Schrödinger's Girl, Ch. 07

Earphones in place to block out the noise, I was asleep almost before my flight home reached cruising altitude.

As I slept, a dream came to me that made the in-flight entertainment system superfluous.

I stood in the elevator lobby of the convention hotel, halfway to the top floor, facing the catwalk that crossed the hotel atrium to the other wing.

I heard the faint stirrings of a large crowd sitting in the darkness, waiting for the show to begin.

I teetered on high-heeled stilettos with thin black straps that wound halfway up my calves. I was nude except for a harness of fine gold chain that encircled my neck, dove between my budding breasts, then split into two chains that swooped around my waist and met just above my tailbone. A small tail of gold chain trailed into the cleft of my derrière.

Maya finished brushing my cheekbones and looked me over approvingly. "You are going to set this place alight, Noelle!" she said. I smiled and stepped onto my mark at the head of the catwalk.

A spotlight flared on. As I stepped into view of the atrium, a low guttural roar rose from the the invisible crowd assembled there.

Head held high, I walked a slow runway strut. The chain around my body added an intoxicating shimmer under the spotlight.

The railing was gone, allowing the crowd to see me from head to toe. They gave a collective sigh when I stopped in the middle and turned my back to them, displaying my delectable feminine backside.

As synthesized bass and drums vibrated the catwalk, I began to dance, my arms twisting like snakes above my shoulders as my hips rocked with my steps. At a break in the music, I turned and stood, arms akimbo, as the crowd cheered. My rock hard nipples rose and fell with my breathing.

"Ding, ding," came a discordant sound seemingly from everywhere.

"Why isn't that in time to the music?" my dream self thought, before a voice on the intercom jolted me awake.

I found my car in the long-term lot and carefully transferred my feminine purchases from my suitcase. Two little black dresses, black slingback heels, and a makeup kit went into the duffel that I stowed away in the spare-tire well.

I arrived home at almost the same time as my wife Liz. As I lay awake that evening, Liz slumbering by my side, I tried to breathe away the images from my tumultuous week at the conference.

The next morning, Liz hugged me from behind and peered over my shoulder as I knotted my black belt. "You wear that uniform so well now, Noel," she said as she looked in the mirror.

I gave an amused snort. "Says the lady whose uniforms look custom tailored," I said as I turned and gave her a squeeze.

We arrived at the dojang and bowed in to our twice-monthly Saturday black belt class, which focused on black-belt forms, kicks, and nunchuk training. The first part of the class consisted of calisthenics and agility drills, including suicides--many, many suicides.

I threw myself into the class with a will, wanting to shed the effects of my sedentary week, but also to purge my inner tension.

An abundance of endorphins did banish my sluggishness, but they also made me hyper-aware of the softer, rounder feminine form under my uniform. I carefully monitored my posture and walk, especially when I greeted our grandmaster, who boomed in his stilted English, "You're very slim, Noel! But kicks look good!"

The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Going to work on Monday helped to assert a return to normalcy.

I continued to exert more effort in taekwondo and on the track, but all it did was help me feel more attuned to my increasingly feminine body, only adding to my inner tension.

As I was getting dressed for taekwondo class the following week, I found one of Liz's compression shorts folded away with mine. I felt my mouth go dry as I pulled it on; its cut reminded me of my lace boy shorts. I retrieved a women's compression top from my stash, and wore that as well.

My flexibility had increased dramatically in my feminized body. The forms portion of class started with lower-belt poomsae, and the number of people on the floor dwindled as the forms advanced. When we reached forms for my belt, only I, two other third-degree black belts, and Liz were left, and I decided to go for it.

I found to my delight that I could hold a front kick nearly vertical, and a side kick nearly as high. I heard sounds of admiration from the seated students. I and my fellow third-degrees bowed out, and walked to the sidelines.

My fellow third-degree Joe reached the sideline ahead of me, turned and bowed as I approached. I saw myself in the mirror moving with a soft sway, and found that I liked it. I returned his bow.

Joe grinned and said, "You looked like you were channeling Su-Ji Kang," a multiple world champion in poomsae--a female world champion.

I shrugged and replied, "There are worse role models."

On running nights, I dropped off Liz at the dojang to teach afternoon classes before heading to a nearby high school track in the early evening.

Wearing what had become my favorite running outfit--women's high-waisted yoga tights and a snug women's running hoodie--I approached the school at a jog, and saw a massive jam at the gates. The school's electric sign board proclaimed "Parent Teacher Conference Night."

I turned and headed the other way. Two blocks over, all was quiet; I turned onto a street that passed through a quiet business district further ahead.

It was my first extended run en femme on a public sidewalk, which gave me wings. I glided through a busy intersection, then past a row of restaurants. Two blocks further, I turned onto a street that wound past well-tended apartment buildings.

I felt rather than saw a car tracking me as I navigated the sidewalk's curves with my usual smooth stride. The car drifted up into my peripheral vision when I came to a straight stretch of road. I turned my head and saw a bunch of teenage boys ogling me from a black Impala.

The light ahead turned red, and I slowed, intending to cut behind the car when it stopped at the light; but the driver stopped and waved me across. I lifted a hand in thanks and slowly jogged past, smiling, as all the boys in the car tracked me, grins on their faces.

I hopped onto the corner, and launched into a dance step that I saw a sexy android girl do in a sci-fi flick. The boys whooped and clapped. I waved and ran off, smiling all the way home.

The memory of that encounter triggered a lunchtime excursion the following week. After dropping Liz off at the dojang, I hurried home to try on my latest acquisitions.

The tag on the tiny baby-blue scrap of fabric described them as sculpting shorts. "My compliments to the sculptor," I breathed as I examined their fit in the mirror.

I was glad I was able to tuck my boy bits away, because the shorts were as good as painted onto my mons. The view from the rear took my breath away; the fabric somehow lifted and separated the globes of my butt as it dived into the cleft between them. It created a gap through which what looked like my pussy lips were visible.

The strappy sports bra would be the daring part for me; I had never run in such unmistakably feminine apparel. Thin baby-blue straps crossed between my shoulder blades and at mid-back to hold the bra snugly against my chest. Something about the material caused it to cling tightly to my nipples and keep them hard.

As I admired the hot, fit girl in the mirror, I had to admit that the baby-blue material of my shorts and bra complemented my light beige skin beautifully.

I threw on a thin nylon track suit and got in my car. A 24-hour pharmacy and an independent home improvement store shared the complex where my taekwondo school was located. I parked near the pharmacy, out of sight of the school. I stripped off the track suit, took a deep breath, and trotted off to the sidewalk.

This part of the neighborhood consisted of apartment buildings; smells of dinner wafted from them as I ran past. As I approached a primary school, three ladies in yoga wear who looked like teachers or aides walked out the gate.

"I wish I could wear something like that," I heard one say as I veered into the driveway and floated past.

The street in front of me consisted of single-family houses, and ended a mile down the road at a megachurch. As I turned toward the main road for the run back, I recognized a man walking my way as Brian, the father of one of our teen black belts. I barely stopped myself from greeting him with a cheery, "Hi, Brian!"

Brian plainly didn't recognize me in this setting or in my baby-blue outfit. He stepped aside with a smile and said, "Good evening, miss."

"Hello," I replied as I glided past, my heart pounding.

There was still a fair amount of traffic on the main road at this hour, chugging along from light to light. I normally avoided running on main roads because of the fumes, but I wanted to be seen.

My back was to traffic, so my sculpted baby-blue ass was in view. I slowed my pace and shortened my steps to a sort of running strut. The sidewalk was my runway. I could see people looking my way as I ran, with some passengers even sticking their heads out to get a longer look.

At the other end of the long split-level building that housed my taekwondo school was a well-known chocolaterie. It was closed now, but the expanse of glass in its storefront called to me. Its lighted sidewalk was a stage that was visible from the main road.

I admired my reflection in the windows from all angles, in full view of passing traffic. Suddenly, I heard a man call, "Yeah, baby!"

Traffic was stopped, and heads were turned my way. My vocal admirer sat in a red Charger, the driver visible behind him, both grinning my way.

They were in the far lane of traffic, and not able to turn into the chocolaterie's driveway, so I faced them, freed my hair from its ponytail, and posed with my hands in my hair.

Then I turned my back, and slowly ran my hands down my butt and along the backs of my legs as I bent from my hips, not stopping until my hands held my trim ankles. I turned my head and smiled at my audience as I held the pose.

Traffic started moving as the light changed. I straightened, and jogged around the corner of the building into its busy parking lot.

I strutted through the lot in my hot, tight outfit, my hair loose and my heart pounding.

Noelle was done hiding.