Greg was woefully early to his Russian Cinema class. He had taken the afternoon bus to campus instead of the evening one so he could canvass the school and paper every surface with flyers for next week’s LGBT speed dating event. As social secretary for the GSA, he was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to participate, but he was happy that he could spearhead the event for other lonely hearts on campus.
He tacked a flyer to the bulletin board in the classroom and sat down with an exhausted sigh. He was sweating bullets. Why oh why had he decided to do this on a day when it was ninety degrees outside? He pushed his sweaty blonde hair out of his eyes and opened his laptop. He’d accidentally left PhotoBooth open last night (he was trying and failing to take good Grindr pictures) and his screen filled with his puffy, perspiring visage. His lank hair clung to his cheek. He’d always had a little more baby fat than average, but his baggy black Doctor Who T-shirt hid most of that away and he felt that his round face was friendly. The awful spray tan that he’d gotten weeks ago was finally beginning to look like a healthy human color. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse.
He close PhotoBooth and opened reddit, trolling around online as the minutes passed. It was almost time for class when he noticed that he had a Facebook message. It was from Paul, the kid who started the high school chapter of the GSA. Because he was a little too flamboyant and ill-liked, sometimes he asked Greg for advice, but today he had just sent a link. He clicked it and a video opened on a channel called Nickpix. It was the same old homophobic claptrap he was used to, growing up in the South. He wondered why Paul thought it was so important to share.
He was about to type a response message when the rest of the class walked in and the professor readied the projector. Greg quickly shut his computer and opened his notebook. The film was black and white and the subtitles were hard to read. Greg could tell that the pretty girl wanted to be with the handsome man (he didn’t blame her), but the ugly prince wouldn’t… His mind drifted drowsily. All of a sudden, he began to sweat again. His entire body seemed to heat up from the inside as if he had just stepped out once again into the hot sun.
Drip. Something brownish orange splattered onto his notebook. Drip. His vague notes blurred beneath another droplet. Drip, drip. Greg wiped his face with the back of his hand, leaving a brown-orange streak on his skin. He stared at it. What the hell? Drip, drip, drip. With a burst of alarm, he realized that he must be sweating off his spray tan. There was nothing he could do about it right now though. Trying to ignore the oil sliding down his face and chest, he turned his attention back to the movie.
This scene was much more interesting. Olga and her bridesmaids were trying on dresses, their lacy undergarments flashing as they changed. A sneaky grin appeared on his face. He reached for his pen to make another note, but stopped when he noticed how deathly pale his hand looked. It seemed that his entire tan had sluiced away, leaving his skin even whiter than before. What a waste of fifty bucks, he thought dozily as his vision grew cloudy with exhaustion. He slouched in his chair, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his attention was caught by the LGBT Speed Dating flyer on the bulletin board.
His face suddenly flushed with rage at the thought that this school was yet another haven for faggots and cocksuckers. ‘In my country,’ he thought, ‘Those perverts would be arrested before ever being allowed to put up filthy propaganda like that.’ He sat up straight in the chair, not realizing that his line of vision was a little higher than before. He wondered briefly if the characters in the movie had started to speak English, because he now understood every word.
“I could never marry him,” said Olga, “I do not love him.”
‘That doesn’t matter,’ thought Greg ‘women should as they’re told.’
He doubled over with a sudden pain in his gut and the sweat returned, along with the unbearable heat. The fat in his cheeks began to burn away, leaving his face gaunt and pale. His body fat also sloughed off, leaving him with a skinny but toned frame. He peered into his suddenly baggy T-shirt and saw coarse black hairs travel up to his navel and sprout in the shallow valley between his nipples. This sight suddenly vanished as the shirt tightened into a simple but fashionable cotton tunic.
Dark black hair sprouted on his thin forearms, starkly contrasting with the pallor of his skin. With his blonde hair still hanging limply around his thin face, he looked a little like a sad broom. This swiftly changed as the hair retreated halfway back into its follicles, pitch black color spreading from the roots. His hair stood on end and gelled itself upward into a sweeping, thick mass, forming a sharp widow’s peak at the tip of his forehead.
His eyebrows shrank, becoming thin and stern above sharp, grey eyes. His button nose became thin and straight, anchoring his strong, manly features. As a final touch, his face began to sprout thick black stubble, which grew off his lip, chin, and cheeks into a medium length unkempt beard. He ran his fingers through it and felt a thrill of masculinity.
His transformation complete, Grigoriy the Russian exchange student finished the film, taking detailed notes in scrawled Russian handwriting. He fantasized about the Russian features of Olga’s beautiful bridesmaids and his boner tested the limits of his designer jeans. Hail to the Motherland.