English is not by natural language.
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It all started one night, when a colleague of mine called me to help him with a young girl with no ID.
"OK, you drive her to the station, and we'll check her identity," I suggested amused. They arrived 10 minutes later.
"These are my papers," said the redheaded girl, long hair, in daisy dukes and a crop top.
"Alexendre Retrovit, male," I said simply as I read the names on her ID.
"That's me, but I took an X-change for the evening," she said.
"We've never heard that one before," my colleague said.
I stood in front of the computer to do a google search.
"Pink x-changes turn boys into girls," she insisted.
"And the blue ones turn girls into guys!" My colleague laughed.
"Yes, it lasts between 20 and 28 hours, but there are 'x-strenghs' that last 28 days, and 'pluses' that are permanent," she continued.
"What an imagination," my colleague laughed.
"Come and see," I said, as the X-change website explained exactly what she had just told us.
« Well, shit... »
"Now you believe me!
"We believe that what you're saying is possible. Shall we do a fingerprint analysis?" I asked.
"Well, I don't know if it changes them..." she said looking at her fingers.
"You don't look like your ID picture. So I'll propose you a deal. If your fingerprints match your papers, you sign your ticket and leave... otherwise we'll keep you until someone comes to confirm that you're really Alexander. Or you change back.
"Okay," she said, "let's do the fingerprints."
It took about 45 minutes for the result to come back: it was Alexander's fingerprints. Only the lab had had trouble with the size.
Alexander left, rolling his little buttocks tightly in his jean shorts.
"It's a funny world we live in," my colleague said.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
"So gentlemen, what are we going to do. Another missing girl, in the same place as the others. I'm waiting for ideas..." our annoyed leader said. It must be said that we had no clue about these disappearances.
"We need bait," someone said.
"Find me a volunteer," the chief replied, in a tone that suggested we would never find one.
A week later, I was at home, naked. I was forcing my breathing, trying to stay calm. My emotions were very mixed. There was excitement of course, but also fear, a lot of fear. First fear of the pill I was about to swallow, fear of the transformation, of what I was going to become. I was also afraid that the transformation would be final. I was also afraid of what I was going to do next, but I tried to put that out of my mind. Eventually, I took the pill, swallowed it, and drank a glass of water. With my eyes wide open I looked at my image in the mirror.
I was a little disappointed because nothing happened. I must have thought it would start immediately. In facts, it took about two minutes before my head started to spin. I was almost falling. In facts, my muscles and even my bones seemed to be aching, and even about to twist or break. And then there was a clamour in my transformation, as if this had been a preparatory phase. In the mirror I could hardly see what had changed, perhaps I was smaller?
Then I felt a painful scratching in my nipple. And then the transformation was visible, I even wondered how my skin didn't burst as this breast grew!
My breasts had not finished when I felt something in my lower abdomen. In my picture my sex was shrinking. It was quite frustrating actually. My balls were also changing, I felt a sharp pain, and my sex was no longer visible. I ran my hand over, and confirmed that under my pubic hair only a slit remained. I looked at my face to realise that my head had also changed, transformations I had not been paying attention to. My Adam's apple was no longer visible, my features were thinner, and I had long brown hair.
"My God, I don't even recognise myself," I said in a high-pitched voice I didn't know I had.
I was transformed. I liked the image in the mirror, but I could hardly believe it was me!
As a test, I tried to put on one of my jeans: the legs were too long, and the waist too narrow. Hopefully, I had planned to wear wide jeans and a T-shirt. My shoes were a bit large.
I took the credit card in the name of Hélène Grec. And I left my flat, a little embarrassed by the swing of my chest under my T-shirt. Where would I start?
The first shop on the right as I entered the mall was an underwear shop. I had to start somewhere! I picked up a set, but I quickly stopped, what size to get?
"Can I help you?"
"I... was wondering if I needed a size 42..." (French sizes) I said...
"40 for the bottom, I think, and 90C on top... you've never bought underwear before" the amused saleswoman asked.
"I thought it was overrated" I laughed.
