Alex finally starts to catch on

Alex's load sprayed across the counter, and he stood panting for a moment. Even with girls, he'd hardly ever had such a powerful release. He was about to wipe up the mess when he noticed something familiar on the next page. He turned it and saw a white girl, possibly French, wearing a maid costume similar to his. The caption read: "(Left, fig. 18.e.) In certain European subcultures, the traditional garb of young women who work as domestic servants in wealthy homes has taken on a similar sexual connotation. It is remarkably similar to the role of the Akkadian acolyte's taarip. (Next page., fig. 18.f.)"

Alex could see exactly why Sam couldn't resist. He didn't look that different. If he squinted, overlooked his totally flat chest, lack of butt, largish shoulders, and just imagined himself as a girl with red lips and a manicure and--

He stopped. His face and hands were burning again. Before his eyes, they reshaped themselves into images of femininity.

"When someone looks at me and thinks I'm a girl," Alex said slowly, with a songlike girl's voice, as the ideas solidified in his mind, "my hands and face transform."

He closed his eyes and tried to purge the image. He opened his eyes again, hoping not to see a girl's face with his eyes, but it was still there. Shit!

He turned around, covered his eyes with his hands, and pulled his hair. He had to stop picturing himself as a cute girl! He thought of winning swimming meets, cutting his hand on the chainsaw chain, banging Jessica, and crushing cans with his forehead. He was pretty sure he was just remembering old beer commercials when he noticed his hands felt rough again. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and left the room to get away from that book and that mirror.

He didn't realize he left some of his genetics on the counter.