Do I have to be a cheerleader? -11/?
The alarm clock buzzes, Patrick groggily opens his eyes. Was it all a dream, or has he really turned into a girl?
There’s only a way to check: with a hand above his chest an the other above his crotch, he gulps before touching the presence or absence of some meaty parts.
Guess what? The brand new C cup breasts are there and his member isn’t back yet.
Patrick lets out a frustrated sigh while sitting on the bed. He isn’t sure whether being happy for having the chance to start a new life or miss the old one, though it isn’t like he’s actually lived so far, as a boy.
After dressing, Patrick heads downstairs in the kitchen, finding Kevin almost done with breakfast and their mother sipping her cup of coffee.
“Hi Pa-- err, Trisha,” Mrs Stumph says with a smile, “how’re you today?”
“The same as yesterday,” he replies a bit gloomily.
Mrs Stumph hugs him from behind, “Be strong, dear…I know you weren’t satisfied of your ‘previous’ life, I’m sure you’ll get used to your new body and take a good advantage of your new life. It’s not even that hard being a girl…sure, you’ll have to deal with bras, dresses, menstruations, pregnancies,…”
“Thanks, mum,” Patrick groans, absentmindedly poking his breakfast.
“Err…I’m outta here,” Kevin announces awkwardly, “Bye bye.”
Patrick and his mother look at him leaving the kitchen in a rush to go to school.
“When you return home from school we’re going to go shopping, you don’t want to continue stealing my lingerie,” Patricia says once they hear the main door slamming shut behind her eldest son.
Patrick doesn’t want to steal her stuff (it has already been a trauma, yesterday morning), but he doesn’t want to humiliate himself even more going shopping with his mother: he sees no choice but agreeing with her.
He then leaves for school, not looking forward to that afternoon.
***
“Hey Trisha!”
Patrick turns: Greta is running towards him, all smiley and bouncy.
“Hi Greta. Why so happy so early?” he asks her amused.
“Well, somebody told me you are a cheerleader now, I wanted to congratulate with you!”
Patrick stares at her, trying to find any trace of bitterness, sadness, whatever of yesterday, but either the girl is hiding it very well or she’s really happy for Trisha and believes in her promise of not turning into a snobby cheerleader.
Entering the school building, he slowly smiles, unsure himself of his feelings about it; Greta chimes in, interpreting Trisha’s fidgeting for a way not to hurt her feelings after the tiny discussion they had the very previous day about that topic, “Listen, I’m not mad at you, okay? I already told you yesterday, it’s your choice, if you’re happy then I’m happy! And I believe in you,” she says, subtly stressing her last statement.
Patrick’s smile is now more genuine; he just doesn’t confirm nor negate his happiness about being a cheerleader -he still doesn’t know for sure what he should expect from this experience.
“Ok: first lesson?” Greta closes her locker and changes topic, the cheerleading-problem pushed aside, hopefully forgotten.
“Ugh, English…” Patrick replies while heading to his locker, making a face. Greta sympathizes.
“Wait, give me your time table, so we can check which lessons we have together,” Greta orders, taking her own timetable and a hot pink highlighter (Patrick makes a face for that too), “Okay, so…P.E., Music and Spanish, you’ll see my face there, and…that’s it? Sadness…”
Patrick chuckles taking his timetable back, grateful Greta only drew dots near the subjects and hasn’t highlighted the whole thing.
“Well…bye, I guess, see you around,” Patrick states while walking to the right of the hallway.
“Yes! Bye Trisha!” Greta says cheerfully, jogging in the opposite direction.
***
How does Patrick’s day at school go, you ask? Well, during English, he sort of listens to Mr Beckett and his analysis of some heavy book. For History, he has a hard time not falling asleep at Mr Sullivan’s explanation of the Civil War, same thing for Geography the following hour (it’s not teachers’ fault, it’s just that these subjects are soooo boring). During Spanish, Patrick sits near Greta and they do their best with the pronunciation, since Ms Dueñas is very strict. At Home Economics his muffins are too mushy and small, they haven’t risen enough. Finally, the computer lesson is something he knows about and is glad of this easy end of the school day.
He’s not too glad to see his mother’s car parked in front of the school when he exits, though.
“Before you say anything, I was already here to give your data to the school, I didn’t ambush to force you going shopping with me…But since we’re both here, let’s go,” Mrs Stumph declares with a wide smile.
Patrick hops in his mother's car with a sigh.
||next||
There’s only a way to check: with a hand above his chest an the other above his crotch, he gulps before touching the presence or absence of some meaty parts.
Guess what? The brand new C cup breasts are there and his member isn’t back yet.
Patrick lets out a frustrated sigh while sitting on the bed. He isn’t sure whether being happy for having the chance to start a new life or miss the old one, though it isn’t like he’s actually lived so far, as a boy.
After dressing, Patrick heads downstairs in the kitchen, finding Kevin almost done with breakfast and their mother sipping her cup of coffee.
“Hi Pa-- err, Trisha,” Mrs Stumph says with a smile, “how’re you today?”
“The same as yesterday,” he replies a bit gloomily.
Mrs Stumph hugs him from behind, “Be strong, dear…I know you weren’t satisfied of your ‘previous’ life, I’m sure you’ll get used to your new body and take a good advantage of your new life. It’s not even that hard being a girl…sure, you’ll have to deal with bras, dresses, menstruations, pregnancies,…”
“Thanks, mum,” Patrick groans, absentmindedly poking his breakfast.
“Err…I’m outta here,” Kevin announces awkwardly, “Bye bye.”
Patrick and his mother look at him leaving the kitchen in a rush to go to school.
“When you return home from school we’re going to go shopping, you don’t want to continue stealing my lingerie,” Patricia says once they hear the main door slamming shut behind her eldest son.
Patrick doesn’t want to steal her stuff (it has already been a trauma, yesterday morning), but he doesn’t want to humiliate himself even more going shopping with his mother: he sees no choice but agreeing with her.
He then leaves for school, not looking forward to that afternoon.
***
“Hey Trisha!”
Patrick turns: Greta is running towards him, all smiley and bouncy.
“Hi Greta. Why so happy so early?” he asks her amused.
“Well, somebody told me you are a cheerleader now, I wanted to congratulate with you!”
Patrick stares at her, trying to find any trace of bitterness, sadness, whatever of yesterday, but either the girl is hiding it very well or she’s really happy for Trisha and believes in her promise of not turning into a snobby cheerleader.
Entering the school building, he slowly smiles, unsure himself of his feelings about it; Greta chimes in, interpreting Trisha’s fidgeting for a way not to hurt her feelings after the tiny discussion they had the very previous day about that topic, “Listen, I’m not mad at you, okay? I already told you yesterday, it’s your choice, if you’re happy then I’m happy! And I believe in you,” she says, subtly stressing her last statement.
Patrick’s smile is now more genuine; he just doesn’t confirm nor negate his happiness about being a cheerleader -he still doesn’t know for sure what he should expect from this experience.
“Ok: first lesson?” Greta closes her locker and changes topic, the cheerleading-problem pushed aside, hopefully forgotten.
“Ugh, English…” Patrick replies while heading to his locker, making a face. Greta sympathizes.
“Wait, give me your time table, so we can check which lessons we have together,” Greta orders, taking her own timetable and a hot pink highlighter (Patrick makes a face for that too), “Okay, so…P.E., Music and Spanish, you’ll see my face there, and…that’s it? Sadness…”
Patrick chuckles taking his timetable back, grateful Greta only drew dots near the subjects and hasn’t highlighted the whole thing.
“Well…bye, I guess, see you around,” Patrick states while walking to the right of the hallway.
“Yes! Bye Trisha!” Greta says cheerfully, jogging in the opposite direction.
***
How does Patrick’s day at school go, you ask? Well, during English, he sort of listens to Mr Beckett and his analysis of some heavy book. For History, he has a hard time not falling asleep at Mr Sullivan’s explanation of the Civil War, same thing for Geography the following hour (it’s not teachers’ fault, it’s just that these subjects are soooo boring). During Spanish, Patrick sits near Greta and they do their best with the pronunciation, since Ms Dueñas is very strict. At Home Economics his muffins are too mushy and small, they haven’t risen enough. Finally, the computer lesson is something he knows about and is glad of this easy end of the school day.
He’s not too glad to see his mother’s car parked in front of the school when he exits, though.
“Before you say anything, I was already here to give your data to the school, I didn’t ambush to force you going shopping with me…But since we’re both here, let’s go,” Mrs Stumph declares with a wide smile.
Patrick hops in his mother's car with a sigh.
||next||