Monday, August 22, 2011

Finite Life Chapter Two: The Beginnings of a Girl

You know the feeling you get when, after a long, hard day at school, you walk home, and just after you pull some frozen chicken slices out of the icebox you notice you have a cut on your hand that you didn’t notice all day, and the rest of your night is spent wondering just how the hell it happened?

Yeah, neither do I.

But that wasn’t important. The important bits were the two things on my chest and the lack of two things in a lower location.
What really got me were the feelings. Not emotional feelings, that wasn’t a problem for now. No, it was just how different this body felt. Starting up from the bottom, there were some things like smaller feet. That was to be expected with a overall smaller body. My legs were shaped different, and I could tell from the way the pajama’s felt on my legs that any sort of body hair I had before this insanity was long gone. Then was my crotch… something I really didn’t want to describe. The words that described it were empty and flat, something that no man, no matter the disease, should have to admit about his groin. Flat also summed up my stomach and waist pretty darn well. Something that took me a moment to notice was the incline that my waist created as it became my hips. It was an hourglass figure, a distinctly girly trait that would have any male high school student salivating if he caught a glimpse of it.

Speaking of things that would have high school boys salivating; I had two more, Migi and Hidari, my… chest. Now, I am/was a guy of all work and little to no play. I knew absolutely nothing about our pals across the gender pool, but I knew that this chest of mine was nothing to scoff at. I have heard girls gossiping amongst themselves, wishing for a larger chest size. This would be what they would wish for. Maybe it was because they were unfamiliar and my mind was over exaggerating their size, but the seemed bigger than what should be required. This was especially true given my less than tall, heck, less than average statute. They messed with my balance horrible, and it wasn’t good that I noticed that even when I was standing. Who knows what chaos they would wreck on my movement?

If there was one good thing I could take away from visual assessments (something that I will admit took longer then it should have) of my chest, it was that, no matter how freaked out about/emphasized their size, even I could tell that, while unusual, their size wasn’t physically impossible, nor was it anatomically impossible. In fact, in all honesty, their weren’t anything truly insane, even though I was short, it was still completely possible for me to have these… thing at this size.

However, I knew that its improbability was good enough reason to question where the hell I was. And by where, I mean what universe, because this type of size on a girl my height was more typical of a manga or anime that real life.

Wait, did I just say girl my age?

I slammed my head into the mirror in some vain attempt to wipe that treasonous thought from my mind. Thankfully I didn’t put enough force to crack the mirror, or worse, my head.

“Ow!” That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though! Though in reality the feeling of my long hair swishing with my head was more a disturbance than the pain was.

Anyway, the whole ‘what universe is this?’ thing, given all the irregularities, by which I mean myself and my chest, that I have found so far, I couldn’t imagine what universe I was.

Strike that, I could. In fact, I could do it easily. Everything, from the unrealistic proportions to the ridiculous hair color to the fact that I had seen this girl before! All of it pointed neatly and no so gently to a very obvious outcome.

I was in my sister’s game.

Well crap.

I stood there, in pink and lavender pajamas, for a few solid minutes. No thoughts, no actions, no feelings, just emptiness. I slammed my head back into the mirror, and this time there was a tiny crack in the mirror. I did not cry out in pain. I swallowed my anger, my pain, and my angst.

I did not know where I was, who I was, or even what I was, and I needed to find these things out.

Well, no time like the present to discover the numerous ways I got screwed.

First of all, I should go downstairs. I walked out of the room, and was both surprised and annoyed by what I saw. It was my dad’s house, exactly as I saw it not five minutes ago. If this is a joke, and I highly doubt it is, then the perpetrator deserves nothing less than my highest commendations. The raw work involved in a prank like this is impossible to think about. But that doesn’t matter. I found my way over to the stairs and began a slow descent. Well, it started out slow, and then I had the wonder luck of not being in a balanced body and missing a step. Then my fall became very fast, very quickly. The worst part was I didn’t even have enough grace to stumble down. The fall was hasty and hard. Good news? I didn’t hit my head. Bad news? I learned that despite the fact girls don’t have a weak spot on their groin the way men do, they have closest thing possible located on their breasts.


I landed on my chest, and every possible nerve there started to scream at me in pain. The worst of it only lasted a few moments, but there were enough remnants of the pain that I didn’t want anything like that happening again. Ever.

The thought of massaging them came to me after I got up. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea from a rationalist’s perspective; however I do not consider myself a rationalist and the mere idea of doing something like that…

A luminescent blush appeared on my face, and I dismissed the idea.

“Musume, are you all right?” A beautiful woman came around the corner and rushed up to me. For a moment I wondered if Musume was the name of this body. Then I remembered basic Japanese. Musume meant daughter, which made this woman my mother? She looked nothing like me, she was tall, with light brown hair. The only thing I can say for sure was comparable to us was the… voluptuousness of our chests, and believe me when I say that left a bad taste in my mind just thinking that.

“Umm, yeah, I’m fine.” I tried to pass it off, but apparently the thump I made actually sounded serious. While it wasn’t painless, I doubt that I had any lasting injuries, outside of the bits of raw pain I was getting, and even that had dulled down enough that I could easily put it out of my mind. That is, assuming your ‘mother’ decided to keep her hands to herself. She deftly lifted up my shirt, exposing my bare chest. Before I could say or do anything, she leaned in and began to examine my body.

As a guy, I have never anyone breathing on my… well on my breasts. It tickled, and it did not go well with my ‘I am still a guy’ mind. I managed to pull my shirt down, much to my relief.

“W-what the heck?!” I stuttered out. The woman looked down at me disapprovingly.

“I had to make sure you weren’t hurt! You are such a little trooper that if I didn’t check for myself I would have never found out. I did it for your own good!” she exclaimed.

“But-“ I was cut off before I could even utter a second word.

“Besides, there isn’t a single problem with a mother checking her daughter’s body for wounds! And also, you couldn’t be a bit less prudish? When I was your age I had absolutely no problem taking my shirt off!” At this point I learned more about this woman than I will ever care to know. I tuned out all but the last of what she said. “I’m going back to serve breakfast, but you should probably get dressed, it is your first day of school, and you look a little cold.” She pointed at my chest as she walked away.
I looked down, and saw something that might be burned into my mind for all eternity, or would be the subject of my hyperbolic mind.

It was the image of a pair of breasts, with two nipples, one on each, clearly visible and poking out of my shirt. For my normal self, seeing this would tell me that this girl needed to wear a bra. For my current self, seeing this was another stark reminder that I was nothing like I used to be. Something I already knew, but really disliked being reminded about constantly. I decided to follow my fake mother’s advice and headed upstairs and back into my room, ready to get prepared for a day of discovery.

Never. Mind.

The last thing I said was stupid. It was rash. It was stupid; I think I mentioned that.

I stood in front of the mirror, in the exact same clothes I started out in. I had found this bodies’ school uniform. It was a typical seifuku in shape, but not in color, and the skirt was a little too short for my tastes. I noticed that it hasn’t been worn before, not surprising.The blouse was a normal white; however, the bowtie on the neck was a bright pink, while the collar and skirt were girly lavender.

I have not so slowly developed a deep hatred for those colors.

What got me was how… odd these colors looked. Not in a fashion sense, rather it was just the absurdity of it all. There is no school in existence that would use, or even sell this uniform! That removed the idea of this being a prank off the table, and it accented the idea of me being transported into the game. Why? Because this was exactly the outfit I remember seeing on the girl before this whole mess started.

Did that matter? I was stuck like this, and I doubt that figuring out what kind of dementia this is will automatically get me out. As much as it pains me, I have to go through this as normal as possible until I can find a definite way out.

This meant I had to get dressed… Oh what fun this horrendous adventure will be!

I searched the nearby dresser for some clothing. I have no idea what girls wear, so it was a challenge. At least I didn’t have to pick out an outfit, as my ‘mother’ had reminded me, today was the first day of school for me.

How wonderfully convenient.

I managed to locate this bodies’ underwear drawer. I’m not proud to say it took me the better part of the most recent ten minutes I have spent up here. I knew that I was wearing something underneath these pajama pants, which meant I only needed to find a bra.

With everything found and accounted for, I took off my shirt.

As a guy, whenever I needed to change, the shirt always came off before the pants. That had been true my entire life, and I assume it is like that for all guys. I would also assume that girls did the same thing; after all, it was only logical; logical for normal person yes, but not for a guy who now has to deal with his first sight of boobs, breasts that so handily belonged to him.

That was how I met Migi and Hidari.

I am not going to lie, I stared. Not proud of it, but I stared at my chest. As a guy, it was reasonable, though I probably wouldn’t forgive myself when this was over. I was cold, and it was very noticeable. I decided that I should try to put this bra on.


I! Hate! Bras!

That was what rang throughout my mind as I spent twenty minutes of my life trying and failing to get one on. It just did not make sense. Maybe it was my uninformed male mind, or maybe it was just a flaw in the design of the damn thing. Either way, it was not going on. A decision fell upon the house of Fujii, and it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. I knew that there would be consequences to the action that looked more and more attractive by the second. I knew it was wrong and stupid and that it would surely come back to bite me in the ass.

But at this point I hardly cared about consequences.

I tossed the bra off to the side, out of my field of vision. Next was the pants, and with those out of the way I was clad in only a pair of panties. I resolved not to stare at myself in the mirror, despite the large amount of pressure put on me by my libido. I hastily grabbed the uniform and threw the shirt on. The fabric was coarser than the pajama shirt, and I knew that if I kept it on for too long I would be paying dearly in pain. The skirt was almost as much a pain getting on as the bra was, though at least for the skirt I could blame my own ignorance for not knowing that there was a zipper on the side that I needed to use, after figuring that out a skirt became no problem. Well, getting it on wouldn’t be that difficult; however, wearing it might be worse. I felt a small, constant current of wind of my legs and underwear, and I had this sensation of being exposed and that I needed to put something else on. I did need to put something else on, but those two things were not connected in any way.

After a moment or two, I figured out what feelings this skirt gave me. It was weakness. I felt weaker than I did as a male. It was exposure. My body was more exposed in this fully dressed state than any time I was a guy. It was femininity. No man, strike that, no normal man would ever be dressed in such a way. It was unfamiliar, and that, that was self-explanatory. These feelings were new and weird, and I was stuck with them for the foreseeable future.

This was going to suck.

Next Chapter

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