Maria

The necktie fluttered about my chest with the sun bearing down on my cheek. There was a cool breeze, and the sun was starting to go down. I was alone in the crosswalk, and before I reached the end, I turned my head to look at the people in the cars. Some were texting, some were shouting at whomever happened to be in the passenger seat, grown-up or otherwise.

As I kept walking, the sun disappeared behind a tall, cloud-gray office building, and my cheek felt numb.

The alley behind the club was always empty, save for a dumpster or two. Without hesitation, I removed the necktie and dress shirt before propping up a broken mirror I found a few weeks ago. I always felt the compulsive need to watch myself whenever I changed.

Maria’s face was clear in my mind, as well as her neck, breasts, hips, and legs.

My muscles pulsated, then shrank. My bones ground together. My penis and testicles shrank, then inverted. I dropped maybe twenty pounds, at least four inches in height. Breasts grew to fill the bra I’d been wearing since that morning. If it weren’t for the suspenders, my pants would have dropped off.

Even though the mirror was broken, I could still see myself clear as day.

I was beautiful, but I felt sick.

Keeping to the routine, I upchucked my lunch, then neatly folded the clothes and put them in a plastic bag in the dumpster. Then I went into the club.

I had the good fortune of being employed by one of the classier joints in downtown Chicago.

Our clients were usually business executives or loaded tourists. You know the type.

I’d grown to love the job. The other girls called themselves “exotic dancers” or “entertainers”, but I was born a man, and lacked such inherent self-respect. To me, I was a stripper. I can’t speak for anyone else.

I usually did two shows a night, and left with a bundle of hundreds tucked into my trouser pocket. This night was no different.

It was around one in the morning, and a weekday. Everyone wanted to go home. My college dorm room was at least two miles away, and common sense dictated I walk home as a man, so I ducked into the alley.

There was no light, save for a single flickering lamp on the side of the building and the moon. The mirror was still propped against the wall. I heard a shuffle, and I reflexively turned my head.

“You looked great tonight.”

The voice was male, and only that, a voice.

Someone I vaguely recognized as a club regular stepped out of the darkness. He was at least fifty, with glittering horn-rimmed glasses and thinning blonde hair.

Before I could shout or run away, I felt a hand behind my neck, and a slight pinch.

Before I could turn back into me, I stumbled into oblivion.

I woke up strapped to a bedframe, naked beneath the waist. I was still Maria. I felt a thick pressure in my groin, and I realized what he was doing as he grunted and sweated above me. I tried to scream, but there was something in my mouth. My arms strained against the ropes, then panic started to settle in, and I got that sick feeling in the back of my throat that usually preceded a sob.

His necktie was undone. I struggled, but he just kept going.

What elements of my brain that weren’t paralyzed by fear told me I should change into Lou Ferrigno and fucking kill him, but I hesitated at the thought of turning back into a man while this pig was stroking in and out.

So I waited.

Waited and cried and growled. Sometimes all at once.

It took a while for him to finish (he was probably drunk), but he did, and climbed off.

I felt weak, but disgust stoked the flames.

My muscles bulged, my bones grew, etc. By the time I was finished, he was in the bathroom. I snapped the ropes on all ends, then thundered toward the bathroom and kicked open the door. He was taking a shit, and when his eyes widened at the hulk of a man fuming in his doorway, I heard a small fart over my heavy breathing.

I pulled him off the toilet and put his head through the wall. He was yelling and hollering, of course, but I would growl and shout louder. He lost a few teeth every time I smacked him, and that brought me some sort of satisfaction.

His head lolled, but he wasn’t dead, so I dragged him into the living room. The house was absurdly well-furnished, with a breathtaking view. The window was large, practically the entire wall. I remembered something I’d read in a comic book when I was younger and threw him through the window. It shattered, and he fell to the pavement.

I watched him splat, then threw up on the floor.

I woke up at home, as myself. I could tell from the sunlight pouring in from the window that it was morning, but I figured it was the weekend, so I didn’t have any classes. The place was a mess. I looked at the mirror I kept under the pillow and laughed, then stayed quiet for a while.