For a Girl by J.T. D'Arelli (classic literature books TXT) 📕

stepped back for a moment. "You're such a sweetheart, Stephanie. Even when you were Jack, I thought you were special. You were always nice to me. I... I used to fantasize about us."

"Despite the fact I was male?"

"True, I'm not really big on guys. I think girls are better all around. But you were so cool — for a boy. I'd imagine us going out on a date. Then something would happen to turn you into a... girl. Some spell, or aliens or whatever. And once you were female, we'd be together the way I always dreamed of being with a woman."

I looked at her. She smiled shyly. "And now, I think my fantasy might be coming true. When you got on the bus yesterday, and you really were a girl — so pretty, so feminine — and it was no dream..."

I stood still as she approached me. "It's real," she continued — gazing at me in wonder. She cupped my face, ran her hands through my long hair, bravely caressed my breasts. Mmmm. She whispered to me: "You ARE a girl... you are SUCH a girl... will you be MY girl?" And she kissed me again. Deeply, soulfully and I felt my body respond to her touch.

Oh my, it was nice. There was no guilt. Sue and I had no romance anymore. And my sexuality had been turned inside out (or outside in?) — so there wasn't any homophobia to deal with. And unlike Sue, this young woman really, I mean REALLY wanted me. That alone piqued my interest.

So I grew very enthusiastic about it all. Our breathing became ragged as our female bodies pressed together. She was the aggressor —with all those years of denial, I may have been the first person she ever kissed. We embraced more tightly — both pairs of breasts pushing against each other — her nipples almost stinging me through our bras. She gasped as I stroked her chest, while she began to lift up my dress. There was a ringing in my ears — dizziness as our ardor increased.

It wasn't long before we ended up against the desk — both of us had our hems hiked over our hips by now as we experienced the delightful sensation of nylon panties rubbing against each other. Her hands were gently fondling my girly little butt while I entwined our smooth legs together. She laid me back and moved on top of me — with an expression of sheer pleasure on her face. We paused for a moment. Then, by unspoken agreement — we simply took off our dresses. In nothing but our frilly underwear, we resumed — caressing, stroking, kissing.

I'm sure this scene would have aroused most male observers — it certainly would have done so for me. Two pretty schoolgirls, each wearing only her bra and panties, passionately making out. I imagined a trailer for an upcoming movie: 'American Pie 4 — From Apple to Hair!'

I could feel the moisture starting between my legs, that oddly erotic softness — and the crotch of Arleen's silky undies had a wet stain as well. My nipples were so swollen! My desire grew still higher as she started to undo my bra. Oh, what desire... I pushed my groin against her, seeking to satiate the new, intense hunger that rose inside me. Deep inside me. Which could only be satisfied by...

A thought came into my hormone-addled mind then. Opera.

Yes, I said opera.

Stick with me here.

My mother dragged me to several operas over the years, all of which were crashing bores to me. Part of that is because the Syracuse and Binghamton theaters are about 200 miles off Broadway and the Met — Beverly Sills and Placido Domingo don't hang out much with us John-Boy types in the boonies. But the main reason I never got into opera was simple — I never had a passion for it. I did appreciate the technical skill of the productions, the elaborate staging, the over-the-top story lines and the magnificent singing.

I could respect it, even admire it, but there was no magic about it for me. Remember 'Pretty Woman'? There's a moment when Richard Gere (having quit gerbils cold-turkey) takes Julia Roberts to an opera. Before it begins, he tells her she will either have a true passion for it — immediately - or she won't. He says if she doesn't, she may learn to appreciate it — but she will never be enraptured by the art.

As we know, she swooned over the production, thrilled from the first moment. She did have it.

But when it came to Arleen, I didn't. Oh, I could appreciate Arleen's lovely body, her cute face and shining hair. And there was no question my physical arousal was real. I was very wet and excited from her stimulation.

But I felt no passion for her. Dammit — I should! She's a sweet, sexy young girl. I should want to be all over her. But what I really wanted was something else.

I wanted her inside me. But like me, she was female. And so she couldn't satisfy my new craving — the strange hunger I felt deep within me. I didn't want her like this. I wanted...

I wanted a boy.

The irony nearly made me laugh. Here was Arleen, who fantasized about turning me into a girl. But now that the impossible had actually happened, I wanted her to turn into a guy.

Because that was my body's desire. My... vagina... really, really wanted to be... penetrated. (I still have trouble combining the word 'my' with 'vagina'!) The intensity of these novel, yet exciting female urges shocked me. And even mentally, I found myself far more open to the possibility of boys than I ever would have imagined.

So, like opera, I could appreciate and respect Arleen's beauty and her sexuality. But I could not embrace it — not the way she wanted.

Arleen sensed my emotional disconnection and paused. She looked deeply into my eyes.

"It's not working for you, is it, Stephanie?" she said sadly.

"I'm sorry, Arleen — you're so sexy and I really want to want you, but..." I was echoing Sue from the other night.

"I understand, Stephanie. I kind of thought that since you were once a boy you might find the idea of being with another girl appealing."

"I thought I would, too — but I'm... I'm changing. Inside. You're so attractive, Arleen. I'd love to be with you — it wouldn't matter to me who was the boy and who was the girl. I'd gladly play either role. But..."

"As long as there was both a boy AND a girl," she said.

"Yeah... they told me at GRS that straight people stay straight, even after the change. I just never imagined I'd get these... feelings so quickly."

Arleen sighed again, and her eyes were watery. "I'd hoped, Stephanie..."

"That you wouldn't have to be alone anymore."

"Ye... Yes..." tears were spilling down her face again.

"But you're not alone, Arleen. You will get the hell out of this place, and we're both worldly enough to know there are communities out there where you can be yourself and be accepted." I spoke very firmly, cupping her chin in my small hand and meeting her eyes squarely. "You will find the love you deserve. I know it. And there's something else."

"What?" she asked, a hint of interest in her voice.

"You don't have to keep it all inside anymore. Anytime you need, whatever you're feeling — love, sadness, whatever — there's one person you can talk to. One person whom you can say anything to — and she'll never judge you. She'll just be your friend and support you."

"Uh... would that be you?" she managed a little smile.

"Yes, yes and more yes! Arleen — I know better than most what you're going through. My own sexuality has been a little... ambiguous lately. And I'm also amazed by you. You're so strong to have dealt with this all by yourself and still turn out to be such a cool person. So yes, girl, I am your confidant. They also told me at GRS one of the best things about being female was sharing our feelings. I can see that for myself now. Don't suffer in silence, Arleen. I'm here for you."

I could see a range of emotions play across her face. Most, though not all, were positive. I knew the bittersweet nature of it for her — she still desired me, and I could not reciprocate. But I remembered how Sue had given me a different part of her spirit to connect with — perhaps I could do the same for Arleen.

She wrapped her arms around me in another huge hug. "You're pretty amazing yourself, Stephanie. You changed sex and you're not only coping, you're helping ME! Before you were hit by GB, I always thought you'd make a fantastic girl. And now you've proven me right."

Last week, I would have considered that a bit of an insult. But now? Being told that Jack had been an apt candidate for girlhood felt almost like a compliment. Weird.

We continued the embrace until we realized we'd been in the deserted office for 20 minutes, and we were both in our underwear. Sheepishly, we broke the hug and scrambled back into our dresses.

We carefully checked the hallway before we exited the room. With a quick squeeze of hands, we said goodbye and promised to meet later. The next few classes were uneventful, although I was still dealing with my damp crotch. As a girl, I didn't have to contend with the visibility of an erection. But I did have to cope with wet panties. Fortunately, nylon dries quickly, and an hour after my encounter with Arleen, I no longer had that 'not so fresh' feeling. I resolved to pack a spare pair of undies in my purse — although I didn't plan to repeat such heavy breathing any time soon. Still, a girl can't be too careful.

Aside from the strange sensation of wearing a breezy pink spring dress, things were beginning to seem 'normal'. Kids began to talk more openly to me — with endless variations on the 'how does it feel to be a girl?' subject. But more and more of the time, I had conversations that didn't center on me at all — which was fine, indeed. Teachers, gossip, sports, homework, etc. all began to reassert their traditional place in the student body politic.

There was one unpleasant incident. While at my locker, I suddenly found a firm hand press against my back and push me against the metal. Andy Marks's voice whispered into my ear. "Hello, pussy."

I fought to free myself, but he was far too strong. There were a few kids around, but he was subtle about his body language — only if I cried out would I get any help. And I just couldn't do it.

"Looking good today, Stephanie. I'm glad to see you in a frilly dress. All the better for you to act like the cunt you are. I wonder what color panties you've got on? It won't be long before I find out — you should wear a black lacy pair for me. Our time is coming, girl — and when it does, I'm going to put you in your place. On your back, with your dress over your hips and your legs in the air. The perfect position for a girl like you."

"Let her go, Marks," a feminine voice said. He released me and I turned to see Sue and Becky glaring at him with matching expressions of disgust.

"Stephanie and I were just getting to know each other a little better," he said smoothly.

"Big mistake, Marks. The last thing you should want is for any girl to know the real you. Once she does, she'll be too busy throwing up to pay attention." Sue was harsher than I'd ever seen her.

He smiled — unaffected by the jibe. "You judge me too quickly, Wendell. I'm just a little misunderstood, that's all."

"You're not 'misunderstood' at