A commission I did for DeviantArt
Sam had never thought of himself as the type to commission a story, but here he was, fingers trembling on the keyboard as he typed out the request. The idea had taken root weeks ago: what if he could see himself not just as he felt in private, but as someone else imagined him? Someone with the right words, someone who could make the fantasy real.
He had dressed as best he could for the occasion, slipping into a soft pale sweater cinched with a corset, A tartan skirt skimmed his thighs, the stockings beneath a whisper against his legs. Passable, he told himself. Believable, if only in the right light. But still—he wanted more. He wanted to be captured in words that made him unarguably feminine.
The author responded more quickly than he expected. Your story is special, the message read. Not like the others. It deserves to be told in stages.
That phrasing hooked him. Stages. Like a performance, or a transformation unfolding piece by piece. There was one more request. Send me a photograph. Just one. It helps me to see my characters clearly.
He hesitated. A photograph was different from words; it was proof, exposure. Still, he wanted the story to be perfect. After several minutes of arranging his wig and checking the angle in the mirror, he snapped a picture: camera obscuring his face, head tilted just so. He attached it to the reply before he could overthink.
The first story arrived three days later. He read it at his desk, then again in bed, then once more in the bathroom mirror, where the words seemed to shine brighter against the reflection of his dressed self. He was described as graceful, soft-featured, admired in passing glances by strangers who never doubted his femininity. Each sentence wrapped around him like fabric, smoothing out the flaws he obsessed over. He devoured it, breathless, his heart racing at every line.
When he closed his laptop, he realized he was smiling uncontrollably. He felt lighter, almost buoyant. The story lingered in his thoughts as he went about the next day: a secret jewel of confidence.
He caught himself walking differently, hips swaying with grace, shoulders soft. At the grocery store, he even thought he noticed someone glance at him with recognition, though he quickly shook it off.
Back at home, a new message was waiting from the author. I’m glad you enjoyed it. The next part will be different. More immersive. You’ll see.
He shivered, though he couldn’t have said whether from excitement or unease.
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