at Annie’s on Friday.
"What are the odds?" she thought, her mind turning over the strange coincidence as she paid and left.
Back home, Stella tidied up the apartment, then, while waiting for Kate, they masturbated while watching lesbian porn videos.