by Tina Majors
It was explosive, and the guard swore he would get revenge.
As far as I know, he never did, and his mood had seemed terminally bad ever since that night.
As I crossed the lawn, having had a quick scan for any prying security goons, I allowed myself a quick giggle at the guard who had been flour bombed. One of the bombers had recorded the footage on his cell and soon there were a series of memes and Gifs on the subject.
Some of the memes had actually been really very funny, the kind that go above the juvenile and actually hit on some more meaningful issues – while still remaining laugh out loud hilarious of course.
I must say though that some were rather close to the bone, not exactly my kind of humour as such, but could perhaps have been a little much if you catch my drift.
Was this taking things too far?
Did it cross the line of what was acceptable?
Normally, I would say it had.
But.
This officer was so disrespectful, rude, and often plain mean that perhaps this form of rough justice, as a last resort, was acceptable.
Well, it’s a hypothetical, and I wasn’t going to place myself as judge, jury, and executioner.
I guess time would tell whether any lessons had be learnt.
As I crossed the grass, I found myself almost breaking out into a skip.
Kinda not like me at all.
But, hey, I guess I wasn’t quite the old me anymore.
As I made it to the other side, feeling happy to have shaved a bit of time off my trip back to the dorm, I was alerted to the sound of muffled shouting.
Were they shouting at me?
Someone else?
I turned around and saw the security guard I had just been thinking of, the last person I had wanted to see.
Yes, you guessed it.
It was Flour Power as he was not so affectionately known. I could hear him shouting, and now I could see him pointing towards me, angrily shaking his clenched fist. Well, I could only assume that he had seen me crossing the so-called hallowed turf but there was no way I was sticking around to find out.
Without a moment’s hesitation I began to run across the flag-paved ground towards the Western exit that would take me directly back to my dorm.
I couldn’t resist at least one act of defiance though.
As I ran, I turned and shouted towards the angry little toad.
“Suck it, Flour Fricker!” I roared, although it came out in my newly feminine, high pitched voice.
If anything, that actually added to the impact.
Him being verbally called out and humiliated by a female student would, if anything, hurt his pride even more. Well, he could suffer that indignity for all I cared. If he had a problem with me, he should have calmly approached me to remind me of the rules.
Well, I guess that wasn’t his style, but why should I, or any other student for that matter, have to suffer because he had a terrible approach to communication?
I felt a sense of empowerment, one that I had never felt as a man.
Who said females were the fairer sex?
Feeling somewhat triumphant at both my blatant act of rebellion and also my fierce level of sass aimed at the rude security staff, I slowed my run down to a walk and took a quick minute to take a look over the notice board that was placed on the large board outside of my dorm complex.
There were dozens of new posters, all advertising the new groups, activities, and causes de celebre that were happening around campus.
Would I be interested in a Fifth-wave post-feminist korfball team?
Well, no, probably not if I am being honest – but I was glad that such a thing existed for those who would be interested in combining their love of a certain strand of feminism with the, to me at least, quite stupid game of korfball.
Wait a minute, I thought.
Do I actually know what korfball is?
Or am I confusing it with Ultimate Frisbee?
Well, either way, I knew that the group still probably wasn’t something I would be signing up to any time soon (aka never).
Scanning my eyes over to my left I saw an advert that was essentially a jock looking for a smart kid to do their assignments in exchange for money.
I mean, how ridiculous.
This was meant to be an ivy league institution, one that prided itself on academic excellence. Surely this kind of practice couldn’t be allowed to go on, let alone advertised so flagrantly.
Annoyed, I decided to take action.
Clearly the new me was also newly pro-active.
I had a quick check around and pulled the sign down and stuffed it in my bag.
That would teach them, I thought.
What is it with this kind of inherent privilege that makes people think they can cheat the system? Now I wasn’t saying that I had never myself bent the rules somewhat, or even that I would turn down the chance to get a competitive edge.
But, there is no way I would stoop so low as to pay for grades, which essentially what this was.
Then it struck me.
Was I actually laying the blame at the feet of the wrong individuals?
Surely it was the culture of the establishment that should be clamping down hard on this kind of thing. Individuals would always seek out cheats and scams given half the chance, and these jocks probably in some part felt like they had the entitlement to do as they pleased in part because of a college culture that lifted them above 'normal' students.
Now I’m no politician, but I think I’m talking sense here.
Not wanting to get overly wound up, I swiftly moved on and over a series of other adverts and posters.
Then I came across an interesting one.
It was a street dancing class for beginners.
Now, as a man this would have terrified me and made me feel self-conscious.
But surely now as a woman this kind of thing would be the norm?
My interest piqued, I tore off a declaration of interest and contact details stub and placed it in my pocket. I would have a further look later, cast my eye over their social media presence at the very least.
**
I looked at my watch and saw that I had a little bit of free time. Hell, who was I kidding? As a student I had a lot of free time, the kind that those out in the world of work can only dream about.
Well, having looked at the street dance class very quickly on my phone, I knew that they actually had a bit of a rehearsal going on right now.
Should I go an have a look? I thought.
I mean, when I was a man (boy, it still felt a little strange to even think that sentence), it may have come across as some kind of cheap tactic to hit on women.
But not now.
No, now I could just rock up and it would seem like the most legit thing going. I was a hot college babe who had an interest in learning to street dance!
I made my way across the lawned cloister and walked into the dance studio that was situated in the Du Pont Block for Performance Art. I peered around the door at first but was greeted loudly and enthusiastically by two fellow students.
They looked kinda familiar.
Wait.
No, it couldn’t be?
Yes, it was. It was two of the women I had spotted from the shower block window that morning. My oh my, that seemed a lifetime ago now.
The world had quite literally spun on its axis and I had gone from being the kind of guy who would almost always get totally ignored by these absolutely incredible women to… one of them?
It took a moment to sink in, but as they were talking with me, it became obvious that I wasn’t in some kind of cheap knock-off disguise, I truly and deeply actually was in a real, super feminine, woman’s body.
They were none the wiser about who I used to be. Why would they even have cause to wonder?
This was perfect.
What happened next nearly made my jaw hit the ground.
“Hey, if you’re going to sample the class, you’ll need t
o get changed into something more suitable,” Lacey said. “You can use some of mine and Jade’s spare stuff.”
I was a bit taken aback but nodded and followed them into the small changing area at the back of the room.
Lacey and Jade rummaged around in their bags and handed over a pair of absolutely tiny lyrca shorts and an equally tight sports bra style crop top. To start with, I couldn’t believe that they would expect me to wear these. I felt myself blush.
“Hey, they’re not that bad!” Jade laughed. “I mean, look at what we’re wearing!”
It was true, both Lacey and Jade were wearing pretty revealing workout gear. It certainly left little to the imagination and showed off their curves.
The weird thing was that as much as I found myself staring at their asses and legs as they bent over to find things in their gym bags, it wasn’t exactly the same kind of staring that I would have done previously.
No, it was different now.
It was almost like I was looking in a kind of collegiate, sisterly admiration.
Was it actually possible that my body change had affected my mind too?
Mysteros had said that when we next met, he would be asking a lot of questions, that I should record my thoughts as the day progressed. Maybe this is the kind of thing he would be asking me about?
Back to the situation I was in right this second though.
“Hey, don’t be shy,” Lacey said. “Try them on now, if they don’t fit I might have some other stuff for you.”
Wait, what?
I was expected to change in front of them? But I barely knew them.
I suddenly got a little freaked out, panicked a touch. But, then, I realised that to them, this was totally normal, and I should probably just get on with it.
As I stripped, I suddenly realised that despite my unisex clothes, I was actually wearing my old male briefs.
Would this be some kind of clue that all was not as it seemed?
I pulled my jeans down and before I got the chance to whip off the pants, I received enthusiastic compliments on my male underwear.
“Hey, that’s rad!” Lacey said. “Totally subversive!”
“OMG,” Jade added. “I so need a pair of those!”
Well, I wasn’t going to correct them and admit that these were just the kind of underwear I wore up until this morning.
I smiled and said I had bought them as a statement to a sexist ex-boyfriend. What was this? How was I lying so easily and comfortably about this?
“Hey, girl,” Lacey said. “You’ve got a sick body!”
“Um, thank you,” I replied, a little nervously, taken aback by the compliment but also not totally discounting it.
“Nice ass too,” Jade added. “You look like you squat pretty much on the regular?”
I mumbled something about hitting the gym as much as time allowed and was met with an offer to work out with both of them the next day. Apparently, their personal trainer was a Swedish exchange student called Magnus, and he was super hot, super buff, and had a great way with his hands.
Wierdly, this seemed to turn me on more than the sight of the two women in front of me. I listened as they both described Magnus.
His height.
His blond hair.
His perfectly sculpted abs, shoulders, pecs…
I found myself getting a strong tingling sensation in my pussy and was almost overcome with an urge to find the nearest toilet cubicle and finger fuck myself until I came.
“Are you okay, baby?” Jade asked. “You look kinda hot?”
“Damn, I think all this talk of Magnus has got our girl ready to ride a dick!” Laughed Lacey.
I laughed too, attempting to go along with the joke to put them off the trail that I actually totally was imagining Magnus naked, the Hemsworth lookalike totally nude, his undoubtedly large cock, hard, pointing towards me, letting me know that it would be my turn to ride it soon enough.
I felt another wave of arousal come over me and knew I had to change the situation, and fast - if I didn’t I might end up cumming right there on the spot.
We walked back into the studio. By now the instructor had shown up and we went through the street dance workout session.
I enjoyed it.
And I’d made two friends.
Before we left, they made arrangements that we should hook up, hit some bars, flirt with some guys, indulge in some drunk and no holds barred girls talk.
I couldn’t quite believe what I was experiencing, but I knew one thing:
This had been a quite incredible Saturday so far, and the way things were going, it was only going to get crazier.
**
I placed my hand on the brass door opener, turned it, and entered the small coffee shop.
This was a pretty sweet little place on campus.
Super-fast WIFI, comfy seats, and never too crowded as it was down a small side-street.
Am I forgetting to mention the most important thing?
Yes, that’s right.
You guessed it.
It also happened to make a quite superb cup of coffee.
Is this something that people sometimes forget about? Sure, a place may have a very on trend décor; it may also have a lot of social media hype; but in my opinion, if a coffee shop isn’t bringing an A-game when it comes to the roasted bean then it can forget about it.
It may as well close its doors, shut for business, and reopen as a hardware store.
Think I’m being harsh?
Well, I have always taken coffee pretty seriously, ever since my first cup of Nescafe. Of course, I wouldn’t be seen dead drinking that swill these days of course.
I would probably rather die than ingest that putrid liquid excuse for a drink.
Hey, maybe that is taking things a bit far. I probably need another coffee, ironically enough.
Well, anyway, I stepped into the café and looked around to see which tables were free. It wasn’t a huge place, so even on a relatively quiet day, the primo tables could be in high demand.
Casting my eyes around the place my eyes lit up when I saw that the table in the corner, comfy seat et al, was free. Not only was it a nice size with a comfy chair, it also was close to a socket so you could plug in any electrical items.
Finally, and arguably the best of all, it was by a large floor to ceiling window that looked out onto the road. Oh yes, this was the best table here and of that there was no logical dispute.
I waved at Topher, the barista, but got a friendly, if somewhat confused, wave in return.
Oh, of course, he had no idea who I was now, did he?
Well, that was a bit of a mind-frick.
Not only that, but his confusion actually made me blush.
Weird.
This was something I would have to allow for in future, certainly when interacting with people who had known me before. In a state of embarrassment, I walked across the café and took my seat.
At least I had the seat.
Yes, a small but not inconsequential plus to a somewhat awkward moment. As I was walking away, I turned and asked for a flat white with coconut milk. I did enjoy a flat white, although recently had been getting back into lattes. Ultimately though, as something of an expert, I knew that you could order any variant you liked, but if the bean wasn’t good enough, if the roasting process wasn’t on point, you would not be getting a quality cup of java.
Anyway, I’m going full on coffee pro here.
So, having placed my order I walked over to the table and took my seat.
I looked out of the window and was surprised by how the light was reflecting off the window opposite and down on to the street, creating a kind of secondary window, albeit its shape distorted into a longer, even less symmetrical shape.
Nature eh?
I guess what I had discovered was that everything could have one shape, but also be capable of making another, totally different shape. The workings of the world, of nature, were quite astounding and I think in the moder
n era this had kinda been lost to people.
Call it the arrogance of the modern age.
Call it quote unquote science.
But, I think what I had learned at college, from other learned students and of course the more advanced professors, was that the next step in development would arguably be away from the increasingly dated notion of ‘man knows best’ science, and a return to looking at Mother Nature for answers.
I guess you could say I was feeling philosophical.
Maybe it was the effect of sitting in my favourite chair. After all, it was positioned perfectly for this kind of calm people watching and would often provoke me to go on intellectual flights of fancy, internally debating the thoughts that had been preoccupying me. Even better was if I had just been to a particularly stimulating lecture of tutorial.
I guess though that in my current situation I was always going to have many questions to ponder, many answers to seek out, many deep and profound thoughts about my present, and indeed future life.
Conscious that I was maybe getting a bit heavy in my thinking, potentially going down paths I didn’t necessarily need to go down now – it wasn’t as if I needed to resolve everything now was it! – I decided to change tack and sketch out a few ideas I’d been having for my creative writing minor.
One idea had been to write a thriller from the point of view of a bestselling thriller writer who is writing his latest thriller in a remote alpine mansion but suddenly finds that he is not alone. Without warning, a world champion skier and his family turn up at the mansion and ask for refuge. What would follow would be a deadly game of cat and mouse and long held secrets are revealed, revelations are drip-fed over the course of nine hundred pages, until a climactic traverse down the most deadly mountain slope in the region reveals who really was the Snow Sniper. The novel, titled For Whom The Sniper Intends, would be a part of the Rusk Treaty series of novels that deals with the daily ups and downs of world famous thriller writer Rusk Treaty.
Sure, it was just an idea at the moment, but I thought it could have legs going forwards. I had imagined what the cover would look like, and had written my acknowledgments – I figured this would save time later – but now I just needed to get on my laptop and get typing.
