Sadie has trouble dealing with her emotions

I recognize that I’m making my way back home, but everything feels like it’s occurring to someone else. Like I’m experiencing a dream sequence in a movie. I know nobody sees me as I go to the restroom and do the best I can to clean myself up. I can’t stop from crying a little as I get Todd’s cum off my tank top. I use enough water that the entire upper half is wet but know it’s better than seeing the remainder of the cum stain. I take the time to completely wash my face, spending extra time on my chin to remove the phantom feel of Todd’s cum and extra time on my cheeks to remove the phantom feel of my own tears.

I go through the motions of reapplying my makeup without giving it much thought and then leave the bathroom. I **** a smile on my face when I see other people, hoping that they just see a cute gamer girl on campus, fearing that they see a used whore. The bus ride home is filled with students, giggling and laughing and chatting. And while it’s perfectly normal sounds on the crowded bus, I still can’t help but think it’s all about me. Laughing at me getting used, talking about how I deserved it, giggling at my ruined top.

When I get off the bus and walk the block and a half home, I keep my eyes downcast at the sidewalk in front of me. The rational part of my mind says that no one sees anything abnormal. Our neighbors have seen me walking to and from the bus stop plenty of times. But I still imagine them at their windows, in their driveways, on their lawns. Pointing. Laughing. Making fun of me.

I have a moment’s relief when I step inside and close the door behind me, but it ended as soon as I hear Sarah come out of her studio. She’s almost hyper excited and happy, telling me how she was on an important stream and apologizing for not coming to get me. I try to acknowledge her apology without accepting it and just move toward my room, not knowing if I’ll be able to hold up this semblance of normalcy but Sarah blithely jokes about my ‘date’ with Marley.

“Hey, so are you gonna wear that to see Marley? I imagine not, you’ll probably dress up, right? I mean you want your boyfriend to be happy and attracted to you!” Her voice is bubbly and kindly teasing, and I’ve been with her enough to know when she’s throwing actual barbs meant to sting. This isn’t that. But it still hurts as my mind flashes, imagining Marley standing in front of me, forcing his cock into my mouth. Looking up and seeing both him and Todd above me.

I feel my hands clench into fists and my vision blurs with the threat of tears. I hear Sarah getting into the fridge looking for something to snack on and know that I can’t say anything. That the next time I open my mouth it will be to scream or sob or shout or cry. Instead, I simply make my way to the near privacy of my room and close the door. I can’t even get that part right though as I put too much into my action and end up slamming the door hard enough to rumble the wall.

Dropping my bag right there at the door I barely have time to jump into bed before my sobs and tears start coming out. I bury my face in my pillow as to keep it private and away from Sarah.

I cry for a long time. I cry, feeling used. I cry, saying goodbye to my masculinity. I cry angry and sad. I cry, fearing Todd. I cry, hating Sarah. I cry, dreading Marley and Louis. I cry, loathing myself. And after I run out of reasons to cry, I simply cry some more.

When I finally feel like a dried-out husk, not sure if there are any tears left within me, I get up from bed. I see that it’s already dark outside and that it’s only a few minutes away from my appointment with Marley. Just thinking of seeing him, of what we had planned for the night, threatens more tears. I take an extra moment to clear my throat and make sure I can speak with a clear voice before calling Marley. I cancel our appointment without reason, and he graciously accepts it. He obviously senses my nerves and tries to buck me up, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to seeing men’s parts and soon won’t even mind touching them. No hurry though Sadie.”

I hang up without acknowledging what Marley said, knowing that I don’t have the inward strength to accept it.

Setting my phone aside I move to the computer. I don’t bother with my social media posts or streams as I’d already sent out posts saying I wouldn’t be online tonight. Instead, I log in anonymously and check on Sarah’s Tremble account. I see that her last game stream was this morning. She hasn’t even been on this afternoon. I double check her other accounts on FaceDeck, Mobrush, UsTube, and even her social media accounts on Instygram, TokTic, and SnapChatter. She hasn’t posted anything nor even checked in since this morning.

I don’t get the sense that she was lying, but I don’t see where she was streaming at all, let alone streaming that was so important to leave me hanging. She doesn’t seem to have been online at all this afternoon.

When I see Sarah that night, both of us getting a late night snack, she doesn’t mention anything about her ‘important’ stream. I don’t bother digging into it just because I know I’d have to explain why I was upset at her not coming to get me. As we both dig into our cereal bowls, she mentions her friend and how she turned down an offer to join her and her family for Thanksgiving. It takes a bit, but I talk her into going, saying that I’m feeling a bit sick and wouldn’t be good company anyway.

I can see that Sarah suspects something, but she doesn’t pry and after calling her friend says that she’ll leave early tomorrow morning and be back Friday afternoon.

After cleaning up the dishes I go into my room and prepare for bed even though it’s only nine o’clock. I simply want the oblivion of sleep and pray that I won’t have a nightmare. Surprisingly, I fall asleep quickly only to be woken up from a buzzing on my wrist. Fearing that Sarah has set up a devotional I look at my phone and see that she meant well. It simply reads “No devotional tonight Sadie, just remember what you did today and revel in it!”

As my hand shakes, memories of kneeling before Todd overflowing my mind, I realize that Sadie must have set this up when she thought I was going to be working with Marley. It would have been a nice reminder of the day’s work. But all it does now is horrifically remind me of what really happened today.

If it were any other Thursday and I accidentally slept in until ten AM, I’d probably freak out. I’d have missed all my allotted schoolwork time and need to rush to get ready for a stream. Being Thanksgiving, however, means none of that is important. There’s no schoolwork to do and I have no plans to stream today.

Instead, I get out of bed lazily and start my day. After a shower long enough to drain the hot water heater, I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. It’s been weeks, months, since I really looked at my body and thought about the changes it’s gone through. Even if my hair wasn’t this ridiculously over the top pink, it’d still be long, thick and luxurious. I turn to and fro, looking at my face and can see practically nothing of Nick there. The eyebrows and lips are the primary and most obvious changes, but it’s more than that. Subtle differences in my cheeks and the skin under my chin. Even my neck looks thinner. More delicate.

It’d be easy to say that the large breasts on my chest were the main feminizing feature on my body. And yeah, they’d be the most appetizing part to any horny teenage boy. But it’s more than that. Even if my breasts were normal, or small, or non-existent, I’d still be feminine. The curve between my ribs and hips. The widening of those hips. The rear that sticks out and jiggles as I barely move my legs. The smooth thighs without any sign of the musculature that used to be there. And even without heels on, the delicate curves of my legs aren’t my previous gangly lower limbs. My toenails being painted pale pink certainly makes them feminine, but they seem daintier even without that detail.

And it’s not just looks. Running my hands over my belly and arms, I feel smooth, hairless, lush skin. There are no dry patches or oily areas. My skin is touchably soft. Having whiter teeth isn’t feminine on their own, nor is having a tongue that’s clean and smooth from daily care, but they’re not my white teeth and smooth tongue. They’re Sadie’s.

I fight the urge to cry as I logically consider what Todd saw in me as he **** me to do… to do that. How could he have wanted a boy, a man, to blow him? But with this inspection done, there’s no denying that he wouldn’t have seen a boy or a man. He saw Sadie. He saw Princess BabyDoll. He saw a girl, a woman. He saw a sex object.

He saw what I am now.

Pulling my hair back into a ponytail just to get it out of the way I leave the bathroom and move to my closet to get dressed. I don’t bother with getting anything particularly sexy on, but my choices are limited. Some loose running shorts and a t-shirt that was a little big are the best things I can find, but they’re still cut for women. They still show off the curve of my ass, the swell of my breasts, and my belly button ring.

Moving to the living room I plop onto the couch and turn the TV on. I try to recall the last time I just vegged out in front of the boob tube, and honestly can’t remember. But it’s about all the energy I have today, and I try to lose myself in the mindless narrative of various sit coms and funny movies.

By the time my tummy rumbles, reminding me that I should eat something, I have yet to even giggle at the comedies I’ve queued up. I’ve at least distracted myself from the self-agonizing thoughts, but I still can’t find joy in anything. Moving to the kitchen I see that Sarah must have hit the store before she hit the road this morning. There’s a pre-cooked turkey breast along with some heat-and-serve side dishes including mashed potatoes and gravy, corn bread dressing, and a green bean casserole. She’s also left a childlike tracing of her hand that’s been transformed into a turkey with ‘Happy Thanksgiving Sadie!’ written on it.

Pulling the turkey breast out, I slice it cold and make a sandwich instead of a holiday spread. Just the thought of warming everything up in the microwave sounds and feels exhausting. Sandwich in hand, I return to the couch and continue my mini Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon. A few hours later I turn the TV off and get into bed. I haven’t thought through any of my problems and know that I’ll eventually need to face what Todd did to me in a more direct way, but I made it through the day without crying and call that a victory.

I’m awakened by my phone ringing on the nightstand. Blinking away the nightmare that I can’t directly remember I look at the phone and see it’s Marley. It turns out he’s at the door and has been knocking for five minutes. It’s our workout time. I apologize, making a lame excuse of sleeping through my alarm, and ask him to give me another five minutes.

While slipping into my workout gear, I wonder if I should bail on today’s exercise routine. Just the thought of Marley’s hands on me makes me shiver and tense up. But at the end of the day, he’s already here. I’ve already canceled on him once this week and would feel terrible to keep wasting his time.

Before moving to the door, I give myself a once over in the mirror and see… a sexy young woman. I didn’t bother with my hair, don’t have any makeup on, and can’t muster up a smile, but I’m still sexy and curvy and attractive.

Inviting Marley in I start out by continuing my excuse, telling him I’m feeling a bit under the weather. Marley, for his part, seems just as upbeat as normal and says that if I’m not feeling well, we can stop at any time. I try my best to let his happiness and good-natured attitude sink into me, but as soon as we start our first stretch it happens. I lay on the floor, pressing my toes and hips into the mat. Then, using my arms, I curve my back and raise my shoulders up so that I can face forward. I’ve almost become limber enough to do this completely on my own but I can’t quite get my head all the way up without my hips rising. As expected, I feel one of Marley’s hands beginning to press down on my lower back as his other cups under my chin and pulls my face up that little bit extra.

It’s the first stretch we ever did and our most common stretch during our routines. I’ve had Marley’s hands, and other body parts, touch me so much that this is practically one of the least sexualized situations presented in our workout routine. But it still strikes that nerve. I’m immediately pulled away from stretching in my living room with my friend Marley and am again thrust into the store room behind the lab. It’s not Marley’s hands on me, it’s Todd’s. The hands aren’t there to help, they’re there to restrain. They don’t make me feel sexual or sensual, they make me feel weak and controlled.

I try my best to come back to the present, to not let my mind drag me back to my personal hell, but it’s Marley that helps me back. Where he’d normally talk to me about breathing while stretching me just to the edge of my limits, he instead slowly helps me down. Once my cheek touches the mat, I feel his hands rub over my back and his low voice ask “What’s wrong Sadie. You’ve never been this tense before.”

I close my eyes and try to keep the teary sounds out of my voice as I give a lame excuse, “I just slept wrong. I didn’t get the chance to stretch at all before you got here. I’m sorry.”

Marley’s hand continues to rub my back and deep down I know it should feel good. Comforting. But it doesn’t. Even with its light touch, it feels like it’s keeping me here. Keeping me down. “Okay, well let’s try again. We just won’t stretch as far and let your body wake up, okay?”

I nod my agreement, and we go through the motions again, without any better results. I try my best, but every time Marley touches me, I can’t stop myself from tensing up or trembling or outright shaking. We work on several other stretches until Marley calls a premature end to our workout session. He asks me repeatedly in different ways trying to find out what’s wrong but my excuses, vague at best, outright lame lies at worst, are the only answers I provide.

It's clear that he understands something is bothering me as we don’t even get into a true exercise routine or work on a feminizing movement or situation. I get the feeling that he would have left then and there, but there’s no avoiding draping myself over his lap for my hormone injection. Every time that he’s had me in this position Marley has always given my bare bottom a pat. They’ve varied from nearly clinical and professional, to downright sensual, but it was always present. This time he avoids it entirely, touching me as little as possible. Once the band-aid is on and my yoga pants are pulled up I practically jump off of his lap.

Marley tries one last time to help, saying that if I need to talk he can just sit and listen, but I tell the biggest lie so far, “I’m fine.”

Once he’s out I crumble to the floor with my back pressed up to the door and let the dam burst, crying my heart out again, wondering if I can get through this.