There are something things people take for granted, and then miss them when they're gone. It's always been this way, there are even several sayings about this, with the most common being "You don't miss what you have until it's gone." I have to say I've always known this saying, and even experienced its effects a few times in all of my years of life, but it took something highly unique to discover it in full force. It took a pair of breasts.
Keep up with me here. I'm willing to admit that is sounds odd. But it's the little things you miss. Before anyone makes a penis joke, what I'm actually referring to is my center of balance. The small, quiet feeling I have just below my ribs that tells me where I am, how far until I fall over, and that all-pervasive sense that I know the ground is a single unmoving mass beneath my feet.
As I stepped from bed, I felt like I was about to fall over. I instinctively checked my feet, and found breasts in the way. In terms of perspective, seeing them from this angle was quite unusual, and seeing them attached to me was just as weird. I tried not to dwell on it, but tripped on the hardwood right out of my room. I steadied myself, and adjusted to compensate for the forward center of gravity. It felt very different, but I didn't fall over anymore.
Out of the bathroom, I tried not to dwell on how confused those last few minutes were. It didn't take me long to stand in front of my mirror poking myself various places. For the most part, I hadn't changed that much. My skin was still about the same tan, although inexplicably tanned in different places. My hair was still the same shade of brown, but longer. It still curled, though it was more subtle, and actually flowed down to my shoulders. I tossed it, and it bounced gamely before settling again. Surprisingly, it wasn't irritating my neck like my hair usually does.
After taking a while to continue my visual tour of myself, I felt a little odd. It was a sort of detached feeling, like something wasn't right. I went downstairs and knocked on my dad's door, calling his name. My voice didn't sound right. It was pitched wrong, faint and... Feminine.
There were some rustling noises, and what sounded like an irritated groan. "What?"
"I think I need to go see the doctor."
"...I'm a girl."
"A girl, dad. Just... Help."
The door opened a crack, and I saw my dad. He looked like I expected him to this time of morning. Considering it was about 7:40, he looked very tired. Given that he probably didn't get home but two hours ago would do that. After a pregnant second of recognition, he said something that was difficult to decipher. It started with "Hijo de..." and got too rapid for me to understand. Although I did hear the Spanish words for "Devil" and "mange," so I assumed what he said would be bad to repeat in Mexican primary schools.
"Hell if I know," I answered honestly, staring down at my own, albeit incredibly foreign, naked body. "I just woke up like this."
"I... Uh..." He said a few choice four-letter words, and shook his head. "I'm going to call the doctor now, and we'll see what's going on."
"Okay..." I thought about getting dressed, and blushed furiously. "Um... Dad?"
He had the cell phone in his hand, and looked up. "Yes?"
"What cup size am I?"
I'm not surprised that he took a minute to answer, "...Oh. Uh... A-ish. Big one though, maybe B."
"Awkwaaard." I said, rocking on my heels.
His laugh sounded forced, "At least you won't have some problems."
I cracked, laughter and tears breaking at the same moment, "How long until I start getting drinks half off, or worse, free?"
"Uh... I'm going to call the doctor's and go back to bed. I'm too tired to think straight."
"I'm... Uh... I guess I'll be around."
The doctor's appointment was set, and went upstairs. My room was an assorted mess of hazards, made even more so by my now upset center of balance. I managed a t-shirt, which hung listlessly from my breasts (which is something I never thought I'd ever have to say), and a pair of shorts that rested better on female hips than they did my male ones. Dressed, I went downstairs to make myself breakfast. Toast is always a reliable standby, and I made myself feel better after eating. Everything still felt wrong. My fingers were softer, they didn't grip things as well. My feet had smaller surface areas, so my traction felt that teensy bit off. My balance, understandably, awkward as all hell.
I sat at the table and ate in silence, frowning at my own reflection in the picture across the table. My nose and ears were different, smaller, and my eyes had a softness that came from smiling. They reminded me of my mom's eyes, which was a weird association to have for myself.
At noon, my dad got up and drove me to the doctor's office. The doctors have a field day taking measurements and poking me in various places. I have to say I was oddly comfortable with having a doctor poking me in places I really shouldn't have had, but I learned a new hatred for what my friends described as "a cold, metal vise made for the snatch." After I had my bits poked and proded, stats taken, and the rest of it, we were released with absolute bafflement from everyone present. No one had heard of anything like this, and there was nothing anatomical to show I've ever been male. Twenty-one years of memories and medical files maybe, but nothing in or on my body.
I left the doctor's office still wearing just cargo shorts and a t-shirt and decided I needed help of a bizarre variety. I retrieved my car and drove to my friend's house. Now, before I go any further with this narrative, I want to put something to bed right now. Women are not worse drivers than men. It's just a lot harder to be as focused a driver as a female than as a male. Before I get lynched, let me explain. As a guy, my priorities while driving were different. The roads, traffic conditions, other cars, they all had a rhythm. It was natural, hectic, and chaotic while still being almost artistic or musical.
As a female, the music had different qualities. The subtle rhythms, the acts of one driver became glaringly apparent. Their twitches and steering-corrections shone like a beacon in the afternoon sun. I could've told you what any single driver was thinking at every given instant on the road, with shocking clarity. I've never been able to read people this well before, and it was like magic. What I couldn't understand was how to do it to everyone at once. If I started reading other subtleties on the road, I got a tunnel vision that blanked out the rest of the road. So, with as much focus as possible, I starting observing the whole road. The music on my radio, Daft Punk, emptied from my memory. My long-standing habit of drumming the steering wheel flooded away. I put all of my focus on the road, its occupants, and my car.
A lime-green Beetle came charging out of a blind-spot in my sideview, and scared the crap out of me. I had missed it in my rear-view, and I was certain that wasn't going to be the last time that was going to happen. The road raged on around me, and I did my best to keep up. I pulled into my friend's driveway, and stepped out of the car. My tennis shoes fit poorly, and I slipped in the wet grass. Damned breasts.
She sounded bleary as hell when she answered the phone. "What!?"
I squeaked, "Help."
Silence reigned on the other end, "...Taylor?"
I sobbed a little, "Help."
"Damnit, put Taylor on the phone."
"He is on the damned phone! ... She! She's on the damn phone!"
"What's going on?"
"Open your front door, everything will be made obvious."
After a few minutes of nervousness, the front door opened and my two female friends looked out the front door. "Holy fuck," said the shorter of the two, Meg, long sun-bleached brown hair waving at the resulting head movement.
"Holy shit," the taller one concurred, staring at me. We'll call her Kel. "Taylor has breasts!"
I started laughing a little, and she marched into the yard, grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me into the house. The wooden home reminded me of many hours of Rock Band in the weird hours of the morning, and I was hauled into the back room. It was a mess of laundry, cans, and trash. Like usual. The door closed and the taller of the two looked me dead in the eye. "Clothes off."
"Take your clothes off."
I sighed, knowing where that was going. After kicking my shoes off, free from painful malfitting shoes. I unbuttoned my shorts, wiggled my hips once, and took off my shirt. I stood naked in front of my two friends, nervous and confused. And female. And confused. I did mention confused, didn't I?
"Aww," the shorter of the two cooed. She followed up, staring at my nipples, "They're so small."
Kel added, "Smaller than mine." They probably weren't, but that's part of the reason I came here.
I glowered at the pair of them, "Knock it off, both of you. And help."
"What with?" Meg asked, smirking at me. "You took anatomy, didn't you?"
"Oh thanks, smartass. How about telling me what cup size I am? I can guess I'll be in the low-B neighborhood, but that's about as far as I'm willing to hazard."
Kel smiled, and I wasn't entirely sure she wasn't checking me out. "Oh love, you've overestimating." She grabbed her drawer, tossed a bra at me, and grinned. "Put it on."
I fed it around my back, doing the clasp in front of me and tucked the breasts into the cups. It hurt. A lot. "Too tight," she answered, and fished around her drawer again. "Okay, these."
I reached behind myself, and started wrestling with the clasp. After about 20 seconds, Meg started giggling. "I knew he wouldn't have the vaguest idea how to do this."
"It's a bit different taking it off of myself." I answered.
"Psh, yeah right."
I walked over to her, and reached around her should. With just my right hand, the clasp was undone in two seconds. "Like I said, different when it's yourself."
She slapped me on the collar, and it hurt a lot more than I was used to it hurting. "You pervert!"
"You asked," I answered, frowning, and finally managed to somehow separate the wires. Gods, did that feel good. I put on the second bra much the same way. It felt a little uncomfortable, but fit a lot better. Kel frowned, "You are bigger than me."
"Seems that way." I answered, unimpressed by the results.
Meg grinned, "Cheer up, my bras could still eat him... Er... Her whole."
I cracked a grin, now unaware that I was naked from the waist down around my ex girlfriend and friend. "Was that a cunnilingus joke?"
"You're a pig."
"No, I'm a lesbian. Minor difference."
She scowled at me, "Pervert."
"Ten to one if you woke up a dude tomorrow with the exact same brain, you'd be gay."
"Pervert," I said conclusively, turning to Kel. "Um... Can I borrow some of your clothes?"
She frowned at me, and tossed me the matching panties. "Actually, your wardrobe should be mostly fine. We'll just need to go lingerie shopping. Borrow these for now."
"Cute." I answered, noting the light blue while putting them on. She stared at me appraisingly.
"You're right, you are cute."
"You never said that when I was a guy."
"Because you weren't cute." She answered matter of factly, grabbing her car keys. "Now get dressed."
Kel managed most of the vender talking, supplying the cup sizes and such that I needed in order to point me in the right sections. My running excuse was that I was shy, which was partially the case, but also because I had no freakin' clue what I was talking about. I eventually settled on several pairs of matching bits, and checked out. I wasn't planning on needing a whole new underwear drawer, so I didn't really have much income to spare. I ended up going pretty spartan with the amounts, but got a bunch of comfortable and risque undies.
I thanked the girls, and got back into my car to go home. When I got home, my brother was up and staring at me. "Whoa! That's really weird."
"You're telling me," I answered, "my genitals are on backwards."
"You mean inside out."
"Outside in, actually." I said, laughing in a bitter kind of way. "Looks like you have a little sister now."
"...Which is weird."
"You're telling me." I answered, going upstairs to unwrap and put on the appropriate undergarments. I came downstairs dressed, and had a belated lunch. The change, surprisingly, hadn't effected my appetite. I went upstairs, and closed myself in my room.
IRC booted up pretty quickly. Various calls of "Nuke!" were made, and I waited a minute before dropping the bombshell on IRC. Unsurprisingly, it took a whole 3 seconds for "Pics or it didn't happen" to show up. Why'm I not surprised?
God, I need a nap. I closed the computer lid, cutting off IRC, and went to bed. Sleeping in a bra hurts...