Fitting the Part, by brucejedi (tg, wg)

[brucejedi]

Fitting the Part
by brucejedi

“Julia, You can’t wear those. You’d look ridiculous.”

“Sorry, what did you say?” My name isn’t Julia, it’s…it’s…

“Follow me,” said Leandra. She snatched the boxers out of my hands and dragged me through the store. We finally stopped in the women’s lingerie department. Cotton panties in every color surrounded us. “Here we go. You said you needed to pick up some new underwear, right?”

I stared at the rack. Something felt very wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

“Well you’re taking an awfully long time to decide. How about those?” She pointed to a pink bikini style with lace around the band.

“I don’t know, I…I’ve never worn something like that…I don’t think.”

“Oh, they’ll look great on you, Jules! How about that pair as well. Look, they’re on sale.”

Suddenly the world snapped back into focus. “Leandra,” I pleaded, “is this some kind of joke? What are we doing here?”

“Julia.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “This is the kind of underwear you wear…and will always wear.”

That evening I examined my new purchases. “This is absurd,” I muttered. “How could I have let her talk me into buying these?” I mean, here I was, a dude with killer biceps, captain of the baseball team, and now…proud owner of half a dozen pairs of panties. I decided to try one on, just to prove how ridiculous it was.

So I removed my boxers and then gazed down, dumbstruck. The image was almost comical: a pair of men’s underwear gliding past a woman’s vulva. It was a little unnerving, standing there nude from the waist down, the cool air filling the gap between my legs. So I reached for a pair of panties—the pink ones with the lace—and slid them up my muscular legs.

“This can’t be right,” I whispered. But the panties looked completely natural against my smooth crotch. I picked the boxers up off the floor, fingering the pouch in the front. “You can’t wear those,” Leandra’s words echoed in my head. “You’d look ridiculous.” I peered back down at the panties. Leandra was spot on with her selection—they fit me perfectly. I took one more look at the boxers—and tossed them in the trash.

The next morning I sat on the toilet, panties around my ankles. The seat felt cold against my skin. Guys have it so easy, I thought to myself. I got up and wiped the moist droplets from my crotch. Too bad I can’t just shake it like the guys do.

And then a feeling of vertigo swept over me. The cold seat, the smooth thighs…wait a minute! I’m not Julia! I’m…I’m…but the thought slipped through my fingers. I pulled the panties back up, gliding my hands around the lace, around the flat front. This is the kind of underwear I wear…and will always wear.

* * *

“Julia, you can’t lift that,” said Carl. We were in the weight room after school.

“Sorry, what?” Of course I could. The stack of 100lbs wasn’t even my max. I ignored him and lay down on the bench, grasping the bar with both hands.

“Careful! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” Carl positioned himself as the spotter. Not that I needed him, but whatever. Together, we lifted the bar off the rack. “Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna lower it into your hands real slow.”

Suddenly I felt a crushing weight against my palms. My arms trembled as I pushed against the bar with every ounce of strength.

“I got this!” I gasped. “You can…remove your…hands.” Carl lowered his arms, transferring more of the weigh to me. My trembling muscles wilted under the pressure, and the bar sank closer and closer to my chest.

This should be easy! I’ve done this hundreds of times. I doubled up what little strength I had left, striving even to push the weight out of his hands. It didn’t budge. I gasped, my heart thumping loudly, beads of sweat running down my forehead. Instead of rising up, the bar sank lower. I felt the cold metal press against my sports bra. Wait, I’m wearing a—

“Are you okay, Julia?”

I was breathing so hard I couldn’t speak. Thankfully, Carl came to my rescue, and I felt the crushing weight lifted from my chest. My arms flopped off the sides of the bench, exhausted.

“Julia, you’ve got to give up trying to prove something. You can’t lift that much. Not by a long shot.”

I tilted my head up and glanced around the room. Members of the varsity football team were lifting stacks of iron in easy repetition. Others were staring at me with concerned looks on their faces. Their bulging muscles gleamed with sweat.

And then I looked down at my own chest and arms. My biceps hardly made a dent in the tender flesh. A lavender tank top pulled taught across my slender torso, the lines of my sports bra plainly visible beneath.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Wait, Carl, I…I—” Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t place my finger on it.

“Come on, let’s go.” He pulled me off the bench.

Later that afternoon, I was gathering my things, eager to get home after such a strange day.

“Julia! Don’t you remember?” asked Leandra. “It’s Tuesday! We have softball practice.”

Of course. How could I have forgotten? Softball. As one of the more athletic girls on the team, a lot of them looked up to me, even if I wasn’t what you would call a power hitter. Wait, was I a power hitter? I seemed to recall…

“Leandra,” I said quickly, while the thought was still fresh. “Didn’t I used to hit more home runs? Like…last season?”

“You’re the lead-off batter, remember? You’re not supposed to hit homeruns.” Her logic made perfect sense.

The semester wore on. At Leandra’s request, I started shaving my legs more often. There wasn’t much hair on my thighs, but there was enough lower down to be visible if I didn’t shave. I agreed that my legs looked more attractive afterwards. Almost pretty.

Every once in a while when I was up at bat, I’d connect with the ball and think I’d hit one out of the park, only to see it land in short left field. And all of a sudden that strange sense of disorientation would return. I’d think back to the bench press. I should have been able to…I could have sworn… But at home after practice, I’d stare in the mirror, shirt off, gazing at my girly arms and narrow chest (no wider than my hips, even). I’d stare at my tiny breasts, at my nipples that I nearly always hid under a camisole or sports bra, lest they poke through my shirt. And Carl’s words made perfect sense. “You can’t lift that much. Not by a long shot.”

* * *

“Seriously, Julia?”

“What?” I brushed the hair out of my face. (I was growing it out—Leandra’s suggestion.)

“You know you can’t wear a bra with that, right?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. The words came out less confident that I intended.

She smirked. “There are some girls who could get away with that look, but not you, Julia.”

Leandra was being ridiculous…wasn’t she? The silky backless top looked amazing on the mannequin, whose figure was very close to mine: slender with a small bust. “Well, can’t I at least try it on and see?”

“Sure, okay…” she said, bemused.

I closed the door to the fitting room and removed my t-shirt. A pink underwire bra cupped my breasts, ample cleavage spilling out the top. Wait a second…

“You okay in there?”

Mouth agape, I unclasped the bra. My breasts spilled out onto my chest, sagging down heavily. I leaned forward to get a closer look. My nipples looked so…big.

“Julia?”

“Just a second!”

As I settled into the top, I suddenly felt like an idiot. Even through the loose, flowy material you could plainly make out my nipples, poking defiantly through the fabric. And the dent they made was so…low down on my chest. It was obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Let me see!” Leandra insisted.

It doesn’t make it any sense. I’ve worn tops like this tons of times. Backless is good if you’re flat-chested like I…am. I walked out to the viewing area, breasts swaying noticeably with each step, nipples gliding against the fabric, sending chills down my spine.

“See? I told you, Julia. I mean I’m a B-cup, and I wouldn’t wear something like that.”

But I’m a—

“And you’re a C, pushing a D.”

A guy walked in, probably somebody’s boyfriend. Blushing, I hugged my arms across my chest. I’m such an idiot. What was I thinking? I should have listened to Leandra. Maybe some girls could get away with this look, but not me.

My next selection—a tank-top button-down with wide shoulder straps—worked a lot better. It showed off my chest without being too obvious, and Leandra liked how it ended just high enough to show off my trim waist and gently curving hips. I was a little surprised when I first looked in the mirror—the curve seemed more pronounced than I remembered—but I quickly shoved the thought from my brain. Mirrors don’t lie.

We had a game the next day.

“Julia, you’re batting sixth tonight,” said the coach.

Sixth? Wait, don’t I usually—

“Leandra, you’re batting third.” She bounced up and down. She’d been swinging the bat a lot better these days. I was almost jealous.

Tonight she hit a line drive to left and I soon found myself on deck. I took a few practice swings, frustrated that my sports bra couldn’t keep my boobs clear of my elbows.

The first pitch came and I made contact. Then I watched dejectedly as the ball rolled down the third base line. I sprinted towards first, bra straps tugging against my shoulders as the flesh on my chest shook in all directions.

“Out at first!” the umpire yelled.

“High five, Jules!” said Angie, our catcher. “You almost made it.”

Walking home that night I was beginning to wonder if I was really cut out for softball. The best girls on the team were taller than me and not as curvy. I mean, I look great in heels and all, but in flats I’m only 5’4”.

Wait! That can’t be right…can it? My mind did a somersault. I peered down at my cleavage, at the hint of white lace you could see from this angle, adorning the full support bra that cradled my breasts.

My breasts? Since when do I have.… I thought back to tonight’s game. They press against my arms when I swing the bat. They hurt when I run. Come to think of it, I’m the bustiest girl on the team—a C-cup, pushing a D.

* * *

“Julia, sweetheart, I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re not gonna fit into that dress.”

But it was a size 6. I could wear a 6…couldn’t I? “Well can I at least try it on?” I asked.

“Look, they have it in an 8,” she said, pulling one off the rack. “It’s stretchy so maybe you can go down a size from what you normally wear.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, and took the size-8 dress from her outstretched arms.

Alone in the fitting room, I removed my jeans, revealing red lace panties stretched wide across lush, fleshy hips. As I placed the jeans on the bench, I noticed the tag: size 10. That can’t be right…

The dress’s zipper was in the back, so I asked for Leandra’s help. She wiggled it up and down, finally getting it zipped up past my butt. Fuck, it was tight. I sucked in my belly to make Leandra’s job easier. She yanked the zipper up a few more inches.

“Um.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It won’t go up any higher.”

“Really?” The dress was so tight around my waist I could hardly breathe.

“I think we should try a 10,” Leandra suggested.

How could this have happened? I replayed the last couple weeks in my mind. Had I really been eating that much junk food? I stared at my reflection, searching for answers, gazing down at the prominent love handles that stretched the fabric to its limits. Leandra unzipped the dress.

The size 10 went on much more smoothly, even if it was still snug through the hips. I looked in the mirror. “Wow, that’s cute!” I beamed. The skirt was short enough to show off my thighs, thick but nicely toned from all the running around the bases.

“Yeah, it’s…short.” That was all she said.

“I know. I like it like that.”

But Leandra was still staring in the mirror. Then she gazed directly at me. “Julia. I’m sorry, but you just don’t have the legs for a dress like that.”

What? I—I. But as I gazed back into the mirror, I saw exactly what she meant. The short skirt plainly showed off the soft, dimply flesh that covered my thighs. It needed to be six inches longer, at least.

“There are exercises you can do to tone that area,” said Leandra.

“I’ve tried them!” (I had?) “But my thighs are just as fat as always. Some girls are just unlucky, I guess.” The words felt strange as they spilled from my mouth.

“Let’s find you a longer dress,” she said.

I readily agreed. Moments later I was back in the dressing room, tugging my size 12 jeans back on over my toneless legs and butt, thankful to conceal them from view. Then I followed Leandra back through the aisles, wide hips swaying, pant legs swishing back and forth, vowing to stick to a better diet.

When school let out the next day, I wished Leandra good luck at her game. Wait, didn’t I used to be…

Memories flashed through my brain. I was the star of the baseball team, not softball. And I had an insatiable crush on this girl—on Leandra—even though she showed a lot more interest in that football player, Carl. One night after hitting the game-winning homerun, I cornered her at the after-party and flatly requested that she sleep with me. When she refused, I said something—what was it? I can’t remember—but it clearly pissed her off. No wait, it should have pissed her off, but it didn’t. She just smiled and said, “Julia…”

My mind flashed back to the present. Julia, don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. No girl has ever been on the baseball team. Anyway, I’m way too out of shape to play a varsity sport. With a butt the size of mine, I’d be lucky to make it around the bases. And I just don’t have the legs for it.


Author’s note: Parts of this story were inspired by Varian Milagro’s, “The Purse Came First,” and Mikkelm’s “The Katy Nightmare,” both of which are posted on Fictionmania.

[Tornasunder]

I think the part of this that resonates with me is how our own lives are determined by similar defining moments. We don't remember everything we do each day. It is the highlights, the challenges, and how we meet them that make us who we are. Constantly we go back and reflect, perhaps even regret key moments such as the ones you put forward here.

[Alice]

Bruce, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this story. Thanks. This is definitely a new favorite for me.

[brucejedi]

Thanks for the kind words, you two. This was a fun story to write.

[allthosecurves]

Terrific story, as always, Bruce! I loved reading Julia's perspective during her progression between the different body types and athletic abilities. I hope you plan on writing more stories soon!