“Well, hello there, Charlie,” I say again, introducing myself to the woman I’ve just Changed into in the mirror. Ooh - that’s a nice mezzo soprano. Not as melodic as Marti’s, but what could I expect - she’s been singing with hers since she was like three years old. I flirt with myself, testing some other vocal registers with a few bars of songs ranging from Janis Joplin to Taylor Swift, but end up satisfied with Charlie’s natural pitch – it’ll be good enough to keep up at karaoke without straining me or making me sound fake.

I give Charlie’s borrowed dress a couple more experimental twirls, making sure I’m satisfied with my ability to control how this more feminine form moves. I’m again struck by how much energy seems to be wound up in this smaller frame. If I can’t find a way to moderate it, I’m going to end up as a mess of manic chaos.

I wonder if Marty’s into that.

Huh. That thought came out of nowhere, but it reminds me that he’s probably waiting for me in the other room to see how I’m taking to my first Change. I shouldn’t keep him waiting.

I take a quick selfie with my phone, making sure the photo frame includes my face, hair, and cleavage. I send it to our group chat with a short message – “Hey, everyone, meet Charlie!” I frame the “Charlie” with heart emojis and follow the text with dancing woman emojis.

I take a quick look at Marti’s shoes before making a face and leaving them where they are. If I don’t need to tackle the torturous mystery of women’s footwear today, I’m not going to.

I let my coiled spring legs bounce me back into the living room, ready to twirl and flirt my way into a year’s worth of provocative payback. Marty’s standing in the kitchen, making what looks like coffee and a quick snack for us. I look him in the eye so that he knows exactly what I’m doing and…

Oh.

Oh my.

Fuck.

My eyes move up and down his shirtless body unbidden. I feel my thighs clench together and I bite my bottom lip as I try to restrain my desire. My hands squeeze the side of my skirt and I gently twist it back and forth.

I’ve spent time with my girlfriend’s “boy mode” on a regular basis during the year we’ve been dating, and I know, objectively, that Marty’s an attractive man. Marti’s a solid 9, and more than once I’ve made jokes about how it wasn’t fair that I was a full-time 6 trying to compete with Marty’s part-time 8. But damn, the man I see now is not an eight, he is a full-on eighteen. The way his jawline sits, the neither-flabby-nor-overmuscled tone of his arms, the way his chest is solid without overexaggeration, and his eyes…

None of this knowledge is new to me, but the feelings have changed a lot from when he was Marty, my girlfriend’s bouncer alter ego, to Marty, the man who I want to bounce me. I find myself wondering just how bad of a girl I need to be to make that happen. I can feel my thighs twitch again as warmth spreads between my hips and in my chest.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d expected – hoped – that I’d be attracted to men in general and Marty in particular after my Change. After all, that was the point of all this – to be someone who Marti and Marty could have a relationship with. But I underestimated just how powerful that attraction, that need, could be. I’m almost regretting putting the dress on after I took off the clothes I Changed in.

Marty smiles in that infuriatingly self-assured way I love so much – or at least loved so much on Marti. “Like what you see?” he asks playfully. I stand there, trying not to stare, smile weakly, and nod. He laughs and closes the distance between us. “Me too. The Charlie from our group text, I presume? You look ravishing.”

I feel Charlie blush and hear her giggle. I curtsy a little and give in to the need to touch him. I place my hands on his bare chest and move them up his shoulders and around his neck as I pull him in for a kiss.

As our lips are locked, my mind fills with two thoughts. The first, and more simple, is how blissful this feels, and how I want to stay in Marty’s arms like this forever. The second, and slightly more complicated, is how blinded I was by pride that I’d be able to turn the flirtatious tables on him like I’d planned. He knew how this was going to go; he had to. He’s been Changing for over thirty years; I’ve done it once. I can’t believe I let myself think I’d be able to control this situation, or – now that I’m kissing Marty – that I’d want to.

After what seems like forever, but is really only about fifteen seconds, our lips part. “Wow,” Marty says breathlessly, “I was about to ask permission for that, but I see it’s freely given. How does womanhood feel, Charlie? Good?”

Hm, maybe I did have a bit of an advantage. I try to rein in my energy – and my lust – and think. “Maybe? Definitely different. Probably good different. I’m still processing. What do you think?” I ask playfully as I twirl Marti’s dress the way I practiced. I feel a thrill of excitement as I see his eyes track the movement with interest and watch his pants move to accommodate his rise to my flirtation.

“You… seem to be pretty happy with it, and it looks good from my end,” he comments cautiously.

I go on. “I have so much energy, and that’s unexpected. I feel like I’m wound up and set to spring at any time; that’s new too. I expected to want to eat an entire house like Quinn does whenever they change, but I’m not feeling any different in that area.”

“I wouldn’t use Quinn’s experiences as a gauge for what you should expect; their situation is unique,” Marty laughs. “As for your energy, I have a couple ideas of how we can put it to use.” He reaches his arms around me to pull me closer, and we kiss some more. I move my hands back down to his chest, pressing gently against him. I inhale deeply, letting his scent intoxicate me. I can feel his hands moving from my waist up my sides, and I tense and shiver with the anticipation of feeling his hands all over my body. His fingertips reach their destination and brush the bottom of my breasts…

DANGER! DANGER!

And that’s when it all goes south.

I feel a sudden tightness in my chest that spreads through my entire body as though it was a fire in my veins. The mutual sensations of desire and panic overwhelm me, and I pull away. Push him away.

“Charlie?” Oh God, he looks hurt. This isn’t what I want either.

I reel, holding my head with my hands. I can feel myself starting to tear up. The panic from his touch is gone, but the panic of processing what I’m feeling is rising. “I… I… I’m not sure what’s happening. Something’s wrong.”

He looks at me with concern, keeping the distance I set. “I’m confused. Are you not attracted to me?”

I laugh sharply but continue to back away. “No, that is not the problem. It just… felt unsafe? Like, I want you to touch me, but I’m also afraid of it? Does that make sense?”

Marty nods and moves into a relaxed pose – whether for his benefit or mine, I’m not sure. “Actually, yeah, it does. This is all new for you. Even being enthusiastic about your new body, having all those new sensations and feelings can be scary. Can I hug you?”

I wipe my eyes and shake my head. “I need to work through this a little.” He gives me an understanding nod and retreats to the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts and feelings – and some snacks.

I’m barely able to keep my emotions in as long as it takes for him to go into the bedroom. I collapse into a chair at the kitchen table, eat some cheese, and take some deep breaths. I’m suddenly acutely aware of everything different about me – the weight of Charlie’s breasts against my chest, the tickle of her hair on my neck, the feeling of her bare legs against the dress I borrowed from Marti and the absence of a penis between them. When I first felt it all, it felt natural, but now I just feel exposed. I want Marty, but being touched in a way that indicates he feels the same is too much for me. What changed?

I take several deep breaths to regain my center and try to focus on when and how things changed. In the bedroom, when I first saw Charlie, and then saw myself as her, it felt… playful. Like a game. But when I found myself in Marty’s arms, when he touched me the way that I thought I wanted to be touched, it wasn’t just something I saw or heard or thought anymore. It was something that I physically felt on my body, and that made me hyper-aware of all the other ways my physical feelings had changed. I suddenly felt like a woman, and something about that triggered me.

I start to concentrate on how both my body and mind feel – how being Charlie feels, and I realize just how different it feels to be her than it feels to be Chuck. This is, as I was warned, but a physical Change and a mental and emotional one. But reflecting, I see now that some of the fears and anxieties I had weren’t what I thought they were. I wasn’t worried that I’d be unattracted to Marty; I was worried that I’d be attracted to him. I wasn’t worried about having gender dysphoria; I was worried about liking being a woman. Even as I prepared for how my life and perspective might differ in a woman’s body, I was mentally steeling myself to stay “myself” – my masculine self – in Charlie’s body, playing dress-up as a woman for fun. When Charlie’s body responded to Marty like a woman and not like a man, making me feel a feminine reality instead of a feminine fantasy, I clung to my “maleness” enough to pollute and destroy the moment. I had anxiety about Changing too much and didn’t let myself Change enough – to let this experience make me more passionate, more willing to feel and share my feelings. To consider that becoming a woman could make me a better man.

At my moment of epiphany, the anxieties start melting away. I’m giddy from a massive weight being lifted from my body, and I don’t mean the physical mass of Chuck. I’m still feeling less burdened every passing minute, finally, finally unbound from the chains of toxic masculinity that I’d spent three decades building for myself with my father and brothers and barely chipping away at with therapy and the patient guidance of friends. It feels so… airy and free. Who knew that what I really needed to fight that machismo was to simply stop being a man?

I twirl in my borrowed dress again, this time for myself only. I hope I can keep this joyful energy, even if I have to endure conflicted sexual feelings, for all of the next three days. How great would it be if I could hold onto some of this joy after I turn back into Chuck?

I text Marty, telling him I’m ready to see him again. Unfortunately, he’s put a shirt on, but fortunately, he’s put on tight jeans and fixed his hair. He slowly closes the distance between us. I hear his voice, softened to be tender and gentle. “May I touch you between the chest and hips?” I nod, smiling at him. I feel hands on my sides, firm but not aggressive, moving along the smooth garment I borrowed from Marti’s closet and turning me around until his arms encircle my waist, resting over my now-hairless skin that covers organs I didn’t have until today. I wonder what he is doing until I remember holding other women this way in moments of casual intimacy. He squeezes me solidly, but not tightly. I lean into his embrace and against his chest, letting him envelop me in his warmth and strength. I breathe in deeply, take in his aroma, and for the first time allow myself to find comfort and, more importantly, safety, in a man’s grasp. I close my eyes and imagine myself waking up next to Marty – not after a night of hot sex, but after a deep sleep where I served as his little spoon. This thought brings on a contented sigh.

He kisses me on the top of my head, which is incredible in a way I never thought possible. I hear his voice, soft and soothing, in my ear and feel his hot breath on my neck. “Do you feel better? Can I do anything else to help?”

I lean my head back on his shoulder and, lacking an answer to his second question, respond to his first. “I feel more in control, at least.” I put my arms around his and squeeze his hands affectionately. Touching him this way triggers more warmth between my hips, and I feel my thighs reflexively tighten again. “Marty, I want you. My body’s sending me all the signals about that.” I push my hips back into him and smile as I hear him gasp when my ass rubs against his highly reactive manhood; he hasn’t been touched by a woman like this, or at all, in the year that Chuck and Marti have been dating. “And I want to start fresh. I want to start by grabbing my boyfriend’s too-pretty face, pulling it against my pretty-enough face, and giving him the kind of kiss that promises more if he plays his cards right."

Marty lets me, and starting in that moment, I give myself permission to be a woman, to be his woman, and commit to being a full partner in this relationship.

I even remember to sit on Marty’s lap, take off my shirt and bra, and give him some pre-tits titillation in the minutes before we Change back. The groans of discomfort he makes are sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted.