Quietly and completely

No one will believe me when I say this, but ... it wasn’t my idea.

It all started in my first year at university. I was a young man, going out into the world for the first time, anxious to prove myself and get a degree.

I had a tiny basement suite near the campus, with a bed, a table, a small kitchen, and maybe just enough room to take a deep breath in, if you were careful.

It was still early in the school year when the first change hit.

One day, I went into my dresser for some underwear, and all I could find was ...

Panties.

Women’s panties.

Now, if I lived in a frat house or a dorm room on campus, I would have passed it off as a joke. Sort of a reverse panty raid.

But as I said, I lived alone, and no one could have snuck into my bedroom overnight.

I wondered what to do for a bit, then decided that since going commando really wasn’t my style, I might as well wear the panties.

They felt rather nice, and the soft material almost felt like a caress on my skin. I tried to ignore the feeling, and finished getting dressed.

By the time I got to my first class, I felt pretty close to normal, and after a couple of days, I was so used to panties the idea of buying men’s underwear seemed silly.

Then, a week after the panties had arrived, more changes happened.

My pants became women’s pants.

Not overly feminine, in fact the only reason I knew they were women’s was because they lacked a fly or zipper, and they had no pockets.

Lacking any other options, I wore a pair to class, and put on a light jacket so I had a place to carry my keys and wallet.

If anybody noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The week after, all my shirts changed to match the pants.

Again, they weren’t super feminine, but just enough that I knew they were not the ones I had brought with me when I moved into my little suite.

I wasn’t really shocked when the next week I found bras in my dresser drawer, but I was a little startled to realize I could definitely use one, as I had seemed to have sprouted breasts overnight.

By now, you’d think I would be in total panic mode, but somehow, I wasn’t. I mean, I wasn’t dancing up and down about becoming a girl, but I wasn’t really freaking out, either.

I was mostly ... numb.

The changes kept coming.

I stopped needing to shave, and my skin softened.

My shoes now had purple laces and a pink trim on the sides.

I found myself comfortable bringing a purse with me when I went out.

My hair had grown long enough to make a decent ponytail.

I had started using the ladies room.

I occasionally started experimenting with makeup.

And then I started signing my papers with a feminine name.

During these changes, I was rather glad to be unnoticed by the other students. I just kept my head down, tried to focus on my classes, and hoped like heck that at some point things would stop.

Then they did just that.

It’s been two months since anything has changed. Technically, I’m still male, but you wouldn’t know that unless you saw me naked.

I’ve read up on transgender, and I find myself wondering about what happened to me.

Did I somehow do this to myself? Did some unconscious desire to be a girl nudge me down this path?

Why else would I be so ... comfortable like this?

And why else would I seriously consider the idea of surgery to remove the last trace of manhood I have left?

Maybe, in the end it doesn’t matter how I got here.

Nobody seems to mind me being a girl, least of all me.

So all in all, I guess it could be worse.

But still, whether you believe me or not, I never planned this.

But I can’t say I really mind ...

End.