Softening

 

I used to be so fucking sure of myself.

Sat here on the edge of Kyle's bed – or should I say Kylie's bed now – watching the two of them giggle and pose in the vanity mirror, I can barely remember what that certainty felt like. That rock-solid knowledge of who I was. What I wanted. What I'd never want.

It started six months ago. Just Kyle being Kyle – always chasing the next thrill, the next fucked-up experience to brag about.

"Dude, you have to see this shit," he'd said, holding up that little pink vial. "Elixir. Turns you into a chick for like, eight hours. Imagine the orgasms, bro."

Brad and I had laughed. Called him a freak. Told him to knock himself out if that's what he really wanted.

He did.

And then he came back.

---

The first time I saw her – saw him – I didn't know what to think. This five-foot-six blonde bombshell standing in Kyle's apartment wearing his oversized t-shirt and nothing else. Tanned legs that went forever. Tits straining against the fabric. This pouty, bratty little smirk on glossed lips.

"Hey boys," she'd purred, voice like honey and sin. "Kyle's… busy. But I'm Kylie. Wanna hang?"

We didn't touch her. Didn't do anything except sit there slack-jawed while she laughed at us, called us pussies, then disappeared into the bedroom to – from the sounds of it – absolutely destroy herself.

The noises she made…

Fuck.

Eight hours later, Kyle was back. Sheepish. Quiet. Already looking at the empty vial like he missed it.

"Just once," he said. "Just wanted to see what it was like."

---

Once became twice. Twice became every weekend. Every weekend became whenever he could get his hands on more.

I watched my best friend dissolve.

Not physically – physically, Kyle was still Kyle between doses. Same scruffy jaw, same broad shoulders, same dumb laugh. But something behind his eyes had changed. He'd zone out mid-conversation. Start browsing women's fashion on his phone without realising. I caught him smelling a candle at Target once – vanilla and rose – and the look on his face was almost… yearning.

"I'm not gay," he told me once, defensive, when I asked if he was okay. "It's not about guys. It's about… being her. You don't understand. When I'm Kylie, everything just… fits. Everything feels right. I'm powerful. I'm desired. I'm…" He trailed off, jaw tight. "Forget it."

But I couldn't forget it.

And neither could Brad.

---

Brad was the one I never expected to fall.

Quieter than Kyle. More conservative. The kind of guy who went to church with his mom on Sundays and talked about finding "the one" like he actually believed in soulmates.

Then Kyle let him try a dose.

"Just to see," Brad had said, not meeting my eyes. "Just once. To understand what he's talking about."

Just once.

Brandi was born that night.

Shorter than Kylie but curvier – these ridiculous hips and an ass that didn't quit. Same blonde hair though (apparently Elixir had a type), same golden tan, same bratty edge to her voice. But where Kylie was sharp and mean, Brandi was giggly. Bubbly. The kind of hot girl who'd call you "babe" and actually seem like she meant it – right before she stole your boyfriend and laughed about it.

They made out that first night. Kylie and Brandi. Right in front of me.

"Don't be jealous, sweetie," Kylie had cooed, pulling back from the kiss with a wet pop, Brandi's lipgloss smeared across her mouth. "You could always join us…"

I said no.

I said no so many times.

---

And now here I am.

Six months later. Watching them.

Kylie's sprawled across the bed in these tiny black lace boyshorts that barely cover anything, her long legs crossed at the ankle, toes painted a shimmery pink. She's wearing this sheer black bodystocking on top – you can see everything through it, the dark circles of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the way her tits sit high and round like they're defying gravity just to mock me.

Brandi's kneeling beside her, phone out, angling for the perfect shot. Same boyshorts, same bodystocking. Their bodies are mirrors of each other – tanned, toned, obscene. Brandi's tongue is poking out in concentration as she adjusts the filter.

"Okay, okay – tits out, chin down, eyes up," Kylie instructs, and they both shift into position with practised ease. The shutter clicks. They collapse into giggles, heads together, reviewing the result.

"Oh my God, we look so hot," Brandi squeals.

"Obviously, babe. We're literally perfect."

More giggling. More whispered comments I can't quite hear. Brandi says something and Kylie gasps, slaps her arm – "You're so bad" – and then they're laughing again, this intimate, exclusive sound that makes my chest ache.

They're sharing something I'll never have.

Not as a man.

---

That's the thing no one tells you about watching your friends become women. It's not the tits or the ass or the way they moan when they get fucked (though Christ, those sounds haunt me – Kylie's sharp, commanding cries, Brandi's breathless whimpers, the wet slap of skin, the way they beg).

It's the intimacy.

The way they touch each other so easily now – a hand on a thigh, fingers brushing hair back, casual kisses on cheeks and shoulders. The way they finish each other's sentences. Share clothes. Share secrets. They have inside jokes I'll never understand. A language of glances and giggles that excludes me completely.

They're best friends in a way Kyle and Brad never were.

They're sisters.

And I'm just… here. On the outside. Watching.

---

Kylie catches me staring.

"Awww," she coos, rolling onto her stomach, chin propped on her hands. The movement makes her tits squish together obscenely. "Someone's feeling left out."

"I'm fine," I lie.

"Mmmhm." She exchanges a look with Brandi. That look. The one I can't read. "You know, there's a super easy fix for that…"

"I said I'm fine."

"You've been saying that for months, babe." Brandi crawls toward me across the mattress, all swaying hips and knowing smile. "But you keep coming back. Keep watching. Keep…" She reaches out, trails a finger down my arm. Her touch is electric. Her perfume hits me – something sweet and expensive, jasmine and vanilla – and my head swims. "…wanting."

"I don't—"

"Shh." Kylie's behind me suddenly, her breath warm on my neck. When did she move? "It's okay to want things. It's okay to be jealous." Her lips brush my ear. "We see you, you know. The way you look at us. At our bodies. Our clothes. You're not wondering what it would be like to fuck us anymore, are you?"

My throat is dry. "I—"

"You're wondering what it would be like to be us."

No.

But the word won't come out.

Because she's right. She's so fucking right it makes me want to scream.

---

I think about it constantly now. That's the shameful truth.

Not sex – or not just sex. I think about the clothes. The way Kylie's dresses hug her curves. The way Brandi's crop tops show off her flat, tanned stomach. I think about their lingerie drawer (I've seen it, couldn't help looking), stuffed with silk and lace in every colour. I think about the makeup scattered across the bathroom counter – the lipsticks and mascaras and those little pots of shimmery stuff I don't even know the names for.

I think about their hair. Long and blonde and always so soft. The way they brush it, style it, play with it while they talk.

I think about the sounds.

Not just the sex sounds – though God, those too – but the everyday sounds. The click of heels on hardwood. The rustle of fabric. The little "mmmh" Kylie makes when she tastes something good. The way Brandi hums while she does her skincare routine.

Girl sounds.

I want to make those sounds.

I want to BE those sounds.

---

"Here."

I blink. Kylie's holding something out to me. Pink fabric. Lace edges. I take it automatically, and my fingers sink into silk so soft it makes me shiver.

Panties.

She's given me panties.

"Just try them on," Brandi whispers, pressed against my side now, her hand on my thigh. "Just to see. You don't have to do anything else. Just… feel."

I should say no. I should leave. I should—

I'm standing up.

I'm walking toward the bathroom.

I'm closing the door.

---

The panties fit.

They shouldn't – they're clearly designed for a woman's body, a woman's hips – but they fit. Snug against my skin. Cool silk cupping me in ways cotton never has. I look down at myself, at this scrap of pink lace against my pale, hairy thighs, and I feel…

Right.

The word hits me like a punch.

This feels right.

There's a knock at the door. "Well?" Kylie's voice, teasing. "How's it feel, babe?"

I open my mouth to lie. To say it's stupid, it's nothing, I'm taking them off right now.

"…good," I hear myself whisper. "It feels good."

Silence. Then, soft and triumphant: "We knew it would."

The door opens. I didn't unlock it – did I leave it unlocked? – and they're there, both of them, these impossible blonde goddesses with their knowing smiles and their hands reaching for me.

"Come sit down," Brandi murmurs. "Let us show you some things."

"We have so much to teach you," Kylie adds. And in her hand, catching the light—

A pink vial.

Elixir.

My heart hammers. My skin tingles. The silk panties feel like a promise against my hips.

"You don't have to," Kylie says, but her eyes say you will. "Not tonight. Not yet. But soon…" She sets the vial on the nightstand. Lets me look at it. Lets me want it. "Soon you're going to beg us for this. You're going to beg to be one of us. And we're going to say yes, because that's what sisters do."

Sisters.

Sisters.

The word wraps around me like their perfume, like the silk on my skin, like the future I can suddenly see so clearly – three blonde girls in matching lingerie, taking selfies, sharing secrets, sharing everything.

Being soft. Being beautiful. Being wanted.

"I…" My voice cracks. "I don't…"

"Shh." Brandi's fingers are in my hair, stroking. "You don't have to decide now. Just stay with us tonight. Just… let yourself feel."

Kylie pulls me down onto the bed between them. Their bodies press against mine – warm, soft, smelling of vanilla and jasmine and something underneath that's purely, intoxicatingly female.

"We've got you," she murmurs against my temple. "We've got you, babe. And soon…"

Her hand finds mine. Guides it to the vial. Lets my fingers close around the cool glass.

"…soon you'll have you too."

I hold the Elixir.

I think about who I used to be.

I think about who I'm going to become.

And somewhere deep inside – in a place I've been trying so hard to ignore – a new voice giggles.

Finally.

---

They're right, of course.

And when I swallow that sweet pink liquid, when my bones start to shift and my skin starts to soften and something magnificent begins to swell beneath my chest—

I understand.

This isn't corruption.

This is becoming.

And she – I – am going to be fucking perfect.