Carrolwood 16-18 (Patreon)

Chapter 16

Carl arrived at theater practice early, spotting Sunni on stage, surrounded by some of the girls from the cast, all staring up at her as she seemed to be expounding on stage fighting. He took a deep breath, meaning to march right up to her and get the apology over with, but then Mrs. Calloway suddenly came swooping across his path, running up to him. “Carli!” She said, breathless. “We’ve lost our Mabel!”

“Omigod,” Carl said. “Is she okay?”

“Mono,” Calloway said. “She’ll be fine. But, and I know this is a huge ask, will you step in and play Mabel? You’re the only girl with the voice.”

“Mabel?” Carl said. Mabel was the female romantic lead. “Um, well, —“

‘I know this will really challenge your ….”

Sense of identity? Carl thought.

“…acting skills, but I know you can do it. I know you can!”

“I’m so flattered, but the whole non-traditional casting thing …”

“I need you, Carli Bright. We all do!” Calloway gestured toward the stage. The whole cast was looking out at Carl, their faces full of hope. Carl could not say no to such a desperate group. It would have been rude.

“Fine,” Carl said to the rousing cheers of the whole cast. Since it seemed he was doomed to girlhood anyway, he might as well just leap in with both feet and let the whole school see him as a female in love.

Teacher threw her arms around him and crushed him in a mighty hug. “Yes! Yes! The show must go on! Wait until you see your costume! It’s so pretty!!!”

Costume? Carl groaned. He hadn’t thought about that part. Mabel, like all the other girls, would be wearing a Victorian dress. So, one more thing he vowed never to do went down the drain.

Of course, yet another surprise remained. The boy playing Frederick had also caught mono, so the male romantic lead would be played, of course, by none other than Sunni. “Don’t worry,” Sunni said as they took their positions to rehearse one of the scenes. “I’ll make it easy for you to fall in love with me.”

“As if,” Carl said, rolling his eyes as the music started to play. Of course, they were set to rehearse one of Frederick’s numbers, and of course, it was Oh, Is There Not One Maiden’s Breast. Both Carl and Sunni had the scores in hand and read from the sheet music, as they had only now been named to their parts. Sunni’s deep voice boomed across the auditorium, she showing incredible range by sliding up from her baritone to a youthful sounding tenor:

Sunni

Oh, -is there not one maiden breast

Which does not feel the moral beauty

Of making worldly interest

Subordinate to sense of duty?

Who would not give up willingly

All matrimonial ambition,

To rescue such a one as I

From his unfortunate position?

Carl once more felt his newly developed sense of shame at his flat chest. But, stifling his embarrassment, he took a deep breath to give himself lots of air and sang. His sweet, pretty voice joined the delightful feminine chiming of the other girls:

CARLI and GIRLS 

Alas! there's not one maiden breast

Which seems to feel the moral beauty

Of making worldly interest

Subordinate to sense of duty!

When the song ended, TEACHER applauded. “Amazing! Oh, Sunni! You are so manly and rugged. The audience will go wild! And Carl- you ARE Mabel! Just the absolute embodiment of a young lady! Everyone. So good! Moving on!”

When practice ended, Carl asked Sunni if they could talk outside. She agreed, and so they found themselves under a willow tree. The day had turned cold and cloudy, and a frigid north wind blew down on them. Carl, his slender new frame far less tolerant of cold, shivered. Sunni took off her jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. Carl offered her a grateful smile. Given how confused he was feeling about finding himself in the feminine role in life and on stage, he almost refused. But, well, he was cold, and the jacket was warm, so what was a boy to do?

“You were great today,” Sunni said. “And I’m not saying that to try and give you a hard time.”

“Thanks,” Carl said, pleased at the compliment. “I thought you nailed Frederick.”

“Yeah,” Sunni agreed. “You wanted to talk?”

“I did. Um, just, well, earlier today? With Matt?”

“Yeah.”

Carl hooked his hair behind his ear. He found himself standing with his feet on top of each other, and he was turning one nervously. “Thanks. I just wanted to say thanks?”

Sunni stared down at Carl’s face. She had never seen such a pretty face in her life. With the cold breeze his cheeks and even the bridge of his nose had turned pink. His mouth was slightly open. He had a tiny little bit of an overbite, so he had that cute little bunny look, with his top teeth just visible. Sunni impulsively cupped Carl’s chin, running her thumb across his soft skin.

He didn’t stop her, but his breath seemed to quicken.

“When I saw what Matt was doing, I got so mad,” Sunni said, moving closer. 

“Really?” Carl said, not retreating, letting Carli tilt his head further back, a little thrill passing through him as she made all the moves, guided him. Is she going to kiss me? He wondered, shocked, scared and... excited by the idea.

“I— just had to protect you.” Sunni said.

The words, the gruff tone of voice, it made Carl shudder. He closed his eyes, found himself touching Sunni’s bicep, squeezing.

And then they were kissing, Sunni having swooped in and covered Carl’s mouth with her own, beard tickling his soft face. The shock of the kiss curled Carl’s toes, and he tried to push away he was so scared at what he was feeling, but Sunni slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him in, kissing, kissing… and Carl couldn’t help himself— he kissed back… his whole body tingling… he felt so small and yet so safe in her arms….

And he felt his chest swelling, rounding, soft round breasts forming and pressing against Sunni’s rock-hard body, and he made soft, feminine moan as a whole range of new and impossible pleasures ran through his little body…. Sunni slipped her tongue between his lips, and made a deep, masculine grunt, and once more the sound of that deep voice sent tremors of ecstasy through Carl, his brain snapping and popping as a whole new world opened up to…

“NO PDAs!”

Carl and Sunni shouted with fright and jumped away from each other. Dr. Ben stood some feet away, looking at them with a bemused smile on his face. “Move along!”

Carl and Sunni, embarrassed to have been caught, started to walk off together, Sunni instinctively grabbing Carl’s little hand. Dr. Ben cleared his throat. “Separate.” 

“We’re going to the parking lot?” Carl said.

“We’re headed the same way,” Sunni agreed. “So?”

“Miss Bright. You will proceed through the building. Mr. Lee, on your way.”

Carl did was he was told, waving sheepishly goodbye to Sunni, even as he now looked down to contemplate the new breasts swelling out the top of his blouse. As he passed, Mr. Ben stopped him. “Miss Bright. I know this is all new to you. Be careful of boys. They may try and take advantage.”

Perv! Carl thought, but he was feeling so super embarrassed he just kept his eyes down and said, “Okay. Yes.”

“Dismissed.”

Carl scampered off, trying to figure out how to stop himself from blushing and tingling and— omigod! Sunni kissed me!

Carl’s hear whirled. He felt hyper-conscious of the new weight on his chest, as well as the feeling of straps over his shoulders and across his back. He realized he was now wearing a bra, which only added to his feeling of embarrassment, as boys most certainly did not wear bras. He couldn’t help but duck into the bathroom, hurrying to the mirror, turning side to side, drinking in the sight of his new, shapely profile. I have related, dear reader, the fact that Carl had found himself feeling ashamed of his flat chest, that part of him had begun to long, just as any young girl does, for the time he would get his boobs. That part of Carl, seeing the impressive bust that now graced his slender frame, rejoiced.

Yet, Carl still retained some of his former masculinity. And that part of him looked upon his new assets, and the bra that held them, with horror. They were large. Larger than most girls his age. The size of cantaloupes. Good sized cantaloupes. Looking at himself with that maidenly bust, with the narrow waist and the way his hips rounded out his skirt, he felt some of the old male stirrings he’d felt when looking at girls, and he turned away from the mirror, terrified and unnerved at his inviting new shape, hurrying from the school, diving into his car and racing home.

As he burst through the front door, slouching self-consciously, Dad, tossing a baseball up and down, greeted him. “Still on for catch?”

“Oh.” Part of Carl wanted to take a rain check. But, it had seemed important to Dad, and this was a key chance bond a bit. Besides, Carl had accepted that he was stuck as a girl, and he suspected he was just going to have to get used to his new— assets? “Yeah. Let me change. Be right down.”

As he went upstairs to his room, he passed Danny. “Nice jugs,” Danny said with a snicker.

“Shut up,” Carl hissed back.

Carl sighed as soon as he closed the door. He wiggled out of his skirt, took off his blouse. He had decided he would NOT look at himself. He would just change clothes, go downstairs and that would be that. The bra he found himself wearing was plain white, and it hooked in the back. He’d slipped a few of these off girls over the years, but it was a little different when he had to reach behind himself. Still, after an awkward moment he pinched the hooks and the bra slipped free, sliding down his shoulders and allowing his breasts to sway. Oh. That felt strange. Carl’s chest had been hard and flat since he was a child. His chest had never moved before. He looked down to see them milky white, round, big, pink nipples that were getting tight in the cool air of his bedroom. The sensation of his nipples floating inches above his chest, tingling, unnerved him, and in spite of himself he stepped in front of the mirror, shocked despite all mental preparation to see those firm, round breasts perched above his taut, soft tummy. 

I’m hot, he thought, pulling his gaze away from the curvy blonde in the mirror, unable to even process whether being hot was a good or bad thing. I look like one of those girls who does bikini try on videos, he thought, and the image of him smiling into the camera wearing a tiny little leopard print bikini flooded his brain. Omigod. What’s wrong with me?

Carl had, as was now his habit, put a great deal of thought into what outfit to wear while playing catch with his Dad, so he didn’t need to worry about that now. He slipped on a pair of black yoga pants, a skater skirt for modesty, the Ramones T-shirt and a pair of black and white Converse All-Star High tops, plus a Black and White Yankees’ cap that echoed the color scheme of his shoes. He took a quick look in the mirror just to— Oh, no. The Ramones top now strained across his breasts, which swayed and bounced with his every move, his hard nipples poking enticingly through the thin fabric. Carl groaned and pulled the t-shirt off, slipping into one of his sports bras, even as he processed the realization that from now on, he would NEED a bra.

Hmmmn. The sports bra felt vastly different from the one he’d found himself wearing at school. That one had lifted his chest, the cups literally cupping his puppies. The sports bra compressed them against his ribs, holding them much more firmly in place. He hopped up and down as a test, and there was still a little jiggle, but they were much more secure, and the bra completely hid what was going on with his nipples.

“Carli” Dad called from downstairs. “We’re burning sunlight.”

“Coming!” Carl called back, his voice sparkling with excitement. He grabbed his glove— it was now a softball mitt— and hurried downstairs, catching the ball Dad tossed to him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Not in the house!” Mom yelled, eying Carl’s latest developments with an envious eye.

“Okay, Okay,” Dad and Carl said, heading out to the backyard. Carl, giving his Dad a conspiratorial look, tossed the ball back to him in the kitchen. They laughed together as they headed out the door.

Mom walked to the patio doors. She saw Dad throw the ball high in the air, as if it were a fly ball. Carl got under it, raising his arms to make the catch, and raising some other parts in a most fetching manner. Mom seethed, thinking about them throwing the ball in the house, laughing like confidents, defying mean old Mom. Carli is so full of herself, Mom thought, eying Carl’s youthful figure. Mom was, of course, a lovely woman herself, but she was older and had given birth to two babies. It is not my intent to suggest that an older woman and a mother cannot be beautiful, as I have already stated, Mom was most certainly that. But there is a particular kind of beauty found only in the young, male or female, that is lost with time and never to be regained. 

Given the pressure our society puts on women to look “forever young” while also celebrating youth to the exclusion of all other stages of life, it can be little surprise that Mom, looking at Carl with his feminine glow and slender, teen-age figure, found herself burning with jealousy. More, we may remember the discussion of the Oedipus Complex, and remind ourselves that just as Sunni’s father felt threatened by her, Carl’s mother now felt threatened by the blossoming beauty her eldest son had become. She was particularly annoyed by his bosom, which she felt might just be larger than hers.

Maybe it’s time I put little miss blondie in her place, Mom thought. Maybe it’s time.

Carl, for his part, was pleased to find he still had a rather good arm. He was smaller and certainly had less upper body strength than he’d had as a boy, but a good throw starts with the legs, and Carl had strong, fine legs. He was still a talented athlete, and as he and Dad threw the ball back and forth, he decided that he would try out for softball come spring.

Dad was doing his best. Psychology texts will relate, and this is outside the Freudian assumptions of the Oedipus complex, that some repressed attraction is common between fathers and daughters. Dad was disturbed by these strange feelings, and after one errant glance at Carl’s bust, he took control of his eyes and emotions and focused only on making each catch. His focus cleared; he did have one more surprising thought: It was good to have a daughter. And then for a moment he imagined himself walking Carl down the aisle, Carl beaming in a white dress. The thought so unnerved him that he missed the ball completely. It dropped at his feet, bounced, and rolled.

“You’re getting old!” Carl sang out, giggling.

“Yes!” Dad said, squatting down to pick up the ball. “I should have worn my glasses!” He tossed the ball back and pushed the thought of Carl’s wedding from his mind.

Chapter 17

And what of Sunni? What had changed in her, you may wonder? Let us take a brief leap back in time, and relive the kiss from Sunni’s perspective:

Sunni leaned in and kissed Carl. She felt his sudden surprise, his hands on her chest, pushing. She pulled him closer, kissed him more fully, and felt a surge of passion as he softened, began to kiss back, his feminine yielding pure kerosene to her smolder passions. She felt his chest growing, softer, bigger, and the feeling of his soft breasts pressing against her igniting a frenzy of need, even as she became aware of something— happening— in her pants.

Shocked, she suddenly realized that she had become a boy in every respect. The rush of fear and embarrassment and shock served to prevent her from, let us say, manifesting a scandal which Carl would have felt and which no doubt would have left them each blushing with shame. Just as Sunni had felt her change er, um, “growing” she heard, “No PDAs.”

Sunni, were she thinking more rationally, may well have used the excuse to get away from Carl before she, let us say, raised a flagpole? But, Sunni was not yet experienced in the perils of being a boy, and she was also far from rational: the feeling of Carl’s small, soft little body in her arms, the sweet taste of his lips, the maidenly moaning sound he’d made when they’d kissed— these had all driven her into an overwrought state of desire, and she very badly wanted to hold and kiss and whisper sweet nothings to this amazing little Elle she’d discovered.

It was, therefore, fortunate, that Mr. Ben had separated them, for by the time Sunni got the parking lot and climbed into her SUV, she began to discover something all young men learn at some point in their lives— and usually in an embarrassing manner— her “friend” had a mind of its own, and as thoughts of Carl and their kiss flowed through her mind, her “friend” got very excited.

“Get down,” Sunni commanded. “Down.” Her friend did not listen. It felt like it was— pulsing— like some sort of alien. Sunni panicked. She’d thought to just wait for Carl and pick up where they had left off, but with her pants tenting, she could not let him see her. It was— crude. So, she’d started her car and driven off, trying her best to think of something— anything— to distract herself, so her crisis would recede and she would be able to enter her home walking upright and not with her hands over her zipper.

Eventually, she managed to distract herself enough from the thoughts of Carl’s soft body and the strawberry smell of his hair to find some relief, and so she was able to enter her house, say her helloes and make it to her room without an embarrassing display. She threw herself on her bed, sighing with relief, annoyed, confused, fascinated by her new and fully baffling experience with male arousal. She tried to study, but her mind raced back to the kiss, the feeling of Carl’s breasts, the soft sounds he’d made, and her insolent new body part once more stood to attention, straining against her pants.

“Stop! Enough! I have things to do!” Sunni paced— as best she could manage with her bulge. She tried yoga and meditation, but a whole range of new feelings had been awoken, and she did not know how to put a stop to them. 

Or, did she? Sunni knew what boys did when they needed— release. She, like Carl, had access to the Internet, and like most kids her age she’d gotten plenty of sex education from websites parents liked to pretend didn’t exist.

Should she?

No. She was not ready to even touch it, let alone do— things and have it spray goopy stuff all over her room. Instead, she went back to an old-fashioned, tried and true cure: she took a long, cold shower and thought about baseball.

We may now dash through time until after dinner, after studies, as both Carl and Sunni lie on their backs, in their pajamas, ready for a good night’s sleep. Our young heroes find themselves in a similarly agitated state, each one haunted by the kiss. Each of them felt scared, as we so often do when we experience true passion, but it was more than the usual jangly nerves of a pair of young people who thought they hated each other only to discover— they did not. Of course, added to the usual mixture of anxiety and uncertainty was a baffled and terrified reaction to the experience of passion as the opposite sex. They each felt things in their bodies they had never felt before and never thought to feel.

In addition, there had been a clear shift in their relationship. Carl had found winsome bliss in the submissive role, with Sunni taking total command. Such feelings made him feel unmanly, and somehow less than. Sunni, meanwhile, finding herself taking the aggressive and traditionally masculine role, found herself rebelling against becoming exactly the kind of guy she’d thought she was opposed to as a modern, free-thinking woman. 

Yes. Each longed for the other’s touch. The other’s warm body.

Carl, twisting his hair around his fingers, made a decision.

Sunni, plucking at her beard, made a decision as well.

They texted each other at the exact same moment, their texts passing in the ether and arriving on each other’s phones at precisely the same instant:

Let’s never talk about what happened today.

Agreed, they each texted back, each one unable to keep from smiling as they realized they’d been thinking the same thoughts at the same time. Then, they each groaned in frustration. “I can’t be falling for him/her,” they thought in unison. “Please! Not that!”

Chapter 18

The next morning, Carl had to sit down to pee. The last change had come. He was now fully a girl, just as Sunni was fully a boy. They each had come to mostly accept the idea and had just decided they would have to learn to live as the opposite gender. They equally resolved they would just ignore the infernal crushing they were experiencing toward one another as the idea of them being a couple was so horrifying as to force each of them to pretend to puke. Each found themselves the object of desire to the members of the opposite sex. Girls tried to catch Sunni’s eye, giggled and flirted with her, batting their lashes. She was polite, but let it be known she wasn’t dating. The girls accepted it, but kept giving her little hints that, if she were interested at some point, well, she knew where to look.

Things were harder for Carl. Boys in our culture could be more aggressive, maybe even expected to be, and guys like Matt and others pursued him relentlessly, crowding him, negging him, stalking him online. He felt himself wearing down, thinking about going out with someone just to hold off the other wolves. He wished he could talk to his mother about it, but she had grown cold and cruel, making mocking comments on his outfits, his hair and make-up, reminding him constantly how disappointed she was that her oldest son was a girl. He did have Kennedy, but her advice always came around to telling him he should go out with Sunni, which, of course, was like— never going to happen.

Just as Carl was thinking about going out with Matt, he had a breakthrough with his Mom. It was Thursday. The girls’ soccer team was having a bake sale to raise money for their travel expenses— and Carl fumed over the fact that the boys never had to have a bake sale!— so Carl had picked up some brownie mix and set up in the kitchen to bake, completely unnerved by the whole Betty Crockerness of it all.

Dan had made his mocking comments and gone off to play video games.

Carl was mixing the batter when Mom came home unexpectedly early from her kickboxing class. She saw Carl with the mixer, an apron on, rubber spatula in hand as he worked the batter. “Oh, you’re so cute. You’ll make such a good little wifey someday.”

“You know I don’t like this, right?” Carl snapped. “Do you have to make it so much harder?”

Mom stopped. “I’m just teasing—“ She lied. 

“You’re being an a-hole,” Carl said, wagging the rubber spatula. “You’ve been a total— sorry, not sorry— bitch— ever since I started changing. You want to talk about it, or you want to just keep acting like a child?”

Mom was taken aback. She’d actually started to think the bubbly blonde her son had turned into was incapable of anger. She was— impressed. More, the words stung. She knew how she’d been acting, but she’d been making excuses, telling herself any mother would act the same way to see her son— feminized. And more, she’d been struggling to deal with the fact she’d started to feel jealous of him, which made no sense to her at all. She froze. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” Carl said. “Just— don’t. I know you don’t love me anymore. But you don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“I don’t—?” Mom felt sick to hear the words “You don’t love me anymore” come out of Carl’s mouth. “It’s not that I don’t love you…” she said. She met Carl’s eyes. They both started to tear up. “I just don’t know how to show you anymore.”

Carl cried first, the tears pouring down his cheeks. He started to run from the kitchen, but Mom rushed to him, hugging him. “I’m sorry,” she said, as she found herself crying as well. “I’m so sorry.” They held each other, crying, sobbing, speaking no words.

Later.

Dad came home from work, entering the house through the door that led to the garage. He felt his body tense. The old saying “Happy Wife, Happy Life” had proven very true. His wife had been angry and annoyed since Carl had started to change, and it had filled the whole house with tension. She’d been extra pissy with him ever since he’d played catch with Carl, and he almost felt she wanted him to take sides with her against his own son—- daughter. Against Carl. And so, he was shocked to see Carl and Mom in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder, watching something on an iPad and giggling together. The whole house smelled of brownies, and his eyes were drawn to a pair of cooling racks lined with rows of melty chocolate squares.

‘Um, hi,” he said, walking over and reaching toward a brownie, eyes locked on Carl and Mom as he tried to puzzle out what was happening.

Carl playfully slapped his Dad’s hand away. “Those are for the bake sale!” He said.

“Bake sale?”

“The girls’ soccer team has to hold bake sales to pay for their own travel,” Mom said. “Because sexism.”

“Men!” Carl said, giggling.

“What are you watching?” Dad said, sensing this new, secret bond between mother and daughter, and not liking how left out he felt.

“Never you mind,” Mom said, shutting the iPad down. She and Carl exchanged an amused glance. ‘“Girl stuff.”

“Come on. What?” Dad said.

“We were talking about periods,” Carl said, smirking.

“Okay,” Dad said, retreating in horror. “Gonna head upstairs.”

“Stay,” Mom called after him. “We’d love to hear your thoughts on menstruation.”

Dad just waved and hurried out, trailed by the girls’ laughter.