The night air was cool as I pulled the warm blankets further up to my chin and curled my feet to keep them warm in the blankets. The darkness of the room seemed to make me feel that it was still hours before time to get up, and I really didn’t want to wake up at the moment. I couldn’t remember what I had been dreaming about, but whatever it was, I felt very content to stay where I was.
There was a smell that I couldn’t identify in the air. Just what it was, was impossible to trace. It didn’t smell bad or anything, it was just… curious. Tried as I might, I couldn’t get the overpowering aroma from penetrating my brain enough to cause my eyes to flutter open. I was lying on my stomach at the moment, my brain thinking back to yesterday afternoon.
You see, I’m a high school senior, and though I really liked this girl at my school, I had completely chickened out on asking her to the prom. I just wasn’t good at asking girls out at all. Matter of fact, I’ve never asked a girl for any kind of outing at all because I was just that shy, and for the most part, girls seemed to like guys that are sure of themselves, even jerks, over guys like me, so you can guess how many times I’ve been on a date at all. Never.
Well, the smell had caused me enough intrigue that I opened my eyes for the first time since feeling the pull of the morning, but as I looked around in the dark, I noted that several things were out of place. First, upon turning to my back and looking back over at the other side of my bed, I could see that my nightstand and my digital red flash displaying lit alarm clock was missing. In place of it, the room seemed expanded, and I could see a large dresser against one wall with a round mirror facing me, or at least that was what it looked like. I could really only see silhouettes at the moment because of how dark the room was.
I looked to the foot of the bed, and saw a small desk with a chair. Somewhere between the dresser and the desk, there was also a card table, or at least a small square table about that size with three chairs around it.
Now, I realized what this was…, or at least it feels like that, when you dream you wake up, but you are not really awake, and so you try to wake up again and again, until you finally succeed just as you get scared that it is impossible to wake up. That is what I must be experiencing, or that was what I told myself.
I closed my eyes, and waited a few minutes, and then tried to open them again, expecting the room to have changed slightly, just enough to make me feel like I might be awake this time, but in reality, nothing had changed at all. Everything was exactly as I had seen it a moment ago, even the pile of clothes lying next to the bed.
“What the dog?” I called out.
Never in these dreams had I remembered hearing myself call out, nor had I ever remembered having a voice that sounded a bit higher pitched and almost… girl-like! I clasped my hands over my mouth, probably with my eyes widening to as large as silver dollars in the dark. Something was definitely different about this dream!
I tried to close my eyes again. I would try to force myself back to sleep, and then wake up. But I didn’t feel tired at all. My eyes seemed to hurt from being forced to stay closed, and curiosity kept trying to make me peek. I gave up and sat up, still in the same bed that was different from my own in the different room.
Looking closer, I could see that the bedspread had little flowers on it, and that it was pink. I sighed and waited for what was next to come in this strange dream that felt less and less scary, but much more mysterious. Why was I dreaming that I was a girl?
The realization had not hit me until I had actually thought it. Yes, I was dreaming I was a girl. I felt something more to my chest than just the normal barrow muscles and flat nipples. No, the chest was definitely with shape, small round hills or the like were pushing through the skin, and as I put my hand over my chest, I found it bare, and that with the nipples now standing nearly erect, it was much more like little mountains with a valley that fell between them, the space between them was very narrow, and the valley felt quite deep.
“What the hell?” I nearly yelled the same girlish voice firing through my ears from earlier. “What am I doing here?”
“Robyn? Is that you? Are you awake?” came a sound from outside the door just before it opened. I sat up looking the direction of the door, the blankets having fallen from my chest just as it opened. Thank goodness it was just another girl, but what the… I’m not even sure I liked that. Dream or not, this was not comfortable.
“I’m awake,” I said hoping she would close the door sooner than later.
“So you are. You are going to high school today, so you should go get your new clothes we got you for school.”
“What?” I asked my mind racing. “What do you mean I’m going to high school today?”
“Well, it’s the first day of school, and you start high school today. Did you forget?”
I nodded not knowing what else to say. I was starting high school? that meant that in my dream, I was at least 2 maybe three years younger than my real age. I sighed and waited for the woman that I still didn’t recognize to shut the door, then I climbed out of bed seeing that I was in a pair of pink and grey striped panties with little pony designs running along the gray stripes.
I was glad that the woman had not stayed, and the door was now closed as I wondered to the dresser with the small round mirror in it reflecting my room. Or was it?
I looked through the mirror, and I thought I saw, not the reflection of this room, but the reflection of the room in my original home. Despite that, I could not find myself anywhere, and what looked back at me through the mirror was definitely a girl with somewhat decent ‘cupcakes’ as I started to call them out of respect for not wanting to offend anyone else, and out of embarrassment of calling them the many proper things they might ought to be called. They were not so small that they were unnoticeable, but rather, they were seeming to be calling attention to them which really spooked me. I knew I couldn’t hide them at school, and somehow, I feared going to school as a girl. I just… it was not something I was familiar with at all.
My long strawberry blond, almost red in places, hung down to my shoulders, and my green eyes stared back through the mirror. Well, these were mine, while I was Robyn, but my real body should have had nearly black-brown hair, blue or green eyes depending on the shirt I wore, and definitely male chests and male boxers on my pelvis.
I shook my head and opened the dresser top drawer to find some undershirts, all girls, some bras, of which I had no experience in wearing, removing, or even helping with as a guy who had never had a girlfriend in all my high school days. I shook as I held this fragile strap out with two sewn-in baskets of some type. Was this what a bra really looked like? My mother had never even made me do the laundry because she always feared I’d find out too early what bras looked like or worse.
I turned it over and over in my hands trying to figure out how I was supposed to put it on. Naturally, I wanted to put it on like a regular shirt, you know, pull the straps across the front of my chest, but logic told me that that was definitely wrong. How did girls get something like this on? I couldn’t even see what I was doing!
I tried to put on an undershirt and played with the idea of skipping the bra, but when I tried that, something intimidating told me that if I did that, it would be worse than showing off my panties at school. No, I had to try to put it on. I removed the undershirt and pulled the bra over my over pronounced ‘cupcakes,’ and reached in back, but still could not really get the straps to connect. I gave up and peeked out the bedroom door.
My face blushing bright red, I was sure of it because it certainly felt on fire, I called down the steps to the woman, calling ‘mom,’ hoping that was the right word.
The woman came in and saw that I was completely undressed and shook her head at me.
“Robyn, you’re going to be late,” she said. “What’s wrong with you this morning.”
“I guess I’m so nervous,” I invented, “that I can’t get my bra on right.”
The woman looked at the ceiling as if thinking ‘oh brother,’ but she came over, and reached behind me to pull the bra straps together. Then she pointed at my chest.
“Adjust yourself, honey,” she said, but I could only stare at her blankly.
Sighing, she showed me how to pull my breasts into the cups of my bra. “I swear,” she said as she did so. “You are either playing around because you are scared of school, or your development issues are getting worse every year.”
“Development issues?” I mouthed wondering what she might be talking about. Is there something wrong with this girl whose place I was taking?
The woman didn’t leave to let me get dressed on my own now, though, but rather, pulled out a pink and purple striped shirt and put that over my head after pulling an undershirt on me, and then she pulled on a skirt over my ‘pony’ panties.
“There, all dressed except for socks. Need help with those too?” she asked looking at me as if to dare me to say yes.
I shook my head no.
“Good, come down to breakfast after you put your socks on,” she said.
I walked out of the room with some white socks on that came just over my ankles. I walked down the short hall-balcony with only four doors in it. My door was the third from the furthest end from the stairs. I walked down to the living room, and then saw a couple of steps up to the dining room as though the living room was a sunk in style.
In the kitchen, just beyond the dining room, were that woman again, and a man with red hair.
“Uncle Jack said he’ll take you to school this morning,” the woman said. “I would do it, but I have to go in early today.”
“What about the bus?” I asked automatically, thinking that girl or not, I wouldn’t want to be seen by my peers as someone so dependent on the adults in my life.
“We’ve already talked about the bus,” the woman said. “You can’t ride the bus until we are sure you know the way both to and from school in case of an emergency. With your condition, we have to make sure you know exactly where you are so you don’t get lost.”
Condition? I was liking my situation less and less. The way the woman seemed to be talking about me, I wondered if I was supposed to have some kind of slow learning problem or something. I was getting really tired of this dream in a hurry, and I wanted more than ever for it to end, but it just kept going on and on.
Before I knew it, we were driving to MY old high school. I wondered if anyone would recognize me, and if somehow, I would be made fun of for being dressed in this girl getup since I had been such a jerk before towards anyone that seemed gay. Maybe it was a kind of payback. I definitely was not gay, and I certainly hoped that no one would think I was. Then, I reminded myself it was a dream. No matter what people thought about me in this place, it would all be in my head. No one would really think that way in real life, and so, sighing with my shoulders falling in relief to some realization that I had an out, or I hoped I did, I walked into the ‘new school’ a little more confident.
Of course, since I knew where everything was, already, I walked right to the lunch room and ordered a cinnamon roll to eat for breakfast while I searched through my bag for a schedule. Interesting, the cinnamon roll tasted just the same as it always did, and it really did have a rich cinnamon-like taste and the frosted sugar really made my hands sticky! How could I imagine that so clearly? I really wanted to wake up, and now!
I found my schedule, and I moaned when I saw who my fourth period teacher was, Mr. Hastings for English and right after the PE class on the other side of the school. Mr. Hastings was the most anal teacher in the school, and he didn’t accept any excuses. Remembering back, I don’t remember having him for fourth period though, and I was sure that I had had PE for first period, so this was not just some memory. It was something my mind was making up as we went, and the more it went, the scarier it felt.
After eating the rather taste-filled sweet bread, I walked directly to the Algebra class, knowing the school much better than I had when I was in the tenth grade. I was actually relieved to know where I was going. If I had been in a completely foreign environment on top of all else that was going on, I’d probably have gone crazy already. Still, things were getting more and more strange as I walked through the familiar halls. The halls were the same, the classrooms were nearly the same, but something else was not the same.
As I peeked through some of the open doorways for the bathrooms on the way to the algebra class, I smelled some sickening smells of tobacco and other things that I didn’t want to know coming from them. The smells were so vivid, I was actually feeling a little sick to my stomach from them and I passed by them as quickly as possible. I was glad for the privacy wall that we had to navigate around when going into the bathrooms, because at the moment, I felt really scared of looking in the boys’ room because I was supposed to be a girl, and I felt even more nervous of looking in on the girls, knowing that all the partition doors for the stalls had been removed two years ago when someone had been caught smoking pot on school grounds. The school had done that so that no one would feel safe smoking or bringing drugs into the school ever again, and during my time at school I thought it had worked.
I got into the math class, and waited patiently while the teacher sorted out those that went to the wrong class by mistake. Sitting patiently, I noticed that more than a few girls and a couple of boys were pointing in my direction and whispering mysteriously.
Sheepishly, I closed my legs, and turned away from them fearing that they were making fun of me for some strange reason.
Before I knew it, the teacher was going through the first day of school rituals, first passing out text books to every student, recording our book numbers in their records, and then handing out the syllabus which included class expectations, rules, and what we will learn for the year. I sighed as I stared at this paper, knowing every part of it word for word. I had had this teacher before, and after reading just the first paragraph, I realized that I recalled exactly how she ran the class.
Students around me seemed to be out of their element, no one really ready for high school. I was beyond those first day jitters as far as knowing what to expect from the teachers, but I realized that I had other issues that were coming to surface in my mind. I don’t know any of these other students. What if they think I’m a nerd, or I’m lame, or that I’m gay?
“It’s only a dream,” I mumbled to myself to remind myself that none of this could be real.
“Excuse me, Ms. Barret,” the teacher called over at me. “Did you say something while I was talking?”
“No ma’am,” my high pitched girl voice surprised me again, and without thinking I covered my mouth with my hand. Other kids looked over at me, and chuckled and giggled.
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Haile called out to the class at large. “We do not laugh at other students in this room, or we will all stay after class and offer Robyn an apology.”
The other students rolled their eyes and waited for the teacher to continue going through the boring syllabus, rules, procedures, and expectations with them. Why the teachers wasted time by giving students a paper and then reading it to them rather than having them do so on their own always irritated me, but if they think we have to be directed like four year olds, maybe it was just part of the dynamics of how we treated them back. It was always students against teachers in my head.
Well, I was more than happy to see that the class ended, and the other students were far more interested in finding their next new class than tormenting me, so I walked off to find my Sociology class, this class taught by a man named Mr. Kean. I wasn’t sure about this particular teacher as I had not taken that particular class in the tenth grade. However, if he was anything like the regular teachers at the school, I could guess his policies.
When we walked into the room, the first thing I noticed was that the television was pulled to the front of the room, and the recording machine was already on. The television screen was blue, ready to play back whatever the teacher had set in there.
“Mr. Kean,” I raised my hand after taking my seat.
“Yes, Miss?” he asked not yet knowing my name.
“Are we watching a movie on the first day of classes?”
“No ma’am. That would be a waste of your time and mine. I have something else loaded in that machine, which I will direct everyone’s attention to once everyone is in the classroom.”
I nodded and waited for the classroom to fill up.
It turned out, that in this class, the first ten minutes of class would be dedicated to watching some news program he had taped previously probably at home the night before.
“I want you all to keep notes on what they talk about in the news, and to refer to those notes often while we are looking at what society is like. When we compare societies both ancient and modern, you will be able to make personal conclusions about things that change and things that stay the same.”
He then turned on the news, and I sat there writing down some of what they were talking about. I didn’t really understand what he wanted us to write, even though I was older, because I don’t think he was really that clear about what he wanted. It seemed hard to keep up with what they were saying.
Once the news moment was over, it lasting about ten minutes of the class, I was happy to move on getting the syllabus and to have him talking to us about what we would be expected to do. This news moment would be a routine procedure in every class, and now, he explained it more fully. We were to not just take notes, but to make a note to ourselves about what we felt about this information.
What was more, we were going to explore what society was like in many different environments around the world and in different social classes even within the United States. Were people even in one country so different? It seemed like he believed that was true.
I could care less what he thought about society to tell the truth, and wondered if it was impossible to change my class for American History, something that seemed far more interesting to me. Still, for the period, I was stuck, and I was more than happy when I was allowed to leave Sociology and go to the Physical Education class.
I arrived in the locker room, and waited for the girl’s teacher to come around with a lock for me. This was not new to me, and I knew already what was expected. The next day, I would bring my PE uniform to class, and I would be inspected and get graded on keeping my PE uniform clean and wearing it every day as well as participating in classes and basically just being a student. I had only put up with taking the class for one year, but I still remembered the tediousness of keeping up in that class. It was easy to keep a good grade as long as you were willing to please the teachers.
After the P.E. class, however, my first trial as a girl struck me. I was on my way to Mr. Haile’s class, the strictest, and possibly worst teacher of all time, when I realized that I should visit the bathroom. Well, even as it was, I rarely had to go badly after just one class, and I knew that with the tight schedule of dressing in P.E. class, and with that class being on one side of the building while Mr. Haile was on the other, it might be a bad idea to try to sneak in. I would be able to wait until after that class, and anyway, then, it would be lunch, so I wouldn’t be rushed to use the toilets, right?
I walked into the Mr. Haile’s class confident that I could wait through one fifty-five minute class. I didn’t really even have to go that badly as it was, so there was really nothing to worry about.
What I would have given to know at that time, how much harder it was as a girl, what I know now. Not only that, but there was another problem.
I sat third desk back from the front, and in the first row, and that put me right by the teacher’s desk. I sighed because if I had a choice, I’d be on the other side of the classroom, but there being nothing else to do but obey if I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, I just sat.
It was just a dream. I sat thinking, I could start something if I want to. Nothing bad would come from it, because this isn’t real! I would just wake up, and no one would know anything about it. Even as I thought it though, I just couldn’t get my shy ass to stand up and do anything that would get me noticed.
He was just as anal if not more so than I remembered him. He passed out our English books and he paused half way in, taking a moment to explain that even if we ‘dog ear’ the book, we would be held accountable because it damages the books. If we even wrote light lines in the books, he would know, and we would be held accountable.
“How are you going to hold us accountable?” one of the other students suddenly interrupted him.
“For one,” he said taking a breath to steady his nerves. “You have just cause your classmates to wait one minute after the bell for talking out of turn. Do it again, and the class will wait a minute and a half. I have every right to make you wait up to five minutes after class since your next period is lunch, so don’t waste my time, or I’ll waste yours. For another, it is true you might not have a job to pay for the book, so I will take it out of your grade. For example, if you do fifty dollars damage to a book, you will lose 5% of your total grade for the semester. Do you understand?”
The student nodded and became quiet. After that, no one dared to speak until they were given a chance to raise their hands, and even then, everyone was too scared to respond to the new rules that were imposed on them. I knew that was going to happen though. It had not surprised me at all, but what I wasn’t ready for, was that the pressure in my bladder started to pulsate, and I felt a little warm tingling ‘down stairs,’ that told me that I really needed to use the bathroom soon.
I looked over at the clock and noted that we still had at least twenty minutes of class left. I looked over at Mr. Haile, and knew right away that being uncomfortable for about twenty minutes was much more desirable than making this hard-ass angry. Besides, not only might he say no, but I could earn the class another thirty seconds of being late for lunch, something I didn’t want everyone hating me for.
The discomfort grew little by little, but it was no mistake that by the end of the period, my knees were bouncing off of each other, and my butt was scooting back and forth in the chair I was sitting in. There was a kind of constant squeaking noise that no one else seemed to identify though my face felt fiery enough that I wondered how they didn’t know it was me.
The teacher finally let us go, a minute after the bell just as he had promised and just as I knew he would, and I started to walk with everyone to the main hall where I could find a washroom. Then it hit me. It was only a dream, but still, I had to choose.
If I were to go in the boy’s room, would that make me a pervert since I was displaying a girl’s body? If I went into the girl’s bathroom, would that make me a pervert because I might see the other girls going pee? Which one should I use?
Even as I tried to make up my mind, I could see other students filing into each one, according to his or her own sex, and I knew I had to make a decision soon. I held my breath, and I walked into the door for boys, but when I got just on the inside of it, I met two football players who smiled down at me.
“You’re in the wrong toilets, miss,” they said.
Typical of dreams, if something can get in your way, it will. I blushed and backed out stammering out ‘sorry,’ and then got myself pushed into the girl’s room. I walked around the block of wall, and my mouth dropped.
There were literally, lines of six girls in front of each of four stalls, the lines of the girls were busy talking about their first day at school while the open stall doors of the girls inside, blushed as they exposed themselves to their classmates.
“Why the hell don’t they put doors on the stalls?” I whispered under my breath. “This is ridiculous.”
“I know, right?” a girl in front of me responded. “But hey, if we just turn our heads and talk to the girls around us, we can give each other a little privacy. I just hope I don’t have to poop while at school. That would be so humiliating, everyone knowing it is me because of the open door.”
“You are so right,” another girl spoke breaking into the conversation.
I felt my face blushing, hearing girls talk about poop and basically bathroom issues was really embarrassing. I never pictured them doing that in a hundred years! When I saw them, they always called the mildest of issues so gross!
“The other girl in front of you is done,” one girl prodded the girl in front of her, probably anxious to relieve her own needs.
I could feel the pressure in my bladder throbbing with stronger signals, and the heat in my panties was getting harder to ignore. There was almost a kind of annoying prick in my privates, that alerted me to the danger of possibly peeing my panties while I waited in line to use the toilet. All around me, I saw something I had never seen before. There were maybe two or three girls, openly dancing around as they waited for those in front of them. Was this what girls were really like when they didn’t know boys were watching, or was it my male perverted mind making these things up?
“Please, wake up,” I pleaded with myself wanting this all to be over with, but the dream just relentlessly trod onward. I was getting to the point of wanting to slap myself silly for dreaming myself into this situation, and worse, the dream seemed to slow down and not want to move on past this.
I soon started to feel myself squirming a little more, and when I looked towards the doors, I saw a pretty girl pull down her panties right in front of me, both of us blushing, and she sat on the toilet, me having seen her hairy front for a few seconds. I looked away in a hurry my face couldn’t be more fiery even if it were melting!
“Robyn saw Jade,” a girl behind called out teasing causing Jade to turn even redder. I wanted to crawl into a tiny hole or something, and then I started to get scared. What if in this dream, I produced a dick instead of girl parts?
That fear had caused me to run abruptly from the girls’ room, everyone looking after me, and I ran all the way down to the office, and stood in front of the counter, waiting to be acknowledged.
Now, my legs were writhing constantly, and I was sure people knew I was doing the pee-pee dance, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t go where I might produce a dick in front of a bunch of girls, and I was scared to go in the boy’s room and not produce one! I was trapped in a very sensitive situation.
“Please,” I called to an office attendant. “Can I talk to someone?”
“What is it, miss?” a woman finally acknowledged me.
“Can I talk to the nurse?” I asked desperately holding myself now, and writhing in place.
“Are you Robyn Berret?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Yes, I’m Robyn,” my voice was cracking from trying to hold it.
“Alright,” the woman said looking sympathetically at me. “This way.”
I went into the nurse’s office, and watching me do the pee-pee dance, she didn’t ask a single stupid question, but rather put her hands on my shoulders and directed me to the toilets in her office.
I pulled down my panties to find out that I was a girl, even under them, and that my panties were a little damp, though I convinced myself that it was sweat and not pee though I wasn’t really sure at that point which it was.
After I had peed in the toilet, my face red as Rudolph’s nose, I came out of the bathroom pulling up my panties, completely forgetting girl etiquette since I had little practice in being a girl. I met the nurse, and she smiled.
“Feeling better now?” she asked me.
“Much better,” I said sighing. However, deep down, I knew the difference of peeing, not because I knew how a girl feels, but that it certainly didn’t come out right. There were missing muscles, and the water sprayed out getting my butt a little damp instead of streamed out of an aim-able devise that I had been born with. It hit me, that none of this was dream. As impossible as it was, it was for real!
I’m so sorry, but I’ve been struggling how to get this story to make sense in my head, and now, hopefully, I’m on the right track. Thank you WBDaddy for your critiques with the original idea so that this piece could come out. I like it now. I might use the other place for rough drafts for feed back and then this one for the final copies of passable chapters.