Subclasses Ch 02

Chapter Two

She introduces herself: Beatrix Wright.

Of course it's fucking 'Beatrix'

, I think, already deepening my crush on her—the crush I totally didn't have before yesterday.

I mean before this morning. Before twenty minutes ago, really.

Sarah Prime—the name I've assigned my counterpart in my inner dialog—gives me a scornful look of incredulity. I have no idea why.

I've always loved the name, "Beatrix", and not just because of the last five letters it shares with "dominatrix"—though, in this case, I hope it might be an apt correlation. "Beatrix" tastes good to my synesthetic brain. The church I grew up in would frequently sing a song including the line, "Your name is like honey on my lips". While I had infrequently found that line to be true of Jesus' name, it is true of "Beatrix". "Beatrix" doesn't taste like honey, per se, but it doesn't not taste like honey, either.

Because my mind often explains things I already know when allowed to wander I start to think of how I'd explain synesthesia to Beatrix.

It's like... you know how sometimes you can taste a smell? Strawberries taste the same as they smell, while asparagus very much does not. It's like that, but with all five senses. My brain's wires are crisscrossed and input from one organ ends up being interpreted by the part of my brain that's supposed to only be attached to another. Almost all sounds and words have a corresponding color. Sometimes I can taste a singer's voice. Some tastes feel flat or round or spikey. When I get high on THC

, I'd confess,

my synesthesia goes into overdrive. Touch becomes a symphony that my brain composes on the spot. Music becomes a Fantasia-like animated movie.

Beatrix and I walk the short distance to Nash Hall, her dormitory, and I follow her up the steps to the fourth floor and down the hallway to her room.

"I only had a roommate for one week," Beatrix explains conversationally as we walk, "before she moved out to live with her boyfriend. I have neither seen nor heard from her since then. It's nice that I have a two-girl dorm room to myself, but I think I would have made friends with the rest of my floor more easily if she had stayed." I remain silent, nodding my head, spellbound by the taste of her accent.

We get to her door and she opens it just enough that she can peek in. "It's clean enough!" she declares, and opens the door wide to invite me in. "Take a seat."

There's that domineering tone again,

I think, as it yanks at my desire. I take a seat on her bed, and she takes the computer chair at her desk. She spins on it to face me, using her hands to propel her with her legs up on the seat as a child might.

I have no idea what to make of Beatrix. One moment, she's dominant and commanding, the next she's a total goofball.

I wonder if she notices

, I think. I find that I like both Beatrixes. A lot.

"So," she says conversationally, "here's the deal. I have a special- Wait, I didn't think to ask, do you have class right now?" A note of panic seeps into her voice.

"Well, yes, but it's just Linear Algebra. While the prof is engaging, the answer to every question is 'Put it in a matrix and row reduce.'" She gives me a skeptical look. "One time, I spaced out for a bit; didn't even hear the question. When I came to, the room was quiet, so I raised my hand and suggested, 'Put it in a matrix and row reduce?' And that was the answer. It always is." She stifles a laugh at this, shoving it into the confines of a grin. "Plus, I already learned everything we've covered so far back in high school. Trust me, I'm not missing anything."

She looks relieved and nods. "Well, okay, if you're sure," she says. I nod and she continues. "I have a special ability. It's not

magic

but it probably seems like it." Now it's my turn to eye her skeptically. "Look, I'll prove it. Do you consent to let me invert the colors you see for five seconds?"

"What?" I say, mostly out of habit, to stall for time enough to process the question. Somehow she intuits she needn't repeat herself. "Well, okay, as long as you know what you're doing."

"Don't worry, as soon as your consent ends, I will be unable to affect you. So do you consent?" she repeats.

"Yes, I consent." I try to prepare myself for whatever is about to happen before realizing I have no idea how one would prepare for such a thing.

Then she Speaks. She speaks as naturally as ever, in plain English, and yet, there is something else I can hear. Some sort of soft, otherworldly resonance that overlaps her words, a resonance that I hear with my soul instead of my ears. "

For the next five seconds, your mind will interpret colors inverted.

"

Immediately, every color I see inverts. The pine needles of the evergreens out the window turn burnt red. The ceiling light shines darkness. Beatrix's blouse has turned olive green under a neon green scarf, while her skirt barely changes at all. Her face, usually ivory, is now navy blue, with green lips. Her emerald green eyes have become black with irises of cosmic blue and nebulous red. Just as I begin to consider how strange it is to see a lightbulb "shine" darkness, my vision reverts.

I sit stunned for a moment, exhaling the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Are you alright?" Beatrix asks cautiously with warm concern.

"Yeah. It was just a bit surprising, is all. No offense, but I hadn't expected anything to actually happen." I think for a moment before speaking again. As a scientist—even a computer scientist whose field of study is not strictly related to nature—I don't believe in magic, and, as she said it would, that experience definitely looked like magic. On the other hand, as a scientist, I cannot deny the evidence of my own experience. "Okay," I say, making my decision, "I believe you. You have a special ability."

Beatrix relaxes as I calm myself, and her pursed lips pull into a small smile.

After another moment, I say, "You said we could help each other?"

"Yes!" Beatrix replies excitedly. Then her voice turns businesslike, "I hope it isn't too forward or rude to ask this but, are you transgender?"

I smirk. "How could you tell?" I ask with mock surprise. Beatrix giggles.

"If my assumption is wrong, tell me, but I assume you wish you had the body of a cisgender female, yes?" I nod. "I have the ability to give you this."

I startle, sitting up straight. "Really?" I ask, awed and hopeful.

"Well, at least for a time. I don't know for certain, but I think right now I could transform your body for... mmm, maybe two thirds of a day, so about sixteen hours."

"Try it!" I exclaim, then, "umm... please?"

Please, Mistress?

I add in my head.

She smiles—"I'll take that as consent."—and then Speaks the way she did before, the way she Speaks to alter nature itself. "

Your body is that of a person born with two X chromosomes, the body that matches your identity.

"

My body begins to change, and I have never before felt anything so surreal nor so wonderful. My pelvis widens and my butt becomes rounder, my shoulders soften, my pencil of a torso takes on vaguely hourglass shape. My tiny, charitably A-cup breasts grow out to palm-sized, perky C-cups, the sudden growth adding noticeable, but welcome, weight to my chest. I feel my body shorten from 5'10" to 5'5" (from 177cm to 165cm)—somehow the exact height I always wished I was,

felt

I should be—and, to my delighted surprise, my bright blue dress shortens and widens to match my new shape. My semi-gaunt, masculine face fills in and softens, the tiny facial hairs I can never shave close enough to completely hide fall out and disintegrate before they touch the floor, and my Adam's apple dissolves, leaving a smooth recess in my neck. My fine, dirty blond hair lengthens and gains body. I experience the strange sensation of growing ovaries. And, most importantly, I feel my dick and balls pull into me, and in their place, a slit opens up. I can

feel

my labia, my clit, and the dampness inside my vagina. The process is a little uncomfortable but not painful, and the discomfort doesn't hold a candle to the tidal wave of sheer relief that comes from finally fitting in my body, finally feeling like

me

.

I begin to cry, and Beatrix rushes over, unsure of what she did wrong; she places one hand on my back and the other on my knee. So overwhelmed am I that the intimacy of the touch scarcely registers. I grab the hand on my knee with my own, and look her straight in the eyes, tears streaming down my face. "I'm

me

. At last, I finally know how it feels to be

me

. The joy of it." Despite my tears, I give her the biggest smile imaginable, and hug her tight for several euphoric seconds. "You have no idea how much you have blessed me, even if for only sixteen hours. You have given me so,

so

much hope, Beatrix. Thank you. From the depths of my soul, thank you."

We pull apart again. Beatrix remains seated beside me on the bed rather than returning to her swivel chair. She gives me a look over. "Wow. You're so pretty," she says quietly. Unsure if I was supposed to hear that, I smile at the compliment. She startles, apparently realizing she had spoken what she'd intended to be a thought. "I mean, umm..." she stammers sheepishly.

I laugh disarmingly and she relaxes again, though her blush remains. She retrieves a hand mirror for me to examine myself. My jaw drops. I am a

babe

. My smile, impossibly, grows wider, and I hug her again. "Thank you, so, so much," I tell her, and, no longer so overwhelmed as before, I notice for the first time how feminine my voice sounds. It's like I instinctively know how to talk like a woman, not merely pitch register and resonance—which I had been practicing—but things like emphasis, a feminine voice's melodic quality, and the slightly altered vocabulary.

My tongue just

knows

how to speak

, I think, and suddenly realize even my thoughts have gained that singsong, pitch-modulated method of emphasis: the word "knows" in my previous thought was higher pitched rather than louder than its surrounding words.

She returns the mirror to her closet, and sits down next to me again. My newly shaped hips are wide enough that they brush up against hers, and I feel a pang of desire rush through me.

Something occurs to me. "You said we can help

each other

. What do you get out of this arrangement, aside from a grateful new friend?"

Nervousness washes over her face, and just as quickly, vanishes. "For that," she says, "you need to know how my ability works."