Wishes (700 words)

hello my sweet angels <3 i'm still working my little butt off on the next chapter of Two Doms (11.5K words so far, we're getting there!!!) and i just wanted to let you know that!!! it's on the way!!! i will get it to you soon!!!! it just might be a couple of weeks. in the meantime i dug up this cute little short i wrote a couple years back. mwah love you babes

cw: dysphoria

When she was fourteen, Jessica Davies wished she was a girl.

Back then she wasn’t a girl, as much as she wanted to be, as much as the desperate, aching feeling in the bottom of her gut told her she should be. She was a boy, with a boy’s name, and a boy’s life, and a body that was becoming more and more painfully boyish with every passing day. 

Her future felt like it was getting dimmer. Fading away. How could she ever be happy, when being a boy was all she had to look forward to?

She wished she was a girl. 

If she was a girl, life would be worth living.

– 

When she was seventeen, Jess wished she was trans. 

She still wanted to be a girl. That feeling hadn’t gone away, as much as she had tried to choke it and kill it and bury it under the crushing weight of masculinity. She had made a firm decision, years ago, to never think about how much she wanted to be a girl ever again. And then she had thought about it at least once a day, every day since.

But she had heard about trans women, and she had done some research in a private browser when nobody else was home, and she discovered they were beautiful. They were gorgeous, and happy, and natural. And Jess knew, in the twisted pit of her stomach, that she was nothing like them. She was a creep, a sick man with a fetish. 

She wished she was trans.

If she was trans, she could be happy.

– 

When she was twenty-two, Jess wished she had started hormones sooner. 

She really was Jess by this point, at least to herself. She had figured that out, eventually. She had cracked and clawed her way out of that concrete shell. Just a shame it was years too late. 

Sure, the hormones were doing something. Her skin felt softer, and she could cry now. She did it a lot, sometimes just to revel in the fact that she could. She would look up videos of poetry readings, and spend hours letting people pour their hearts out to her over and over until her soft cheeks shone with tears. 

But she was twenty-two, and no matter what she did she would always have the buried bones. The funhouse mirror proportions that proved she wasn’t real.

She wished she had started hormones sooner.

If she had started hormones sooner, she could've been beautiful. 

–

When she was twenty-five, Jess wished she was a brunette. 

By then she was Jess to everyone. She had heard the name hundreds of times, at first tremulously from her own mouth, then matter-of-fact from the people at work, and these days, more and more often, in breathy whimpers as fingers tightened in her hair. 

Sometimes it seemed insane that she had ever been a boy. Everything that had seemed impossible now felt so natural. She couldn’t remember what her chest had felt like without the familiar weight of her breasts. She couldn’t remember not feeling beautiful.

At least, not until she had to shave. Her morning stubble felt like a rash, grey shadows like burn marks on her chin. She was saving up for electrolysis, but god, it was so expensive and so painful, and such a frustrating reminder of where she had come from. If she wasn’t blonde, at least she could get laser.

She wished she was a brunette.

If she was a brunette, there would be way less hassle. 

-

When she was thirty, Jess wished there were more Twilight movies. 

They played on Channel Ten, one each Friday for the past four weeks. They had stumbled across the first together, and Cindy had gasped and insisted that they watch it. So Jess made popcorn, and they snuggled on the couch. When Edward ran Bella through the trees, they squealed with laughter, and when the ads played, they turned to each other, and let their bodies meld together, and they missed the ending. 

Tonight was Breaking Dawn Part 2, and after that they would need a new tradition. Maybe they would go out, or Jess would cook. Maybe they would just go to bed early. Their Twilight nights were perfect. But anything could be perfect these days.

Jess wished there were more Twilight movies. But there weren’t.

She could live with that.