Carter's New Life

You shut off the nozzle and open the shower door, spilling heat into the room and fogging the mirror above the sink. After haphazardly drying yourself, you take the damp towel and make a small clearing in the glass. A soft, girly face framed by red and dripping hair stares back. You dry your wavy hair and place it into a loose ponytail, securing the look with a red bow. You take a step back and survey your body in the now-fogless mirror. The figure is definitely feminine. Well, aside from the penis.

Slight dysphoria sets in, and your mind buzzes with its usual anxious inquiries. Why were you born a man but look so absurdly womanly? Why do you so often feel like a girl and forget about the small organ jutting out between your legs? These are questions that occur on a daily, but never seem to have satisfying answers.

Making your way out to the bedroom, you make your way over to the closet, casually flicking through hangers to decide on an outfit. A white floral blouse paired with a black skirt seems like a safe bet, especially since it’ll hide any bulge that would make you self-conscious in a pair of leggings or tight jeans. Under the skirt, you slide on a pair of lacy pink panties that fit snugly. A couple years ago, when still presenting outwardly as a male, you managed to buy a decent amount of cute undies under the guise of purchasing them for a girlfriend. The admiring look on the cashier’s face made you feel bad enough that you almost told her the truth, but withheld it for her own sake. Surprisingly, the thin fabric still manages to keep everything relatively unnoticeable for those who aren’t looking too closely, and it is unlikely people would thing you were a boy even if they saw you in it. Luckily, no one from your high school attends your college, so you can get away with dressing like a girl and never being found out. “Carter, it’s almost time for class. Get your ass down here!” A yell from across the room echoes. Miranda, the only other person that lives here. She leans over, giving you a hug from behind, groping your chest. “I just love your cute little tits, I wish mine weren’t so big.”

Luckily, no one from high school goes to the college you picked. Which is a miracle in and of itself, as you picked the furthest one from your hometown while still managing to remain in state. Snapping you out of your reverie, there is a shout from out in the common area. “Carter, it’s almost time for class! Get your ass down here!” The impatient yell comes from Miranda, your roommate, and it sounds like she’s been waiting outside in the common area of the dorm for quite some time. “Give me just a minute,” you shout back, trying to finish getting dressed while grabbing your phone, keys, and slipping on a pair of tennis shoes before hurriedly rushing out the door.

Your skirt hiked up slightly in the midst of all that commotion, so you take a minute to readjust it, missing Miranda unabashedly undressing you with her eyes. When you look back up at her, she’s looking at your face, and she brightly states, “Love the fit, now let’s get going slowpoke.” Getting compliments from a girl, especially one as judgmental as Miranda, always makes you simultaneously feel more secure and confident in how well you pass, and you know it’s going to be a good day because of it. Miranda might live in the same room as you, but she’s not aware of the secret you’re keeping. Since the college you attend is so liberal, they agreed to keep everything hush hush. Only a few of the faculty are aware of your predicament, mainly medical personnel, since it has no real effect on your education or anyone else.