A Brand New Goth Girl

[3]

I wasn’t sure if I should keep undressing in front of Norah with my geeky top off. She resolved it for me by slipping out of her nice clothes and standing there in her underwear like she absolutely trusted me. Her panties appeared similar to bloomers. They had quite a leg section to them with dark purple against radiant hearts and Mario piranha plants opening their mouths. Really nifty looking.

I nearly resisted saying something, but spoke, “Those are so cool!” Up top she had a simple black bra and looked significantly bigger than Bea. Norah adjusted the straps and flashed me raised eyebrows before noting, “Thanks for them again. I saw you had the 8-bit superheroes one on the other day, so I figured it might be good luck. Not this time, but oh well.”

I felt a little nervous when I realized she meant that I actually bought those for her as a gift. Well, Bea did. I chirped up, “Maybe try Poison Ivy?”

It was a shot in the dark. I didn’t know DC stuff that well, but with Nora‘s look and aesthetic, she had to be at least casually conscious of that character, right?

But I realized a moment later I hadn’t considered the character could be her pet peeve. I had a couple, like when I tell people I’m an artist and they randomly, immediately ask me to draw things for them. It seemed to overlap with some people‘s ideas of a hobby rather than a job.

It was frustrating, because no one would look at a lawyer and ask them to recite case law or ask a midwife to show them a baby. Still, it felt like certain careers got more respect than others. That was an awkward mental digression but the moment gave me too much time to think. More than anything, I didn’t want to hurt the relationship between Norah and Beatrice when it felt like I was just stepping in for her.

To my relief, Norah seemed collected and chill as she remarked, “Dr. Pam is a badass, but I don’t know about plastering her across my crotch. Might send the wrong message to some guys. But I did see a really cool lounge set online the other day. Bookmarked. We’ll see. But, yeah, you have a nice shower.” I nearly wished her the same before spinning around in place a few times to face the door. She probably totally thought her roommate turned into a ditz.

Using the toilet was an instant release and relief from all I was holding in physically and mentally but also presented new problems. It was a familiar act but one full of primal panic. My mind tried to warn me that I had things all bunched up or tucked in because it was all coming out wrong. It would take some getting used to.

In the main bathroom space, it took me a minute to figure out where everything was. Luckily, Beatrice‘s roommates had a detailed system of organization. The walk-in closet adjoining the bathroom had several shelves labeled with their names.

Kasey had a lot of interesting bath aids and vials of fragrance. Rhea had categorized, color-coded bottles. Norah’s section focused on a theme of all-natural with a handful of soap in the style of Power Rangers helmets. Beatrice’s spot had ornate black bottles along with purple and gray bath bombs, and skin care. I took advantage of everything I understood for removing makeup and soon saw her unadulterated features.

Yeah, I was still related to my family. The lips were absolutely my eldest sister’s style of upper prominence and a pursed bow at the bottom. The black lipstick made them unrecognizably anonymous. It was easy to see aspects of my mother’s face in the gradual slopes of Beatrice’s cheeks. All of it was still recognizably reminiscent of me and yet still indefinably someone else.

But here we were, together, all alone with no one to judge us but ourselves. Me and the most intimate qualities I shared with Bea. Removing her panties was easy, and, oddly, so was her bra, despite all the ornamentation and fanciness. It had a simple clasp, which unleashed the gossamer cloth into my hands. There were no unexpected surprises.

We had rolling, cute mounds with large, punctuated nipples in an understated shade. Not quite brown and far from perky pink or sharp red. Looking over her body, she had quite a bit more to show than you might expect from her loose and understated clothing. Her breasts didn’t challenge the other girls I’d seen so far in the dorm, but they weren’t some simple, ambiguous bumps either.

There was something about them. You can call me romantic, with all the lingering aesthetic feelings of a man possessing two decades of experience that way. I wanted to draw the natural, lyrical shape of Beatrice‘s body. But I didn’t have much experience with sketching nudes. With the right pencil strokes and shading, I could bring her out as a work of art.

At the same time, I wasn’t dissociating myself from the fact this was my own body and was me. We were each other. She was me and I was her. But I still gawked at her reflection and marveled at how I stood in the presence of such a gorgeous girl who shared details with me. I wasn’t denying her and I wasn’t denying myself. It was something I worked to understand.

Down, between my legs, I could tell she kept everything hairless. Methodically hairless. I didn’t want to assume, but it seemed clear to me that she was doing nudes for the over hundred subscribers on her page. For the next few minutes though, I was the only voyeur.

The shower water pressure sucked as much as in my regular dorm. But the detachable wand had a couple different options that made the best of the low flow. Stepping in, it was easy to find Beatrice’s stuff because each girl had a different style stick-on shelf.

For Norah, it was a vine carousel. For Kasey, it was a treasure chest. For Rhea, it was a rainbow with a puffy cloud foundation. And Beatrice‘s was a black, spiral staircase. They took up a lot of space but I appreciated their presence because I didn’t want to accidentally use someone else’s stuff.

Washing introduced nothing new from any regular day, but contours of what I was cleaning felt fresh, exciting, and mysterious. Getting around Bea’s shoulders went like a playful, spider dance darting from one end to the other. It also included new, subtle feelings with the shifting of her body from this way to that.

Beneath clothing and so many other distractions, it was easy to forget and slide past the differences. That reminded me of how your vision edits so many different things in your brain so they don’t bother you, like your ever-present nose. But in the shower, with just this body and my brain, it was hard to forget. Not that I wanted to.

Girls didn’t fart rainbows and smell like perfect floral petals all the time. It was easy to idealize them from a distance, but I also understood from family and life that tragically romantic notions were nonsense. Beatrice smelled like wet sweat and all my nervous shivers. She smelled like the afterimages of her perfume and the traces of the last time she had to go to the bathroom. She was human, we were human. But a certain part of my brain deeply desired to ascribe all the best aromas swimming down the drain to someone else and all the murky bog funk to my presence. I guess I wasn’t going to escape my submissive nature towards the feminine anytime soon.

There was something new though. As I sifted through the mental cornucopia of all these aromas, I drifted back to my fretful encounter with a Marshall who no longer remembered me in front of the door of what used to be my dorm. I just got a whiff of him, but I recognized the presence of something more potent than the usual doldrums of smelling another guy. It was a man’s aroma, cooked in every day sweat and activity with the faint topping of casual deodorant and a touch of body mist. That scent did something for the body I inhabited. It excited me in a way that felt foreign. I felt turned on by the scent of a man.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Do I like men now? I was about to parse it as “other men”, but I no longer counted among men. Fresh sexuality, biological connections, arousal triggers, and switches collided with emotions and copious amounts of hormones inside my body. With all that the stew of biology was doing to my brain, I had no idea if the mind I woke up with this morning could survive the chemical experiments Beatrice‘s gonads were unleashing. Might it be an irreversible condition? It was a quandary.

Something in the common area turned me into this. I had no guarantee of ever seeing my original body again. I let the existential magnitude slide off like more soap residue. Washing Beatrice’s boobs felt like a delicate operation, at first, until I found their comfort zone. I experimented.

My nipples were starkly sensitive like this, far more sensitive than I was expecting. They seemed like what I should’ve been expecting out of larger, cliche endowments on the Internet. When I thought about it though, it made sense that something on a more concentrated scale would have sharpened feeling. I carefully brushing a white towel over her nipples. The moan that came out and resonated between my legs felt breathtaking. However, I was hot and flush with the prospect that one of the girls must’ve heard that through the walls.

Gingerly, continuous downward, I could barely even encroach between those legs. I didn’t wanna do anything that messed it all up. I could remember snippets of mom and family harping about pains and irritations. It needed a manual.

The Internet might help, but I didn’t want to bring my phone to the shower. Having a reference where I could make sure that I wasn’t screwing up my entire uterus would be worth investigating. I went about as far as felt comfortable, but that still included getting underneath, around, (very delicately) inside, to the side, between, over, and back around until I was in familiar territory.

It didn’t feel high maintenance, but it definitely felt like more maintenance than I was used to. It was all I can do for now and I would research it later to make sure I didn’t screw it. From there, I actually took care of the rest rather quickly. Everything slid across Beatrice’s soft, silken limbs.

Finishing up was an enjoyable few minutes where I didn’t have to pay any attention to how I felt, yet I could indulge in strange and new sensations with a vacation from my reality.

Idly, I thought of Marshall when he walked around the dorm after a shower with just his boxers on. Little notions popped up like the tiniest firecrackers in my soul, like spicy pop rocks floating lightly but fervently over my flesh. Concentrating on these memories, along with playful possibilities brought out a wet, deepening slickness between my thighs which wasn’t from the shower head. I reflected on the fact it was detachable and debated whether I could be just a little more forceful.

Taking it down, I explained to myself this was just a courtesy rinse. I stepped into it and gasped. A direct, consuming wave washed over me. I wanted more, but I resisted the temptation while promising myself I would do that again and better when I understood things more fully. This body felt both satisfied and grumpily irritated with me.

Getting out of the shower, I glanced in the side mirror and wondered if my nude, hair slick, water dappled form might be worthwhile posting to subscribers, assuming something like it hadn’t already been shared. Still, taking a shot might be worth it, just out of curiosity…

It took some sneaking back to my room and fortunate placement of Norah, out of line of sight, to allow me to grab my phone and return to the bathroom. Then, I actually had to do a bit of work spraying myself again in the shower to recapture the right look. Poses, stretches, and saucy suggestions in the way I was positioned came easily. I probably took more than anyone would ever ask for, but this hardly felt out of character for Beatrice.

After drying off, I experimenting with some of the lotions and other things on Bea’s counter shelf. It was easy to slip on the clothes I picked out and a casual top for lounging about watching the kind of videos Norah mentioned. She was sprawled out on the front couch with speakerphone on and texting at the same time.

During a lull, she explained that the guy who stood her up was currently trying the “silliest” excuse, which she conveyed to me, “He claimed that he turned into a girl! That’s so crazy, right? And then, he had the gall to send me a pic of some girl who supposedly looked a little like him, wearing his clothes, and hanging out in his dorm. That asshole and that slut! If he wanted to tell me that he liked her more, then he could’ve just had the balls to say it! Arggg! Screw him!“

All the warning bells that could possibly go off were screaming inside my head. Something befuddling was happening. She mentioned that he lived in this dorm downstairs for several weeks, and that was how she first met him, of course. He was apparently still registered in this dorm but mostly moved out. Norah didn’t want to see or think about him.

I seized upon this opportunity and swiftly asked her if there were any errands she needed me to run downstairs, whatever I could take care. That way, she wouldn’t have to bother going down there. Norah took a long breath and cooled off before waving her hand and telling me that it was fine and I was such “an awesome friend”. Ultimately, she gave me a couple singles and said to go get everyone whatever snacks looked nice downstairs. But she reminded me to watch out for peanuts for Rhea, Kasey preferred caramel, and dark chocolate for her.

Her instructions and warnings were deeply appreciated but also raised my ears because I worried that I was disappointing her and the others by needing the reminder. Pivoting around to remember my little black purse also felt like an embarrassment.

I had on a casual gray top with a kind of cute but slightly spooky artful forest in the deep dark woods. The black skirt with crosses was adventurous but interesting wear. Here I was, just a girl standing in the hallway and walking over and down the steps.

A couple of the doors opened at random and I noticed girls peeking out. It kept happening. And it lodged in my mind that none of the people looking out the doors were guys. Some of those girls were dressed rather sloppily. Those sights were nothing compared to what I encountered at the bottom of the steps after managing the jiggles.

Groups of boisterous ladies clustered everywhere, some of them not wearing a whole lot or down to their underwear. Several were screaming and yelling to one another. And there were only ladies. The mass had to rival the population of the entire dorm. I crept around carefully and tried not to attract attention.

I received answers and even more questions when I made my way over to the center of the common area. The billiards table was still there but dwarfed by a massive, colorful wall-spanning collection of board games. Several comfortable tables spread out on the side along with a drink machine and a little kiosk for bubble tea which wasn’t currently staffed. Was this even the same dorm? So much changed!

And the most interesting note of all were the bathrooms. The main restrooms over by the washing machines were labeled as ladies and gender neutral. Slipping around to the front of the dormitory, I caught sight of the large sign in front of the walk up path.

I knew it very well and could tell you that it read the Samuel J. Carting Apartments as long as I knew the college. Now, however, it was clearly labeled as Margaret Mead Hall with flowing script to characterize the text and a very specific note along the bottom, “Girls Only Dormitory.”