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Some emotions need time to shake out
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“Awww that’s so cute! The little crop top and jeans is SOOO much nicer than those icky sweats. Now if we can just get you out of black.” I couldn’t help smiling at her underhanded compliments. Her sweet drawl masked the razor sharp digs at my dwindling masculinity, but I merely stood there with my hands in my back pockets. Sadly, it only made me look more feminine - it seemed like everything I did conspired against me.
The old me would have flipped her off or resorted to some similar crass action, but this slender form refused to let me resort to such things. Somewhere written into the DNA was my sister’s ideal sibling - demure, compassionate, shy and utterly girlish in demeanor. I felt the spell eroding my sensibilities everyday and changing my thoughts as much as it transformed my body. My once powerful physique was melting away in tiny increments, irreversibly changing me.
I’ve fought her every inch of the way. When the changes began, I locked myself in my room in hopes of denying her the satisfaction of seeing my progress. In the dim light I watched as my body shrunk in both height and mass. I could feel my flesh shifting, dissipating, softening itself. The unseen fingers of magic sculpted my amiable flesh like I were some living art project. Within a week, I had dainty toes and cute feet and by the end of weekend my legs were slender and coltish. As this went on, my nights were filled with fevered dreams - whispers seeping into my consciousness - chipping away at my mind.
It wasn’t long before my body craved to leave; it wanted to be seen, to be shown off. My sister squealed when she saw me for the first time, so happy to have the sister of her dreams. I tried to wrap myself in fuddy black clothing, but the magic’s grip soon influenced me. I shifted over to jeans and T-shirts, then graduated to hip-huggers and baby tees. All the while my sister teased me, encouraging the urges by being the paradigm of womanhood.
The smallest gestures from my sister seemed to awaken some denied longing within me. . . I wanted to feel fluttering skirts brush against my stockinged legs. I wanted hear the clip-clop of heels behind me and know they were mine. I watched her in the mirror as my sister applied her makeup and fought the compulsion to snatch the lipgloss from her hands and paint my own lips. It got so bad that I began sneaking into her room and trying out her makeup when she wasn’t around.
But she knew - it was part of her plan. Even now she taunts me. She knew this outfit was laid out on my bed, calling to me. She knew it would be enough to tempt me. I’d fallen for her trap and had taken one more step towards the inevitable. Eventually she was going to have the sister she’s always coveted and I would be in dresses and heels. I was already eying her pink skirt in the closet and I’ve wondered if my legs would look like in it. . . something told me I would know very soon. . .