“TurnMeIntoAGirl.com? Pfft, looks stupid,” Cal said, running his eyes over the words of the hot-pink-on-pastel-pink website. And yet his heart was already racing.

He sat at his computer, his thumb gently rubbing the table as his sweaty palm cupped the mouse. As he read the next words to himself, he took both his hands and ran them through his brown hair, cut like a barracks - short, tidy, straight. “So you want to be a girl? If you're uncomfortable the way you are, or even if you're just curious, there's nothing stopping you from living a better life. We can’t change your gender, but we can help you discover who you’ve always been,” the website read.

He had clicked on a link he saw while idly scrolling through twitter. Someone with an anime profile picture named @scrambledeggs had posted it, some weirdo who a mutual quote tweeted to make fun of. At first, Cal had clicked on the link out of curiosity and out of a desire to join in on the sick dunking. And now his curiosity had been sated, and he decided online harassment wasn’t worth his time. And yet . . . he remained on the page.

He was home alone. On the website, an aggressively pink button looked oh so clickable. It simply read “<3 turn me into a girl!” He looked around to either side of him, despite the fact that he knew nobody was home. And yet he was almost worried that the pile of dirty t-shirts or the stack of old papers or the baseball trophies or the covers of his unkept bed were watching him,  judging him as he clicked on the button, just because it would be funny to see what the dumb website said.

It brought him to a new page. “Let me be honest here,” the website read, “You could be a girl. There's nothing stopping you. Is that really what you want?” Cal held his breath and curled his toes. Was it hot in this room? It was definitely hot in this room.

He got up and slipped into the bathroom to splash water in his face. Then he considered himself in the mirror. He was a not unattractive man. He knew that. Years of baseball in college had built up a taut torso, mostly muscle, which he was proud of. His arms were thin but toned, his hands roughened by some manual labor with his father, his neck home to an archetypal adam’s apple. Women often remarked he had a handsome face, mostly because of his clean-shaven jawline and not because of the terrifying weakness in his eyes, which he felt sagged. He rocked back and forth between his toes and his heels, animated by a strange, anxious energy. Then he returned to his room.

He scrolled down on the page. “If you’re at this point, and if your wish is sincere, it’s because there’s some part of you that really wants to live as a woman,” the website taunted. “Well, that’s not true,” Cal said to himself. “But nice try,” he said to the website. “You can’t fool me.”

The site continued, “Nobody can trick you into wanting to be a girl if you didn't before.”

“Bullshit,” Cal said, getting increasingly scared. “There was a news story about that, some

poor kid getting recruited in a gender cult online. Something like that happened, right? Right?” He was speaking to nobody. Only the whir of the ceiling fan answered him.

He had two more buttons now. “No wait, this isn’t for me!” read one. “<3 I want to be a girl!” exclaimed the other. He hovered his cursor over the former, but didn’t click. Something deep inside him longed to click the other button. Just look at how bright and peppy it is! He had always liked women who were bright and peppy like that. So it was actually a very straight man thing to do, to click that button, as he found himself doing.

“Okay then! As you wish. Please wait warmly,” read the site. Underneath those words were ten empty blue hearts, wiggling cutely. After just a second, one of the hearts popped into a fullly colored pink heart. When it did, Cal let out the breath he had been holding. “Oh!” he said in a voice now an octave higher than just a moment ago, “it’s a loading bar. One-tenth girl,” he giggled, then slapped a hand over his mouth. First, what he just said? And with whose voice had he said it? That didn’t sound like him at all.

Before he could figure anything out, another heart popped! into existence. Cal coughed as his adam’s apple, once the archetype of masculinity, receded into his skin, leaving a thin, cute, kissable neck behind. The feeling of his skin shifting was strange but not entirely unpleasant. What was unpleasant was the wave of alarm washing over him that his skin was shifting at all!!

“Aw, fuck this,” he said in his now higher, silkier voice. Whatever this website was, it was fucked. He moused over the X in the corner of his browser to close the page, but something kept him from clicking. His heart now was pounding out of his chest. Why couldn’t he -

Pop! A third heart lept into existence, and immediately a whole barrage of bras and dresses spilled out of Cal’s closet, beside him. What the - he normally only kept one bra and one dress in his closet, hidden carefully behind all of his sports paraphernalia, because of reasons. But now EVERYthing was spilling out - cotton sundresses, underwire bras, silky panties, cute bralettes, maxi skirts - ! And it just kept coming! Cal leapt up from his chair to try and control the tide of clothes overflowing from his closet.

As the fourth heart popped onto the screen, Cal felt a surge of intense heat, like an electrical current, shoot up his chest. He moaned as something shifted there, as small breast buds gathered fat behind his nipples. It felt both strangely empowering and profoundly vulnerable. “Jesus Fuck,” Cal said in a women’s voice, his voice, while rolling his eyes. “This website is turning me into a girl! How could I have predicted this!?”

Cal fought off the tide of sports bras befitting his new swollen nipples as he stood up and dashed back over to the computer. There, as he sat down, a fifth heart appeared with a cute little wiggle. He moused over to close the page again, but as he did, he noticed his hand over the mouse, now slimmer, and a pile of hair from his arms and his hands that had fallen off and now covered the desk.

“Ew,” he said. “Well if I have to be a girl now, good riddance to that body hair, I guess. Save me time on shaving.”

He paused. What in the world was he just saying!?  If he has to be a girl now!? Couldn’t he just stop it!? The computer was right here, and he could put an end to this nonsense by closing the page. Yup, that’s what he would do. Just close the page, yessiree. That sure is what he wanted and needed to do and should do, because he liked being a man and definitely did not want to be a girl.

Anyway, the sixth heart appeared. This one brought with it a slew of changes. Cal shrunk down in his chair, quickly losing four or so inches of height. The ranks broke in his military hair as an explosion of curly blond, silky locks forcibly feminized the troops. Cal felt his breasts - his breasts - gain a little in weight, slowly developing. His back arched, his legs tensed, his nose shrunk and his rocky jaw melted away into a smooth, creamy fountain of skin. It was overwhelming.

He rushed to the bathroom again to look at what was happening to him. He was surprised to find that he looked, well - not bad. His blond hair continued to grow, gently washing over his shoulders, and his face continued shifting. He was probably going to be a cute girl. A cute girl! Wouldn’t that be amazing? Wasn’t that what he secretly dreamed -

No! “This has got to stop,” he said turning away from the mirror. “I am a man. I like sports and trucks and stuff that is not gay,” he said in his feminine voice, and giggled. “God, I should listen to myself,” he said, turning back to the mirror because he wanted to get a look at his breasts.

He lifted up his shirt, and there they were, small and misshapen, but unmistakably his. He felt . . . well, he felt proud. His heart was racing a million miles a minute. These were his breasts, his real breasts - what a thought! After so many years of imagining!

As he was observing, the seventh heart must have popped in the other room, because another wave of changes surged over him. His reached up a hand to feel his breasts as they grew more, and they felt amazing. They were so tender, his nipples so sensitive. Was he turned on? A little bit, yeah. But more than anything he felt, well, right. It felt like they were supposed to be there, and now, finally! They were there.

Cal felt another rumbling from his pants. He dropped his pants to the floor - they were already sagging around his now smaller waist - and watched as his mini me was slowly changing. It felt immaculate. The young man, who increasingly was looking like a young woman, knew he was supposed to be alarmed. But the idea of having a vagina had always fascinated him. Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep at night, he’d stare up in the darkness at the ceiling and think about it, just about what it would feel like. Not even about, like, having sex. Just the feeling of having it.

His balls slurped inside of him first, then his penis, which shrunk into a tiny, sensitive nub. He considered his vagina in the mirror as hair grew in to cover it. “Wow, I look hot,” he said, as his hips ballooned out and his waist pinched further in.

Having removed his shirt before, he was now completely naked. He examined his new skin, running his fingers over it. He was surprised to find that he had retained some muscle. He just looked like a muscular woman rather than a muscular man. He, well, he liked it. He liked the way he looked. But you know, technically speaking, he was supposed to be like, a man or whatever, and people can’t just change their genders. So he returned to his room to see what he could do.

The room he returned to, however, was not the one he had left. His messy, plain room had been transformed, too. The once pale white walls had been painted a light green, the baseball trophies had morphed into softball trophies, and his pile of old clothes became a pile of . . . old clothes. Well, a pile of bras, panties, and - he gasped. Was that a strap-on with a harness lying in the middle of that pile?

He walked over and picked it up. As he did, something in his peripheral vision moved - he was sure it was another pop of another heart - and he looked up at his desk to see a picture of him and another woman. She was a few inches taller than him, who appeared every bit as feminine in the photo as he did in this present moment. The other girl had tight black hair pulled into a ponytail, and a dirt-stained jersey. The two stood with a softball field in the background, arms wrapped around each other . . . kissing.

Cal felt something rumble inside him when he looked at the picture. Yeah, he knew this woman. She aroused a deep desire in his heart - and other parts as well. Cal pictured her on top of him, kissing his exposed neck, licking his nipples, using the strap-on to - !

Ah!

He couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He had become a hot softball lesbian. It was like his wildest dreams come true. “God fucking damnit, this is awesome,” he said in his higher voice, admiring his toned armed and his immaculate breasts. “This is what I’ve always dreamed of since I was a little bo - since I was a little kid,” he said, feeling a tear well to his eye.

He marched back over to the computer. 9 of the 10 hearts stood in place, with the tenth heart still woefully unfilled. Cal stared at it for a moment, then another moment, then another moment. Why. Wasn’t. It. Loading. “Turn me into a girl already!” he shouted, grabbing the monitor and shaking it, like that would convince it.

“Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeonnnnnnnnnnnn,” he whined, dancing in place. “I already have a name picked out. I want to be Samantha and use she/her and be stealth. I want to move in with my girlfriend and play in the community softball league and go on cute dates and get ice cream and - ah!” Samantha said, kicking her desk. “Come on you piece of shit! Make me a girl!”

Still not a budge.

“UGHHH!” she cried, plopping down onto her bed.

“Babe?” she heard a voice call from outside her room, as the door to her apartment closed with a thunk.

Danae, Samantha’s girlfriend, walked into the room, plopping down a gym bag on the floor. She was wearing short black gym shorts and a cropped sports bra. Her toned midriff was on full display, covered in sweat, and Samantha felt herself grow red in face as she looked at her beautiful fucking girlfriend, at her teeth, at the curve of her wrist, at her everything.

“Hey,” Samantha growled in a huff, turning over on the bed, still naked.

“What’s wrong baby?” said Danae, sitting down on the bed and placing an admittedly sweaty hand on Samantha’s pinched waist.

“Stupid website won’t turn me into a girl,” she said, gesturing towards the computer.

“Oh, this one again?” said Danae, chuckling. She stood up, went over to the computer, and closed the window.

“Hey!!” protested Samantha. “I was waiting for that to turn me into a girl! What the fuck!”

“Shhhhhhh,” said Danae, sitting back down on the bed. “Come here baby, come here,” she said, taking Samantha in her arms and resting her head on her lap. Sam looked up at Danae’s confident smile and felt a warm splash of joy. Danae ran her hands through Samantha’s hair for a moment, and it helped Sam calm down.

“You don’t need a dumb website to tell you who you are,” she said. “You’ve always been a girl. You’re my girl. And you’re damn cute,” she said.

Samantha sat up and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s gloriously sweaty bare shoulders. “Thanks,” she said. “You know the dysphoria just gets to me sometimes,” she said.

“I know,” said Danae. “But it’s okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Samantha, pulling her girlfriend into a really, REALLY gay kiss.

~The End~