As Kate opens your wardrobe you want to recoil from horror. Afraid it's all going to leap out, smother you in the femininity you want to deny.
Seeing the look on your face, she pulls out the most unisex and androgenous outfit for you to wear. Offering it for you to accept or reject. You assemble as boyish an outfit as you can. Dismissing any skirts or anything with frills, pastel shades, or suggestion that you're embracing this...
Trying not to think about the whole, as you get dressed. Allowing Kate to toss it onto the bed for you to poke, prod, and ensure is as inanimate and safe as possible.
Pulling your selections on, you realise how naive you've been. The whole tailoring is different. Those pants don't hang loose, disguising the width of your hips, or the full ass you want to wish away. It clings, cleaving to every curve accentuating them. The top isn't as shapeless as you fill it with the same treacherous curves that mark your new sex.
Too short and too tight, you look sporty rather than boyish. Ready for a jog rather than a dance. You swallow your frustration, reading the anticipation on Kate's face as she waits for your approval. Every item you're wearing is something you've chosen.
But still, you've ended up looking rather innocent.
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