Gordon the Man

The god looked into the vastness of the either. Streams of reality passed by as it contemplated whom the mortal would choose. It stopped. The desire of change emanated intensely, singling it out from the rest. The god stared at the young being, captivated.

This young human… It desires something.

Placing the journal into the young human's fate, it laughed, wondering the delights it would see.

2022

Gordon winced as a needle dug into his flesh. Gently he pressed the injection making sure to insert precious liquid into his upper thigh. He exhaled as the syringe came out easing the pain. For five months he had been diligent with his medication, but boy did it hurt. He had never been a tough guy, but if the price he had to pay was two weekly injections, so be it.

Besides, one of the things about being a guy is being tough, he thought. Just then, a set of footsteps could be heard as it tapped on the tile floor. It stopped, and Gordon could hear fabric being shuffled, then a steady stream of liquid pouring as a guy let out a sigh of relief. Gordon couldn't help but feel envy. Cis men take stuff for granted. To be able to stand and urinate with such an amazing organ like that, a feeling he coveted more than anything. But instead of something jutting out down there, he Instead he had been cursed with a vagina with two decently sized breasts.

He stepped out of the stall and washed his hands. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was always disappointed by the slow results while he transitioned. While his haircut was on the masculine side, it wasn't exactly manly, either, just a simple style of his matted brown hair. His face was practically the same since he had started, with his green eyes seeing no difference. Gordon let out a sigh. The only real way he could pass himself off as a man was by wearing baggy clothing. His cargo pants hid his hips and curved waist, while his large shirt did a somewhat decent job of hiding his breasts.

The only real thing T has done is make me fucking horny all the goddamn time.

As much as he hated it, there was another unique side effect to taking hormones: it made him hungry. His stomach seemed to growl in agreement. He made his way to the cafeteria, grabbing more food than he normally would have eaten prior to starting HRT, and sat in his favorite spot, an old elm tree. There was something special about this spot. A kind of tranquil aura seemed to emanate from the branches while he sat there every day. It cleared his mind, and many times he would draw. Gordon reached into his backpack and took out his notebook and satchel full of his drawing materials. Then he began to feel that familiar special ambiance as he searched internally for inspiration.

Whatever image was about to surface vanished in his mind as he heard someone next to him cough. Gordon looked around for the rude interruption of the stranger preparing a tongue lashing. The fire at the tip of his tongue vanished along with his resolve. Standing with food on a tray was the most handsome man he had ever seen. He was tall—6’3” with black hair and a well groomed beard. His T-shirt, although not tight, was well fitted, showing off hints of his athletic physique.

Gordon felt smaller than he already was as he tried, and failed, not to gawk. The stranger reached out his hand to shake.

"Hi, my name's Drake. Yours?"

Gordon, in awe of the man's beauty, found himself unable to process the words as his brain short circuited.

"Gw—I mean G-G-Gordon,'' he stuttered. Smooth, real smooth, he thought to himself.

"Mind if I join you, Gordon?"

This being one of the few places on campus with any semblance of quiet, normally Gordon would reject the offer, as he liked the small bit of isolation during lunch break. He was going to protest, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was "Sure".

"Aw, sweet! Thanks man," Drake responded. Both of them sat quietly for a few minutes. Drake ate while Gordon found himself unable to speak.

"Hey Gordon… Do you draw? I couldn't help but notice your notebook—sorry didn't mean to pry in your business like that. I took a few glances since it was open. Hope you don't mind."

"Um—y-y-yeah. It's a hobby I’ve been doing for years now."

“Can I see some of your drawings?” Normally, Gordon would never show anyone, as he considered his sketches personal, but he felt his vanish as Drake’s brown eyes stared into his own. My goodness, I can’t find it in me to say “no”. Why does he have to be so hot? He slid the notebook, his heart beating rapidly, nervous. Drake was quiet as he inspected page after page, looking at the images.

“So, what do you think?”

“You seem to be inspired by all kinds of things. I saw styles similar to graphic novels, manga, architecture, I even saw some biology. I wish my drawings were half as good!”

Gordon felt his cheeks start to turn red by the compliment. Drake asked several questions about his art, and eventually found themselves having a full discussion on the subject. Gordon felt happy about being able to talk about his passion. The conversation lulled slightly, and Drake checked his watch, his eyebrows suddenly jumping.

"Oh crap… I'm late for class, I had a good time chatting though. Let's hang out sometime!" They exchanged contact information, and he walked off at a brisk pace. Gordon took the opportunity to steal a few glances at his butt. He felt himself getting too turned on.

Looking downward, he took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. There is something about that guy I just can’t put my finger on. Unconsciously he twisted his hair, thinking of Drake for a few moments, then stopped, catching himself in the act. Just draw, that will clear my mind, he thought.

He searched around for the table scanning the top, then looked underneath. Nothing. Gordon was starting to get upset, frustrated he might have possibly lost something that held sentimental value. Wait, his mind caught itself. There was one place he hadn’t checked: his backpack! He felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped in surprise, hitting his head on the table above him.

“Ouch! Are you okay?” Drake asked with a hint of worry in his voice. Gordon only shook his head, trying his best to act tough in front of his crush. "Well, I wanted to give you your notebook back… I almost forgot I was holding it before I dashed off." Drake extended his arm out to give Gordon back his sketches; however, in the man's hand wasn't what he had given earlier.

The notebook was beautiful, the lining golden with a peculiar black wood binding. The etches in the leather were cut in a strange pattern with a level of detailing that Gordon could never hope to match. His attention was enraptured. A breeze passed by causing his awareness to return.

"Drake, this isn't my—" he had started to protest when he looked up to find the other man had vanished.

Gordon couldn't keep his eyes away from the notebook. Its artistry commanded attention, its build quality so clearly something you couldn’t buy at Staples. He decided to finally open the book. The pages were a dazzling white, almost blinding in the midday sun. He scurried off into the shade of a nearby tree, but even there the paper was so brilliant.

Gordon could see writing on the back of the cover and looked at the instructions. He couldn't help but laugh as he read the instructions. It seems as if it were some elaborate prank. A magic journal? How ridiculous. What is this? One of those stupid TG stories online? he thought as he read the rules once again. Gordon checked the time and realized he was almost late for class, tossing the journal in with his other items and dashing off.

As much as he tried, Gordon couldn't keep his mind focused as the lecture went on. His thoughts went back to the journal. Everything about it was uncanny. The quality and level of detail were inhuman, and those pages... Thinking back to the rules, he remembered that one stated only the owner could own or use it. Did the universe grant him this…boon? He reached into his backpack, reading the rules once again.

1. Only the user can use this notebook.
2. Only a pen with magic can be used to write in the book.
3. The larger the alteration the longer it will take for the magic to take effect.
4. The book cannot be stolen or used by others.
5. The user cannot transfer the power to themselves or they will be consumed by chaos.

Where in the world could I even find a magical pen anyway? The question marinated in his mind as much as the oddity of the notebook. Then an idea came to him. His favorite pen to draw was also the most expensive in his collection: a fountain pen. Its eloquent design allowed him to make excellent strokes and refined detail, almost bringing his sketches to life. His grandmother had bought it as a graduation present, and he cherished it deeply.

Grandma always said it was magical, he thought.

Gordon grabbed the pen from his pack, looking at it. It was black African wood, inlaid with gold and accented with white pearl. He placed the notebook on his desk thinking of all the possible wishes he could desire. Don't get too excited. For all you know, it's just some silly little prank. Something simple but something important, but what?

He thought of the hassle he was going through now. Transition. In his state, legally, citizens could not change their gender ID unless medically transitioning hormonally had been consistent for up to a year. He had only begun five months ago, with little changes to his body.

Hand trembling ever so softly, he took out the pen and wrote on its first page, blue ink against the dazzling white. Gordon is my legal first name. With every stroke, there was a certain iridescence where he wrote, causing him to tilt his head. Waiting for something to happen, he studied the page to see what else would change. After a moment of nothing happening, he let out a sigh of defeat.

Hoping against what he knew to be common sense, Gordon reached for his wallet. Yet there it was. The driver’s license, plain as day, read Gordon Martinez—nothing more, nothing else.

He stared at the book in awe of its power.