Chapter Two

The door to Dorm Room 214 opened inward, and Principal Hughes stepped confidently into the residential space. Brody stumbled in right behind the older man, struggling to maintain his balance as his boots dragged across the floor. The baggy denim jeans pooled awkwardly around his shrunken ankles, turning his own clothing into a frustrating tripping hazard. He kept his head ducked, clutching the waistband of the pants to keep the fabric from sliding down his smooth thighs. The large navy hoodie buried his petite frame, bunching up around his newly formed chest and rubbing against his sensitive nipples. He felt a burn of humiliation in his stomach, knowing he looked ridiculous swimming in the garments he had so confidently worn just an hour ago.

The dorm room featured two single beds pushed against opposite walls, separated by a wide walking space. The bed on the right side was covered in a bright pink duvet, flanked by a wooden desk scattered with textbooks and makeup. A young woman about Brody’s age sat on the edge of the mattress, looking up from her smartphone as the two newcomers entered her living space. She wore a pastel yellow crop top and a fitted denim skirt, kicking her white sneakers back and forth against the bedframe. Her vibrant red hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail secured by a bright scrunchie, and a dusting of freckles covered her nose and cheeks.

“Good afternoon, Kelsey,” Hughes said, offering the seated student a polite nod. “I brought you a new roommate to take Millie’s place.”

Kelsey dropped her phone onto the mattress and jumped to her feet, flashing a broad smile that showcased her flawless white teeth. She unexpectedly bounded across the room with an energetic bounce in her step, stopping just short of the principal and the furious blonde hiding behind him.

“Hi!” Kelsey said, her voice dripping with an enthusiastic bubbly tone. “It’s awesome to finally meet you. I was wondering when they were going to put someone else in here. It’s pretty lonely having this big room all to yourself.”

Brody kept his arms crossed over his chest and refused to say a single word. He glared at the redhead, attempting to channel the intimidating presence he always used to bully kids back in Austin. Big room? This place was like a fucking shoebox, he thought to himself. He expected her to shrink back from his hostile stare, but his new face ruined the effect. His pouty lips and large blue eyes made him look like a moody teenager rather than a menacing man.

Principal Hughes found the silent standoff amusing. A mocking grin spread across the older man’s face as he reached for the brass handle of the door.

“I’ll leave you girls to get acquainted,” the principal announced, glancing over at Brody with a knowing look.

Brody parted his lips to deliver a string of curses, eager to tell the man exactly where to go, finally mustering some courage. However, before a sound could escape his mouth, the principal stepped backward into the hallway and pulled the door shut. The lock engaged with a sharp click, trapping the feminized delinquent inside with this endlessly cheerful stranger.

Kelsey didn’t seem to notice his seething anger. She placed her hands on her hips, looking him up and down with genuine curiosity.

“I’m Kelsey, obviously,” the redhead continued, maintaining her bouncy cadence. “What’s your name? Where did you transfer from?”

“Bro—” Brody started before catching himself. “Brittney,” he lied, using the humiliating name Principal Hughes had handed him. He couldn’t bear talking about how he had been magically transformed right now.

He hated the way that name sounded. The airy, high-pitched tone of his new vocal cords stripped away any trace of his former masculinity. He sounded delicate and vulnerable. He closed his mouth, refusing to give any more information about himself. The less he heard his new voice, the better.

Kelsey tilted her head, her brown eyes scanning the drooping fabric hanging off his shoulders. She took a step closer, crossing her arms in a playful manner.

“Well, Brittney,” the redhead said, drawing out the syllables of the fake name. “I love the grunge aesthetic you have going on, but those clothes are drowning you. Why would a girl with such a pretty figure want to hide under all that baggy fabric?”

Brody held on to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it down over his new curves. He hated the way she looked at him, analyzing his body like he was just another girl.

“How about you mind your own business?” the delinquent snapped. “Just stay on your side of the room, and we won’t have any problems.”

Kelsey threw her head back and let out a cheerful laugh. The amusement in her voice made his stomach churn, robbing him of the satisfaction he usually felt when putting someone in their place.

“Okay, feisty!” the roommate smiled, clapping her hands together. “I like it. Millie was nice, but she was kind of a pushover. We needed some sass in this room.”

Brody gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching in frustration. He had practically snarled at her, yet she interpreted his hostility as sassy teenage banter. Without his height and manly frame, his anger no longer registered as a threat. People just saw a moody blonde girl throwing a harmless temper tantrum.

“I’m not sassy!” Brody argued, fighting the urge to stomp his foot in frustration. “I just don’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t have to put up a wall, Brittney,” Kelsey replied, unbothered by his continuous rejection. “Everyone gets nervous on their first day. It’s a big adjustment, but I promise you’ll love it here once you get the hang of things. If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes until you get a chance to go shopping. We look like we are about the same size.”

Pure horror washed over the convicted magic user. The idea of slipping his body into the kinds of outfits she was wearing made his skin crawl. He was a man, regardless of what his reflection currently showed, and he had no intention of parading around the campus looking like a sorority bimbo. He preferred to trip over his own jeans rather than subject himself to that kind of humiliation.

“I’m fine with what I’m wearing,” Brody shot back, narrowing his blue eyes. “I don’t need your clothes, and I definitely don’t need you trying to be my friend.”

“Suit yourself.” Kelsey smiled, turning around to grab a canvas tote bag from her desk. “But you’re going to want to figure out your wardrobe soon. That outfit really makes you stand out, and if you wanna survive the early years here, you really don’t wanna stand out.”

Brody let out a frustrated sigh, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. The redhead possessed a stubborn amount of patience, and his defensive insults were bouncing off her without effect. He turned his back on her and trudged across the room toward the empty bed. He dropped onto the mattress, wincing as his new hips settled against the firm springs. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his slender arms around his legs.

He needed a plan. He had to figure out a way to reverse the principal’s magic and restore his original body. Once he got his strength back, he intended to make anyone involved in orchestrating this humiliation pay dearly.

Kelsey walked over to her desk and grabbed a couple of notebooks, slipping them into her backpack. She turned back to face the blonde sulking on the mattress.

“You should probably cheer up, Brittney,” Kelsey advised, walking toward the door. “We have Kinetics class in ten minutes. It’s a lot of fun. Trust me.”

Brody kept his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to acknowledge the fake name. He listened to the redhead exit the room, waiting for the door to shut before he let his guard down. The prospect of an actual magic class offered a genuine opportunity. He knew he possessed raw talent, having used his abilities to terrorize those non-magical shoppers back home. If the class focused on kinetic manipulation, he felt confident he could excel. He planned to march into that classroom, show the other students exactly what he was capable of, and demand the respect he deserved, no matter what shell he wore.

He pushed himself off the mattress, exhaling sharply to steady his nerves. He couldn’t believe he was about to walk out in public looking like a cute blonde girl. He knew he needed to do it, though, so he adjusted the waistband of his jeans one more time and headed out into the hallway to face his first real test.

❖

Finding the right classroom proved harder than he expected. The campus map Kelsey had casually pointed out earlier provided no real help, and Brody spent a good chunk of time wandering down unfamiliar corridors. The plain walls and identical doors blurred together, leaving him disoriented as he navigated the main building. He must have passed the same row of classrooms three times before he realized he was walking in circles. He kept checking his schedule, matching the numbers to the doors and ignoring the clusters of students chatting in the halls. He just kept walking, hoping he would eventually stumble across the right room. He hated feeling lost, and he hated that his new, shorter stride made walking the long hallways feel like an exhausting trek.

He finally spotted the correct room number and pushed the door open, interrupting the ongoing lecture. The Kinetics class took place in a small classroom, featuring a handful of stylish desks arranged closely together and facing a whiteboard. A man stood at the front, holding a piece of chalk and turning around with a clear look of annoyance on his face. He wore a simple button-down shirt and slacks, looking more like an office worker than a magic user. The instructor paused, ready to reprimand the tardy student, until his eyes landed on the blonde standing in the doorway.

The annoyance vanished from his face, replaced by a warm smile.

“Ah, you must be our new transfer,” the man said, setting his chalk down on the tray. “Welcome to Kinetics. I’m Professor Nelson, but I prefer everyone just call me David. Come on in, Brittney.”

Brody gritted his teeth at the sound of the fake name. He ignored the welcoming tone and walked down the short aisle, feeling the eyes of the other freshmen tracking his movements. He scanned the tightly packed desks for an empty spot. The room was mostly full, leaving only a single available chair right at the front of the class.

Brody slid into the vacant chair, crossing his slender arms and keeping his gaze fixed on the whiteboard. He felt exposed sitting right in the front row, trapped between the instructor’s podium and the young man sitting at the desk beside him. The student had short blonde hair and wore a cocky smirk, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed posture. Brody could feel the guy scanning him, taking in his baggy denim jeans and the large hoodie in an intrusive manner that made his skin crawl.

“Hello there, sweet thing. I’m Olly,” the young man whispered, leaning closer so the professor wouldn’t hear him. “I love the style you have going on. Are you some kind of dyke, or is this just an ironic statement?”

Brody kept his eyes locked on the front of the room, refusing to engage with the sleazy comment. He clamped his lips shut and focused on breathing, waiting for the annoying student to lose interest. He knew that opening his mouth would reveal his airy, high-pitched voice, giving the guy more ammunition.

“I don’t mind either way,” Olly continued, a sly edge creeping into his tone. “I love a good carpet muncher.”

“Olly, is there something you want to share with the rest of the class?” David asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the whispering.

Olly sat up straight and raised both hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

“No, David, we are all good over here,” the young man replied, flashing an unapologetic grin at the instructor.

David shook his head and turned his attention back to the lesson. He reached under his desk and pulled out a cardboard box, walking down the aisle to distribute the contents. He placed a soft white pillow and a single white feather on each student’s desk, instructing them to leave the items alone until he gave the signal.

“Today, we are working on basic kinetic manipulation,” the professor explained, pacing back to the front of the room. “The goal is to float the feather over the pillow, keeping it steady and controlled. I want you to focus your energy on the object, lifting it without causing any sudden movements. It takes a delicate touch.” As the man spoke, he lifted a hand and began to pinch the air. The feather on the desk beside him gently started to float, swimming gracefully above the plush pillow before gently landing on the soft surface.

Brody couldn’t help but grin. Seriously? Did these idiots really think that this was impressive? He had unclasped women’s bras and made their tits jiggle with nothing but his mind. Moving a feather onto some fluffy pillow was child’s play. If this were the standard he was getting taught, then he’d have nothing to fear from the rest of the school.

He closed his eyes and tapped into the familiar well of energy in his chest. He pushed his magic outward, directing the force at the feather resting on his desk. He expected the object to lift gracefully into the air to prove how effortless this task was.

A loud crack echoed through the classroom.

Brody opened his eyes and blinked in surprise as a cloud of white dust drifted down from the ceiling. The feather had shot upward like a bullet, slamming into the drywall and leaving a noticeable dent. The object fluttered back down, landing harmlessly on the floor a few feet away.

Laughter broke out across the room. The other freshmen turned in their chairs, pointing and snickering at the ridiculous display. Brody felt his cheeks flush red, a hot wave of humiliation hitting him. He glanced to his right and saw Olly grinning, clearly entertained by the noisy failure.

David sighed and walked over to retrieve the fallen feather, placing it back on the desk.

“You definitely have skills, Brittney,” the professor said, keeping his tone encouraging but firm. “You just need to focus. You need to keep the object under control if you are going to elevate it with finesse.”

Brody clenched his jaw, staring at the white fluff. He hated being patronized in front of these people. He exhaled sharply, gathered his magical energy again, and narrowed his eyes at the target.

He tried to restrain the force this time, pushing a smaller burst of magic toward the desk. The energy lashed out, wrapping around the feather and yanking it downward instead of lifting it up. The sharp quill pierced the fabric of the pillow, tearing a jagged hole straight through the casing. Bits of synthetic stuffing spilled out onto the desk, ruining the prop.

“Ugh. Brute strength won’t always get the results you want,” the professor warned, shaking his head at the mess. “You’ll need to improve your mental discipline if you are going to pass this class.”

The professor turned away from the ruined pillow and looked over at the adjacent desk.

“Excellent work, Olly,” David praised, offering the student an approving nod.

Brody glanced to his right, his eyes widening as he saw Olly’s feather resting perfectly in the air. The object hovered two inches above the pillow, stationary and untouched by the chaotic energy Brody had just unleashed. The fact that this arrogant asshole was showing him up made the young delinquent’s blood boil.

As the instructor walked away to check on the other students, Olly leaned closer to the blonde sitting beside him.

“I’m happy to have some private tuition sessions in my dorm if you need the extra training,” Olly whispered, letting a sleazy smile spread across his face.

Brody shuddered at the offer, a chill running down his spine at the predatory glint in the young man’s eyes. He looked down at the torn pillow on his desk as he realized just what he was up against. He was no longer a big fish in a small non-magical pond. He was way out of his depth, trapped in a body that didn’t belong to him, and surrounded by young adults who were just as, if not more, magically gifted than he was. This wasn’t the successful first day of school he had been hoping for.

❖

The walk from the Kinetics classroom to the campus cafeteria felt endless. Brody kept his head down, his gaze fixed on the tiled floor as he navigated the crowded hallways. The humiliation from the other students burned in his chest. He had walked into that room hoping his talents would be showcased to the class, but the disastrous failure with the feather proved him wrong. He recalled the way Olly had hovered that prop with annoying ease, the smug grin on the guy’s face mocking his own destructive display. He needed to eat, hoping a hot meal would help clear his head so he could figure out a plan to survive this hellhole. He wanted to understand the mechanics of the spells binding him, but he could barely manage basic kinetic manipulation. The thought of his classmate smiling at him made his stomach knot, reminding him that he needed to keep his guard up.

The cafeteria was packed with students eating their lunches and talking among themselves. Brody ignored the crowd, weaving his way through the tables to reach the food stations at the back of the room. His long jeans dragged against the floor, adding to his growing irritation as he navigated the tight spaces between the chairs. He took a sharp turn around a couple of tables packed tight, failing to watch his step as his knee slammed into the metal leg of an occupied chair.

Pain flared up his shin, causing him to stumble forward and drop his hands onto the edge of the adjacent table to catch his balance. The sudden jolt snapped whatever restraint he had left after his failure in the classroom. He spun around, eager to unleash his anger on the person sitting in his path.

A young woman sat alone at the table, sipping an iced drink through a plastic straw. She possessed a dark, revealing gothic style, standing out against the casual student crowd. She wore a black leather bralette that pushed her pale breasts upward and left her entire midriff exposed to the cool air. A short red tartan skirt rested high on her hips, barely providing any coverage over her upper thighs, paired with torn fishnet stockings and tall black platform boots. Her jet-black hair was styled straight, featuring blunt bangs resting just above her piercing brown eyes. Silver hardware decorated her face, including an eyebrow ring, a septum piercing, and a small stud resting on her tongue. She didn’t flinch when the blonde teenager crashed into her seating arrangement.

“Watch where the fuck you put your chair!” Brody shouted, letting his temper take over. “That’s assault right there.”

He wanted her to feel intimidated, demanding respect after a morning filled with insults. He had no idea why he expected her to feel startled, and his threat fell flat the second the words left his mouth. His feminine voice cracked with emotion, making him sound like a drama queen throwing a tantrum instead.

The older student slowly lowered her cup, placing it on the table with deliberate care. She kept her intense gaze fixed on the agitated blonde standing a few feet away.

“Careful, sweet little bird. I can feel the freshman energy radiating off of you,” the goth girl said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

“I don’t give a shit what you can feel,” Brody snapped back, refusing to back down from the confrontation. “Move your damn stuff out of the walkway before I make you move it.”

He took a step closer out of instinct. It felt weird approaching a woman who was taller than him, but he refused to act like a victim. He glared at her, waiting for her to make a move.

The dark-haired woman smiled and raised her right hand, offering a casual wave in his direction.

A wave of icy energy slammed into Brody, encasing his torso in an invisible vise. His arms snapped to his sides, pinned against his waist by a magical force he could not fight. He gasped, his eyes widening in panic as his muscles locked in place. He tried to pull his hands up, straining his shoulders to break the spell, but his limbs refused to budge. The paralysis held him captive, leaving him defenseless in the middle of the cafeteria.

“Let me go, you crazy bitch,” Brody demanded, struggling against the invisible bindings. He tried to kick his legs, but his boots were glued to the linoleum floor.

“You need to learn the laws of the jungle before you start picking fights you cannot finish,” the goth girl advised, standing up from her chair and stepping closer to the paralyzed blonde.

Brody was too busy trying to break the spell to respond. He fought with all the magical strength he had, but he remained planted to the spot.

“My name is Jade,” the older student continued, ignoring his frantic struggle. “You should remember that name. It might save you from making another mistake down the line.”

Jade reached into the pocket of her black tartan skirt and retrieved a glossy plastic tube. She popped the cap off with her thumb, revealing a stick of bright pink lipstick. She stepped into Brody’s personal space, looking down at his shrunken frame. Brody tried to step backward, pushing against the spell, but the magic held his feet bolted firmly to the floor.

“I think you need to learn how things work around here,” Jade whispered, sliding the cap back onto the cosmetic tube.

She reached forward and shoved the pink lipstick deep into the front pocket of his navy hoodie. She patted his stomach, a condescending smirk breaking through her stoic expression. The physical contact made Brody seethe, hating that he had no way to defend himself against her.

“Come find me when you decide to wear it,” Jade instructed, turning her back on him.

The goth girl picked up her drink from the table and walked away, heading toward the exit without giving him a second glance. The moment she disappeared into the crowd, the vise shattered. Brody stumbled forward, catching his breath as the feeling returned to his limbs. He rubbed his arms, shaken by the casual display of power but far more angry than scared. He had been magically targeted twice in one day, and he hated feeling like a pawn in this school’s twisted hierarchy.

He shook off the lingering cold from the spell and marched straight toward the food stations. The serving area featured a row of meals behind a glass counter. Brody grabbed a plastic tray and slid it along the metal rails, selecting a pork sandwich and a bottle of water. He had zero appetite for socializing, wanting nothing more than to eat his lunch in peace and figure out a way to break the rules of this campus. He paid for his items at the register, ignoring the cashier, and walked back into the main dining area to find a place to sit.

He spotted an empty table near the back windows, far away from the clusters of chatting students. He marched over to the secluded spot, dropped his tray onto the surface, and slid into the chair. The blonde ignored the gazes of a couple of students he recognized from the class he had just humiliated himself in. He unwrapped his sandwich and took a vicious bite of the bread. He plotted all the ways he would get back at Jade and Olly once he figured out how to harness his magic properly. He refused to accept his place at the bottom of the food chain, determined to prove that his talents could overcome their party tricks. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing against the smooth plastic of the lipstick tube. He ignored the cosmetic item, keeping his focus locked on the students laughing across the room and letting his anger simmer as he prepared for the rest of his first day.

❖

The campus library was quiet, filled with rows of wooden bookshelves and students studying at the tables scattered throughout the room. Brody walked down the main aisle during his afternoon free period, desperate to find a way to reverse the spell Principal Hughes had cast on him. This was the first time he had to himself since the transformation, and he was not going to waste it. He needed to understand how the magic worked, hoping there was a documented counter-spell he could use to get his original body back. He hated everything about how he looked and how his peers watched him, pushing the feminized man to find a solution fast.

He wandered through the sections dedicated to transformational theory, scanning the endless rows of spines. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, so he just walked the aisles and waited for a title to catch his eye. He eventually stopped in front of a shelf labeled as advanced transmutation. He pulled out a thick green book titled Biological Shifts in Modern Magic. He leaned against the shelf and sifted through the pages, skimming the chapter headings to see if it covered what he needed. The text mainly detailed how to manipulate plant life and heal minor injuries, providing no help for his situation. He shoved the book back into its slot and continued down the row.

He repeated the process several times, pulling books that seemed promising and flipping through the content. He found a text on elemental alterations and sifted through the index, but it only discussed changing the physical state of inanimate objects. Another book focused entirely on defensive wards, offering no insight into reversing a completed biological shift. The mounting failures aggravated him, making him tap his boot against the floor as he scanned the next shelf. He hated feeling clueless, and he hated being around these nerds in the library. Reading was not his strong suit.

A young woman in her thirties turned the corner. She wore a simple gray sweater and had her brunette hair pulled into a braid.

“Are you finding everything you need, dear?” the librarian asked, stopping near the end of the aisle.

“I need to find something on reversing transformation spells,” Brody replied, trying to keep his high-pitched voice steady. He hated asking for help, but he knew he would be wandering these aisles all day if he tried to do this alone.

“That’s pretty advanced stuff. You don’t look like a fourth year,” the librarian said. “But if you fancy some light reading, you might want to check those textbooks on the bottom shelves.” She pointed toward the back corner of the room.

“Thanks,” Brody muttered, eager to end the conversation and get away from her judgmental gaze.

He followed her directions and navigated his way to the back corner of the room. He crouched down to examine the bottom row of the designated shelf, scanning the titles until a dark blue spine caught his attention. The gold lettering read Hierarchical Casting and Biological Binding. He pulled the text from the row and stood back up, carrying the book over to a table near the back windows. He slid into a chair and placed the book flat on the surface.

Brody opened the cover and skipped past the introductory chapters, sifting through the index until he found a section dedicated to human transformations. He turned to the right page and started reading the paragraphs. The author explained the mechanics in plain English. Altering a person’s physical form required an intimate understanding of cellular structure, and forcing that change on an unwilling subject was a deeply immoral act. Tell me about it, he thought bitterly.

He dragged his finger down the page, searching for a section on counter-spells. The words he found only made things worse. The book confirmed the lesson Hughes had delivered earlier that morning. Magic scaled directly with a person’s age and mental maturity. An older user possessed a denser core than a younger student. When an elder cast a spell on a young adult, it would become almost impossible to reverse without the help of another elder. He was screwed.

The text explained that breaking such a spell was a monumental task, comparing the effort to chipping away at a brick wall with bare hands. The younger mind lacked the density required to fracture the binding. Reversing the transformation demanded intense mental discipline and plenty of draining effort, or finding another adult with greater power to overwrite the magic. It was not a permanent lock, but for a freshman with untrained abilities, it felt like an insurmountable hurdle.

Brody leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the open book. He was trapped in this soft female body for the foreseeable future. They had turned him into a woman simply because they wanted a 50/50 split among the genders. Brody wondered how many other students were forced to adopt the identity of someone else. That thought terrified him even more.

He looked down at his hands resting on the table, realizing just how bad his situation really was. He had spent his teenage years relying on intimidation to get whatever he wanted, pushing around kids who possessed no magic of their own. The tables had turned on him today, leaving him as the weak bitch surrounded by people who held the power to dominate him.

He thought back to the encounter in the cafeteria. That goth bitch had frozen him with a casual wave of her hand, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. She was an upperclassman, meaning her magic was greater than his own capabilities. He realized he was fortunate she had only paralyzed him and shoved a tube of lipstick into his pocket in an effort to humiliate him. If she had wanted to do lasting damage, there was nothing he could have done. He hated feeling so useless but had no idea how to reassert his dominance.

He closed the book, letting the cover drop against the pages with a dull thud. He pushed the volume across the table, wanting to put the depressing facts out of his sight. Sitting around reading this bullshit wouldn’t solve his problems, and he refused to spend his afternoon moping in a chair. He stood up from the table, picking the book up to return it to the bottom shelf. He shoved the text back into its empty slot, making sure no one could see what he had been researching. The fact that he looked like a woman was bad enough. If his fellow students found out he was really a man, that would make things ten times worse.

He pushed through the library doors, stepping out into the campus walkways. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his navy hoodie, his fingers brushing against the smooth plastic tube Jade had given him. He gripped the lipstick, hating the feminine object, yet he felt a strange hesitation about tossing it into the nearest trash can. He kept his grip on the plastic tube, letting his frustration simmer as he hurried back toward his dorm room, hoping his chatterbox roommate wouldn’t be around.

❖

Brody sat on the edge of his mattress, staring at the empty space on the other side of the room. Kelsey had left an hour ago to hang out with her friends, taking her endless bubbly energy with her and thankfully leaving him alone in the quiet dorm. He enjoyed the silence, needing time to digest the humiliation of his first day.

He kicked his boots off and stretched out on the bed. He hated the way his new hips settled into the firm mattress, and he despised the soft swell of his breasts jutting from beneath his top. He tried to focus on his plans for survival, but his mind refused to cooperate. His gaze kept drifting away from the blank wall, sliding toward the small wooden table next to his bed.

The stick of bright pink lipstick sat on the flat surface. He had taken the cosmetic out of his pocket the second his roommate walked out the door, intending to throw the item into the trash bin. He had held the plastic tube over the garbage, ready to drop it and be done with the degrading ‘gift’ that gothic stranger had forced on him. His fingers had refused to open. A strange hesitation had frozen his hand in place, forcing him to set the makeup down on the bedside table instead. Now, he could not stop looking at it. He tried to close his eyes and think about the life he left behind in Texas, but an inexplicable itch crawled through the back of his brain. The sensation pulled his attention back to the glossy tube, acting like a magnet for his thoughts.

He dropped his legs back over the edge and planted his bare feet on the floor, leaning forward to get a better look at the item. The urge to pick it up intensified, spreading from the base of his skull down his spine. It felt like a physical thirst, a nagging need to uncap the plastic lid and twist the colored wax up. He swallowed hard, pushing the invasive desire away with a burst of anger. He was an eighteen-year-old man, a guy who used to spend his weekends drinking beers with his friends and hitting on women, persistently refusing to take no for an answer. He had no interest in coloring his lips, so why did the thought enter his mind? He rubbed his temples with his slender fingers, trying to physically massage the itch out of his head.

The compulsion ignored his efforts. The thought of applying the pink color to his plump lips sent a warm, pleasant shiver through his chest. He imagined the smooth wax sliding across his mouth, leaving a bright, feminine stain behind. The fantasy made his heart beat faster, flooding his system with a terrifying sense of euphoria. He gasped and pulled his hands away from his face, horrified by his own imagination. He did not want this. He hated the color pink; he hated the goth girl who gave it to him, and he hated the fact that his mind was curling back to these thoughts. He wasn’t some sissy fag, and he refused to give in.

He pushed himself up from the mattress, needing to put physical distance between himself and the bedside table. He paced across the carpet, digging his short fingernails into his palms as the invasive thoughts continued to flood his mind. He had always viewed flamboyant men with raw disgust, repulsed by guys who acted like effeminate bitches and eagerly bent over for other men. To him, they were weak faggots who surrendered their masculinity, targets he mentally spat on and enjoyed messing with whenever he crossed their paths back in Austin. He despised everything they stood for, yet his own brain was now feeding him fantasies about painting his lips, making him question his own sanity.

The inexplicable itch in his head grew stronger the longer he stayed away from the table. He turned his back, but the plastic tube sat there like a beacon drawing his attention. Intrusive images flashed behind his eyes, painting vivid pictures of him parting his new feminine lips, applying the glossy color, and dropping to his knees to please some older guy. He gasped sharply. Where the hell did that last part come from? A hot pulse throbbed between his thighs, bringing a slick wetness to the tight slit hidden beneath his jeans. The sensation was strange and alien. What was happening to him?

He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the soft, delicate bone structure that did not belong to him. Every time he tried to focus on his anger or think about his life back home, his mind forcefully pivoted back to the makeup. He gritted his teeth, letting out a frustrated groan as his nipples hardened against the fabric of his top. His body was reacting to the fantasies, betraying his true identity and responding to the degrading thoughts with a rush of wet, needy desire.

Brody stopped pacing and stared at the tube, his breathing growing shallow. The urge shifted from a mental itch to a physical pull. His right hand twitched, his fingers curling and uncurling as his arm tried to reach out on its own. He grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, holding his own limb hostage to prevent it from grabbing the makeup. He had spent the last few months imposing his will on others, never imagining what it felt like to have his own autonomy stripped away. He felt like a passenger in his own head, fighting a force that possessed more stamina than he did.

He squeezed his wrist, forcing himself to take a step toward the table. He needed to get the item out of his sight before he lost the battle. He moved with jerky, deliberate steps, fighting the desperate command to submit. He reached the side of the bed and hovered over the table, staring down at the plastic casing. The urge to uncap it hit a fever pitch, sending a wave of dizzying pleasure through his mind at the mere proximity. He could almost taste the sweet, artificial flavor of the wax on his tongue. The sensation seduced his senses, trying to convince him that painting his lips was his own idea, a natural desire for a girl with such a pretty face.

The feminized student let go of his wrist and lunged forward, grabbing the brass handle of the bedside drawer with his left hand. He yanked the wood open, revealing a bare interior since he hadn't bothered unpacking what little items he had yet. He snatched the tube off the table with his right hand. The brief contact sent a sickening jolt of pleasure shooting up his arm, making him gasp for air. He tossed the lipstick into the empty drawer and slammed the wood shut with enough force to rattle the table legs.

Brody backed away, panting as he stared at the closed drawer. Hiding the object broke the immediate trance, snapping him out of the dizzying fantasy. The agonizing itch faded into a dull ache, resting just beneath the surface of his thoughts. He collapsed onto the mattress, burying his face in the pillows as the adrenaline left his system.

He squeezed his thighs together, hyper-aware of the unfamiliar slick moisture staining his underwear. The wetness disgusted him, serving as proof that his very biology had been transformed. His mind was turning against him, filling his head with urges that he had no idea how to fight. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he braced himself for a miserable night. How was he going to survive when his own brain was fighting him?

❖

Brody shifted onto his left side, tangling his bare feet in the thin sheets covering his mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his brain to shut down, but sleep evaded him. The soft breathing coming from the other side of the room indicated Kelsey was dead to the world, resting comfortably while he fought a losing battle against his own insomnia. He rolled onto his back, kicking the tangled blankets down to the foot of the bed with a harsh thrust of his legs. He stared at the dark ceiling, letting out a frustrated sigh as a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. He turned his head and looked at the digital clock mounted above the door. The red numbers glared back at him in the darkness, reading 12:30 in the morning. He had been lying awake for hours, his mind buzzing with anger, confusion, and unwanted fantasies he couldn’t suppress.

He pushed himself up from the mattress, deciding that lying in bed was doing him no favors. He swung his legs over the edge and let his bare feet hit the carpet. He was still wearing the baggy denim jeans and the plain white T-shirt from earlier, having discarded the blue sweater before he went to bed. The cool air brushed against his bare arms, giving him goosebumps. He needed to splash some cold water on his face, hoping a shock would snap his brain out of this weird, hazy funk. He stood up and walked quietly across the room, careful not to wake his sleeping roommate. He turned the brass handle, slipped out into the hallway, and pulled the wooden door shut behind him with a soft click. Why didn’t these dorms have en suite bathrooms? he thought to himself.

The corridor stretched out in both directions, lined with identical closed doors. The residential hall was silent. Brody kept his head down, walking barefoot along the tiled floor toward the communal bathroom at the end of the hall. The short walk felt surreal, leaving him detached from his surroundings. The persistent itch in his skull made it difficult to focus, acting like a low-frequency hum vibrating against his temples. He hated feeling this disconnected from reality. Back home, he always felt in control, always aware of who was around him and ready to generate some magical payback if someone looked at him the wrong way. Now, he just felt numb. He just wanted to cool his skin, wash the lingering sweat from his forehead, and reclaim some control over his own thoughts.

Brody reached the end of the corridor and pushed open the bathroom door. He stepped inside the small space and quickly turned the bolt, locking the door behind him to guarantee no one would walk in on him. He walked over to the white sink and turned the handles, watching the cold water pour from the faucet. He cupped his slender hands under the stream, gathering the chilly liquid before splashing it directly onto his face. The sudden drop in temperature felt good against his flushed skin, clearing some of the fog in his mind. He repeated the motion two more times, wiping the excess moisture away with his palms, and let out a long breath.

He lifted his head and stared at his reflection in the long mirror hanging above the sink. The face looking back at him belonged to a completely different person, yet it moved in perfect sync with his commands. He examined the large blue eyes, the dusting of light freckles across the bridge of his nose, and the delicate curve of his jaw. The feminine features disgusted him, reminding him of just how easily the principal had stripped away his manhood. His gaze drifted downward, locking onto his mouth. His feminine lips stood out against his pale skin. They felt wrong, radiating a bizarre tingle that made him want to scratch at them. The skin felt tight and itchy, as if his mouth was practically begging for something to soothe the irritation.

He raised his fingers and traced the outline of his bottom lip, frowning as a warm flush spread through his chest. The tingling intensified at the contact, sending a pleasant shudder through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear the intrusive desires that had formed as he brushed his lower lip. He was a guy, a tough son of a bitch who did not get turned on by touching his own lips. He needed to get a grip on himself before he lost his mind.

The feminized man lowered his hand and opened his eyes, forcing himself to look down at the sink. He wasn’t expecting much, but his gaze fell upon his right hand resting near the edge of the basin.

His eyes widened in absolute shock. His heart raced, skipping a beat as fresh panic set in.

He was holding the tube of pink lipstick.

His fingers were wrapped securely around the glossy plastic casing, clutching the item like his life depended on it. He stared at the small cylinder, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. How the hell did that get there? He had buried that makeup inside his bedside drawer hours ago. He had slammed the wood shut and retreated to his bed, doing everything in his power to keep the object out of his sight. He had no memory of opening that drawer again. How had it happened? Part of the young man realized how ridiculous it was to wonder at the feasibility of it all in a world where magic existed and where he stood in a bathroom staring back at the reflection of a woman with tits.

He tried to open his fingers and drop the tube into the trash can sitting next to the toilet. His muscles refused to obey his commands. A sudden surge of pleasure erupted in his skull, sweeping away the panic and replacing it with a dizzying rush of euphoria. The magic whispered into his mind, telling him how good it would feel to take the cap off and paint his pretty lips. The urge was intoxicating, pulling him under a wave of desire he lacked the strength to fight. No, no, he fought the urges in his head.

Yes, yes, the urges fought back.

Brody stared at his female reflection in horror. His mouth fell open as he watched his thumb move toward the cap on its own. He parted his lips in futile resistance.

“Oh no.”

End of Chapter Two