The sun glinted and dazzled off the river through the train window, and I blinked and took a break from looking at the green river valley sliding past. I had been lucky to find a seat in a mostly quiet cabin, with only a few people wandering through.
I glanced at my reflection in the window from the corner of my eye and a giddy tingly wave shot from the bottoms of my feet up my spine. I shivered as it reached the back of my neck and swirled to fill my whole body. This is gender euphoria, I marveled for the millionth time. This is what it feels like.
The reflection showed a dark-haired girl, wearing a black lace choker but dressed—somewhat incongruously—in a blazer, over a clingy graphic tee shirt. The soundtrack was wistful pixie dreamgirl Indy. My hands went up to my headphones, and I gave my best cute swoon, fluttering my eyelids so I could watch myself do it.
"Excuse me Miss?"
Blushing at being caught in the middle of making a kissy face at my own reflection, I peeked up through my bangs at the tall stranger. Fashionable tweed, salt and pepper hair, expressive eyes.
"Do you mind if I sit across from you?"
I opened my mouth, closed it again and then made a sort of permissive shrug. The man put down his shoulderbag and took out a book. I turned to watch both our reflections in the window. The quieter I was, the less people seemed to clock me as trans, so I usually let my friends do the talking.
At the thought of the swarm of friends I was leaving behind in the city, my insides tightened. I missed them already. Sitting together on the library steps in the sun, listening to music together on the floor of my girlfriend's room, going to the museum as a giggling pack in the winter. And, most of all, going to our dance classes together.
I knew I had lucked out. I'd been the only trans girl in the modern dance program at my school, and I knew I wouldn't have found the courage to get on hormones that early and come out there without the unconditional inclusion and support I'd gotten from my friends in the program. And then, after high school, we'd all applied and gotten in to the same college dance program. It had been a dream come true, even though I'd deferred a semester to get bottom surgery. I squirmed in my seat and flushed a bit, remembering how all my girlfriends crowded into the bathroom on my first day as a new dance student and clamored for me to show them my new pussy.
I was blushing beet red, leaning on the bathroom sink, facing the mirror. I had picked a pleated short skirt that showed off my legs and I was beginning to regret how accessible it made my coochie.
"Maddy," my friend Flora pleaded from over my shoulder, "you clearly don't understand how thirsty—I mean happy we are for you...to show us! We're literally dyingggg over here."
There was a chorus of agreement from the others.
"Maddy," she repeated, "I haven't looked forward so much to anything else in weeeeks. Maddy. Maddy. Maddy."
"What?" I muttered, my face hot. Flora had a flair for the dramatic. Big theater queen vibes. She could always get anything she wanted from me, eventually.
"Are you really going to leave us, lost and wandering, in this thick, thick pussyfog?"
"I-I don't know, what if someone comes in?" I protested weakly.
"What if someone comes in! You've got nothing to be ashamed of, girl! Rooftops exist for a--"
"Flora!" I sputtered.
"Okay, just kidding. My bestie Quinn is watching the door from out in the hall. We've got you fully covered, don't we girls?"
Cue: another storm of pleading and encouragement.
I turned to face them all and opened my mouth and—hesitated.
"Listen girls," Natalie pushed her way to the front of the pack. "I think I know exactly what kind of push little Madeline needs here."
Her eyes glinted with a light that usually meant trouble. I swallowed. Natalie and I had grown up in the same apartment building, and gone to the same dance classes since before either of us could remember (we had pictures). She was my oldest friend, and had always been my staunchest ally when it came to being included. She had always gone to bat hard for me when it came to my pronouns, interrupting and insisting (even with teachers) whenever people misgendered me, especially in the early, painfully awkward stages of my transition.
She also delighted in teasing me, bossing me around, finding ways to make me blush, and reminding me in ten thousand little ways that she was taller, stronger and smarter. The whole time I'd known her, for example, she was always finding excuses to jump on me and pin me to the ground. The truth was, I secretly loved it. It had been the first ever way I'd found to manage my dysphoria, my first enticing taste of gender affirmation. Or maybe my first hint that I was lesbian? Whatever it was, I'd always been a willing participant in the dynamic. It was our schtick, our thing and we both clearly enjoyed it—which was a source of endless hilarity to our friends. When they teased me for it, Natalie would smirk and my cheeks would heat and somehow it never went much farther than that.
Until it did.
Reflexively I tried to take a step back into the edge of the sink, but Natalie only folded her arms and cocked her head, looking at me.
"Maddy," she said matter-of-factly, "I know this is your first day of college, and we've all been here a semester already, and you're probably feeling overwhelmed right now, so I'm going to make this easy for you. Either leave all these girls disappointed and trying to peek up your skirt for the rest of the week..."
There were a few groans, some laughter and few catcalls. She paused for dramatic effect, a superior little smile playing over her lips.
"...Or give me your panties, right now."
