thewordofweb | Genderswitch

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Genderswitch - For Joe

There's something strange about this out-of-body experience that only occurs to me now that I'm well-fed (and combatting a dizzying head rush from the heat). It makes me wonder if maybe I'm being put through this in order to understand the female perspective, because God knows I never did that when I was a teen like all the other boys did. Rites of passage, ones I missed out on.

For the walk to the Compound, I slid into a pair of baggy sweats and it's too much, but Joe's set to remedy that and I'm simply sitting on top of the washer with crossed-legs and waiting. My hair's a mess in a ponytail and I'm smoking a cigarette, thumb pressed to my chin and fingers in the air as it smokes carelessly towards the ceiling.

I've yet to ask aloud why Joe is doing this, mostly because I figure it's misplaced guilt after what happened last night, but at this point in the middle of the afternoon, I don't exactly care. "Make sure you find me something to swim in," I point out, "Abercrombie and Fitch, if you can."

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"Yessir," says Joe, on his knees in front of the clothes box, bent so far over it that there's a strip of skin showing between t-shirt and jeans as he rummages through the box. He throws a pair of panties over his shoulder that he's pretty sure aren't decent in anybody's time.

"Or should that be, ma'am?"

"Fuck off," I say without much feeling whatsoever and dismiss the panties with a flick of fingers, eyes set on that strip of skin that Joe's got on display. It almost feels like it's for me, but it's just the position he's in. I inhale deeply and exhale a smooth stream of smoke at the ceiling, itching to get out of the thick wools, even if I'm still nervous about actually wearing things that won't mask the figure.

I just focus on the cigarette in my hand (and possibly the view before me, though I won't ever admit it). "Clothes, Joe, not little dirty fantasies."

Joe grins over his shoulder, still rooting through the box, setting perhaps acceptable items in a pile at his side. He wasn't bad at girl's clothes. Couldn't be, growing up around as many women as he had, and him and Maggie're so close in age.

"You know you're gonna have to take some of those clothes off?" he says, finding a pair of underwear that he's pretty sure he's own Ma wouldn't have warn and throwing them at Webster next. "I can't see you to figure out what size you are."

I almost retort that Joe's starting to sound like a dirty novella, but he's got a point. I hop down off the washer, not abandoning the cigarette as I cross to peer at the clothes he's finding. "You want me to strip down where anyone could wander in," I point out, voice laden with sarcasm as I lean back and nudge at the door to a small restroom as if I'm scouting the room for enemy threats.

I wander in there slowly, another drag of the cigarette bolstering whatever confidence I need for this as I peer in the mirror and see my reflection for the second time. And this is the first time I really look at myself. "Jesus," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head and kicking off boots before sliding off sweats and tugging off sweatshirts until I'm left with a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxers knotted at the waist to keep them from slipping.

I pick the cigarette up from off the sink again, brushing back hair that was loosened when I yanked off my hoodie and whistle sharply to alert Joe that I'm ready.

Edited 2009-01-13 03:00 (UTC)

"There's a fuckin' washroom, Web. Jesus." Joe rolls his eyes and grins, picking up the pile of clothes he's amassed and bringing them with him.

"Get your ass in there then," he says.

I glance over my shoulder at Joe with the clothes, heading deeper into the washroom and shooting him a wary look. "And, what, you're going to squeeze yourself in there with measuring tape?" I point out, seeing as the whole point is for Joe to be sizing me up -- literally. I take one last inhalation of my cigarette before flicking it down the sink.

I poke at the door and clear my throat slightly before leaning around Joe and tugging shut on the stall door handle to give us some privacy. "So, what," I ask, nerves making my voice falter slightly. "I'm just supposed to strip it all off?"

Edited 2009-01-13 03:13 (UTC)

"We'll do it a bit at a time," says Joe, attempting reassurance. "And I ain't gonna look any more than I have to. Promise."

He drops the pile of clothes at his feet and then wraps his fingers in Web's t-shirt, drawing it up, face turned to the side.

"First I gotta work out what kinda bra you need. Believe me. You're gonna thank me later."

Joe's being suspiciously good about this and for a moment, I wonder if he's been replaced by someone while my back was turned. Or maybe this is just how he is with women. I'll probe later, when his hands aren't nearly up my shirt. I clear my throat and take the fabric from him, lifting it and tugging it over my head, hair coming loose out of the ponytail. "Joe, it's okay," I assure, sighing. It's not as if I really have that much of a worry of something going wrong here. "Go ahead."

He's just helping. As many sisters as he's got, he's good at it. And besides, I'm almost less concerned about the tits than I am about Joe laughing at my usual form with the array of chest hair I have, as a man.

He's really got to look at Web for this. He's been looking at Web a week, whether he wanted to or not, but now it's different, ain't it, and Joe can feel a flush of blood starting in his face. With a short, steadying breath through his nose, Joe looks down at Web's tits.

Wow.

He blinks and then, very gently, he spans Web's ribcage with both hands, trying to work out size by eye.

"This'd be much easier if Maggie was here."

"Your girlfriend?" I ask as if small talk will keep my mind at ease and going through a litany of facts and questions is easier than thinking about the way my breaths are deep and every one seems to reaffirm Joe's hands upon bare skin.

"My sister," Joe corrects him, trying not to hold his breath as his hands skim upwards, pressing lightly over Web's breasts. He tries not to think of them as tits at all, truth be told. This is Webster, David fuckin' Webster, and Joe's been around him for years, and he ain't going to think about it like that, he's just not.

Thinking about that like that or not, he's definitely blushing now.

"She's a year younger than me."

Without much wanting to, I sway forward into his touch and only catch myself a moment into it, swallowing a lump in my throat (and devoid of an Adam's apple, I hardly feel right at all, anymore) and keeping my eyes on Joe's cheeks, which are about as red as my own are. "Ah," I manage. So speechless, suddenly, a man of words.

I have to keep control of myself because we nearly fell out over that mistake last night, so this has to be professional. We can't afford anything else, can we?

"...clothes?" I weakly ask for, ready to dress and escape this small stall, where bad ideas can all too easily run amuck.

Nipples brush against the palms of Joe's hands and he swallows hard, taking his hands away and wiping them on the seat of his jeans, face turned away again before he squats down, rooting through the pile of clothes at his feet.

"Reckon I've worked out which one's gonna fit you best, anyhow," he says. "Put your arms through and then turn around and I'll fasten you in."

It's just a story, I tell myself. There are us, the characters, and the main plot, there will be a climax and a denouement. All the events that happen in between are just little themes and devices to move things along. And if I think of myself as some ingenue played by someone else, I can stand it. I extend my arms as I've been coaxed and take a deep breath, mouth open as I watch.

"Good," I say, as if I have to talk to remain in control. "Good, then at least I won't be overheating. Good," I repeat again, as if a nervous tic.

Joe slips the bra down over Web's arms and then sets his hands on his hips to turn him. He fastens it with firm, confident hands (this bit, at least in reverse, he knows well). He adjusts the fabric with his arms reaching around, making sure Web's tits are sitting as neat as they're gonna get.

"Okay?"

Like a ragdoll, I must be. I turn and twist and stand and lean and then suddenly I'm pressed with my back to his front and his arms are around me and I'm speechless again. This can't keep happening, if only for the sake of my dignity. I babble out a dry-mouthed agreement that yes, it's just peachy.

Only when I glance down at the coloring of the bra do I give a derisive snort. "Red? What am I, some kind of sexpot?"

"I like red," says Joe, stepping back with a little grin, and getting the door open behind him.

"Everything else you need's there," he says, nodding to the pile of clothing on the floor before ducking out through the door.

"And the panties match."

From suddenly speechless to suddenly confused, I go. I blink rapidly and lean out the stall door with both hands clasped to one side, shooting Joe an absolutely lost look. "Where are you going?" I call in a flash of confusion and panic. It's not like we're done and while I can manage, he seems eager to get the hell out of here.

But Joe's already gone and I let out a soft huff of confusion and relief at once, crouching to start sorting through the remaining clothes in order to dress properly. "He likes red," I mutter to myself with a quiet scoff, panties in hand and shaking my head slightly.

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Genderswitch - For Joe

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