Naamloos

Take a walk in my shoes. Part 2

The bell rang, echoing through the halls. Mark just sat at the desk—legs crossed, hair tickling her cheek. She stared at the blank pages of her notebook, trying to will herself invisible. The world felt alien. Every laugh, every glance from classmates reminded her of what she’d lost, and what she could never explain to anyone else. She remembered everything—being a man, being respected, being Mark—but now she was just a shy, pretty girl, waiting for the day to end.

Down the corridor, Rebecca strode with a swagger she’d only ever dreamed of. Tall, broad, his beard catching the last of the sunlight, he filled the teacher’s frame with so much manly energy it was as if the whole school tilted around him. His new body fit him like a glove—every movement natural, every flex of muscle thrilling, every deep chuckle echoing from his chest like it had always belonged there.

Class let out, and Rebecca made a beeline for the men’s restroom, his shoes striking the tiles with confidence. Inside, he grinned at himself in the mirror: handsome, hairy, jaw square, eyes bright with something hungry and new. He stepped up to the urinal, unzipped, and let out a sigh—so deep and satisfied it bordered on laughter. For a moment he just stood there, hand steady, feeling the weight and heat, marveling at how right it felt.

He looked down at his thick forearms, the bulge in his jeans, the way his shirt strained across his chest. He caught his own grin in the mirror and winked, almost giddy—a schoolgirl’s excitement bottled up inside a body that could crush steel. This was his life now. The way it always should have been.

As he zipped up and stepped out, two teachers passed in the hall, whispering to each other about the new man on staff. Rebecca gave them a cocky, friendly nod, his smile infectious, his confidence bulletproof. He felt unstoppable, he ran out like a little schoolgirl full joy and excitement.

Still riding that high, Rebecca jogged out of school and down the block, whistling as he walked. The sky seemed brighter, the world full of promise. He ducked into a neighborhood shop he’d passed a thousand times as a girl but never dared to enter. Now, he walked in like he owned the place. He bought a bottle of poppers, some fresh razors, and—just for fun—a pair of briefs that left little to the imagination. The cashier eyed him with open admiration. Rebecca smirked, tossing his bag over one thick shoulder.

Home was different now. The photos lining the hall showed a boy growing into a man—awkward childhood, proud adolescence, and finally, the bearded hunk he’d become. It had always been this way in everyone’s memories except Mark’s.

But the bedroom… that was a riot of pink hearts and unicorns, fairy lights glowing soft over the bed, teddy bears crowding every surface. Rebecca laughed—a rich, masculine rumble that filled the room. He didn’t care. He kicked off his shoes, tore off his shirt, and stretched out across the bed, all muscle and scruff surrounded by softness.

He grabbed the bottle of poppers, took a deep, greedy sniff, and let his head fall back, a blissful smile spreading across his face. The room spun, muscles tingled, the world felt limitless.

He didn’t care about the unicorns, the hearts, or what anyone else thought. For the first time in his life, Rebecca was exactly who he wanted to be: a big, sexy, confident man, cocky and content, hungry for everything the world now had to offer.

Take a walk in my shoes. Part 1

Mark’s patience was razor-thin. His biceps strained under the blue cotton of his shirt as he stood in front of the chalkboard, jaw locked tight. Rebecca sat in the front row, all glossed lips and distracted blue eyes, scrolling her phone instead of listening, a study in pastel pink and soft curves.

Again. The same scene every day: Mark pouring out his knowledge, Rebecca ignoring him, the other students awkwardly pretending not to notice the tension—until today.

“Rebecca!” Mark barked, storming up to her desk, fists planted, voice like a thrown hammer. “Is there a single assignment you’ve handed in on time this month?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, her mouth curving in a stubborn pout, and shrugged, letting her hair tumble over her shoulder as she glanced at her phone. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t care.”

Mark’s face reddened, veins bulging in his forearms. “You think your looks are going to get you anywhere? You need discipline. You need—”

His voice boomed, echoing around the suddenly silent room—so silent, in fact, that the ticking of the clock vanished. The rest of the class froze: half-finished scribbles, a yawn paused in the back row, eyes wide but unmoving, time itself holding its breath.

Rebecca opened her mouth for a comeback—but what came out was a thick, hoarse gasp. Something wild was happening inside her chest, a heat, a trembling, like a current running straight from Mark’s glare into her bones. Her skin prickled. Mark staggered back, clutching his shirt.

His voice was changing, thinning into something high and sharp, while his body seemed to shrink beneath his clothes. Blonde hair, impossibly fine, was crawling down his brow. The hard edge of his jaw melted away, cheekbones softening, arms thinning. His manliness—the energy that made him command the room—was draining out of him, leaving his body hollow, unfamiliar, achingly delicate.

That force—the raw, sun-bright masculine energy—flooded across the room and struck Rebecca like a lightning bolt. Her breath came short and fast. The pink t-shirt stretched tight over swelling pectorals, her arms thickening, sleeves biting into muscle. Her jeans pinched at expanding thighs and a rising bulge between her legs. Her voice, when she moaned, was lower, throatier, vibrating with new power.

Rebecca’s soft face squared off, lashes retreating, jawline sharpening into something devastatingly handsome. Her hair darkened, receded, stubble prickling on her cheeks. The sensation between her legs—a rush, a pulse, an impossibly real heat—nearly made her knees buckle.

Mark, now—Rebecca, always—looked down at her hands, small and dainty, with pink polish still shining. Her—no, his—eyes were wide in shock. Mark’s shirt now hung off narrow shoulders, her chest flat, her body light, her voice all but gone.

Rebecca—now a new man—looked down at his own hands, flexing thick fingers, rolling his shoulders to feel muscle bunch and release. His shirt strained at the seams, the sleeves hugging powerful arms. The world felt sharper, more alive, every nerve tingling with confidence.

In the frozen silence, they both stood, Mark gasping in her new girl’s voice, and Rebecca—himself, finally—grinning, wide and wild.

The class unfroze. Students blinked, confused. Mark stumbled to the teacher’s desk, clutching at her new hair, panic in her blue eyes. Rebecca rolled his new, strong shoulders, the weight of a man’s body settling around him like a warm coat, a secret he’d always wanted to claim.

His mind danced with new desires and his newfound manhood was showing exactly that —images of rough hands on his waist, the closeness of another man, the thrill of being wanted as a man, by a man. In a burst of heat and pride, he pictured himself swaggering into a gay bar, all confidence and muscle and charm, no longer hiding behind a pink shirt and careful smiles. He’d buy a drink, laugh loud, let his stubble scratch another man’s jaw. He’d finally be seen as himself.

Across the room, Mark watched, dazed, shrinking into his new, uncertain form. Rebecca caught his—her—eye and winked, one thick brow cocked. In that moment, there was no fear, no regret. Only exultation.

No girls allowed in the park.

And their future lifes.