Show Time (TG)

[Sphore]

Author's Note: This story is best read with this photograph as a reference.

Also, I have included a small, spoilered content summary. If you are offended by some transgender transformation material, you can refer to the brief description of the content in this story below and decide whether or not you want to read it. Otherwise, you can skip the spoiler and read on at your own enjoyment.

EXTREMELY PROSAIC SUMMARY
A teenage boy finds himself transported to a turn of the 20th century dancehall, where his first his clothes, and then his body slowly changes into that of a titillating dancer. After transforming he gradually acclimatizes to this new life, eventually marrying, raising a family and living a full life, which is described in shortened format, before he returns back to his old body and life in the present, not entirely sure if the whole experience was real or not.
/END SUMMARY

Luke shambled through the old museum, his mind dulled from boredom. Why did his parents always drag him to useless things like this? A bunch of dusty exhibits, from some bland old time a century in the past. He wandered back into a room that he'd already visited. A stage, with empty seats, and a few scattered pictures decorating the back wall.

Hmm… odd. He was sure that the stage had been empty before, but now a collection of mannequins were posed on it, dressed in what must have been scanty garb, at least by early 20th century standards. Was this the same room?

He turned around, suddenly noticing that the red emergency exit sign wasn't where he'd remembered seeing it. Spinning around, he noticed that the seating wasn't a bunch of cheap folding chairs, but rough-hewn benches. Every time he turned his head, the settings were different from when he had last looked.

A whirling feeling filled Luke’s head, as he stared at the mannequins, suddenly looking much less like faceless clothesbearers and more akin to lifelike wax sculptures. Luke slowly turned around the room, taking in the change when a boisterous roaring from behind shocked him. Spinning and losing his balance, Luke tumbled to the ground as the room fell into darkness. He staggered towards a dim light, only to have it blaze into sudden illumination. The auditorium before him was suddenly packed with a thronging audience. Luke stared in shock, bewildered at what had just happened. He backed away from the sudden crowd, stumbling onto the stage, only to see the women began a dance- slowly at first, but ever more rapidly as their waxen bodies became flesh. The young man stood transfixed, dumbfounded at the sudden change of events. One of the girls turned her head in surprise, before turning her attention back to the crowd. To the side, a male voice whisper-shouted at him.

“What the hell are you doing like that on the stage?!”

Luke stammered. “I- I don’t know… my god sir, I- I really don’t know. One minute I was-“

“Get off! You're doing nothing, that’s what you're doing! Get off, get ready, you know what you’re paid to do here!”

The man pulled Luke off the stage and led him aggressively by his hand down a series of poorly-lit hallways.

“I don't know what's going on! Is this some kind of show-”

“You hare-brained?” The man threw open a door and pushed Luke into a dimly-lit room at the end of the hallway.

“And what on earth are you wearing?!”

“My clothes!”

“Get into your outfit!”

“My outfit?”

“You've got ten minutes to get into costume and get back on the stage! Hurry it up kid!”

With that, the man turned and exited the room, slamming the door behind him. Panicking, Luke jumped up and tried to pull the door open. It wouldn't budge. He banged on the door repeatedly, until the man opened it up, glaring into Luke's soul.

“I don’t have time for this Lucy. Get changed, or you’ll be back out on the streets.”

With that, he delivered a hard shove to Luke’s chest, causing him to stagger backwards onto a rough wooden bench. Shaking from fright, Luke slowly pulled himself up and looked around. What was going on? Where was he, why was this happening? Deeply disoriented, he nonetheless gazed around the room in an attempt to place himself. The room was square, windowless, constructed of loosely-fitting boards, and the only decorations in the room were a small ledge with a purple flower, the bench upon which he sat, and a mirrored vanity cabinet. Unsteadily rising to his feet, Luke stepped towards the cabinet. Apparently the loon on the other side of the door wanted him to put on something from it, but…

“No way.”

The dresser was filled up with a bizarre collection of garb- cheap Victorian finery, gaudy undergarments… all of it women’s clothing. Luke reached in and pushed some of the clothing out of the way, searching around for something appropriate… but he could find nothing.

What the hell was he going to do? Luke was about to shout this very similar question when a strange sensation silenced him. He looked down to see his familiar green t-shirt. It felt as if it was dragging against his skin. Luke blinked and looked more closely, to see that the fabric itself was shifting, as if it was boiling or burning- but that was impossible! The pilled cotton of his shirt was was, at a very small scale, twitching, stretching and thinning. Its colour was fading from green to a paler, lighter colour.

“The fuck?”

Luke pulled at his shirt as it grew ever finer. The printed text on the front cracked and disintegrated, fading into nothingness. The faintly green fabric was not only thinning, it was growing tight as well. The fabric snapped back out of Luke’s hands, catching him painfully on his chest like an elastic band. He noticed at that moment that, as he had been holding the fabric, his collar had stretched several centimeters downwards and outwards, exposing his collarbone. The shirt was now almost entirely devoid of colour, and was sheer nearly to the point of transparency. Only his widened collar and sleeves retained their original colour and texture.

With an awestruck face, he watched the collar yawn wider and wider, successively baring his shoulders and upper chest. The edge of the collar was now darkening further, and gaining and odd texture. His attention shifted to his sleeves, which now sank down his arms, quickly passing his elbows. At this point, he felt the shift reaching his pants. They were loose-fitting jeans, and as the change overtook them they began to slowly ripple and pleat, sinking lower onto his shoes, then all the way to the floor, obscuring his feet.

“Okay, what-” Luke’s words were cut off as he attempted to take a step back towards the door, only to stumble and trip upon his softening, baggy pants. He plunged to the floor, gracelessly breaking his fall with his hands. Momentarily dazed, he noticed his collar’s texture changing even further- it had changed from a lime green to a deep shade of emerald, and intricate beadwork was beginning to grow on it. Small, glittering beads were appearing on it like dew in the morning. Panicking, Luke reached over and pulled at the collar- which at this point had sunk even beneath his armpits- only to freeze and see his hands. They seemed to be twitching, small pulses were running over his skin- and they were changing. Noiselessly, they were thinning and smoothing themselves, losing their calloused skin and scattered hairs. They were growing… feminine. Even his fingernails seemed to be lengthening.

“What the hell is happening?!” shouted Luke, to no reply. He pushed himself up from the floor, and tried to pull off his transforming shirt, but even as he pulled, it simply loosened in one area and tightened in others. The sheer, silky fabric wrapped tightly around his torso even as he pulled the collar wider, while his sleeves, attached now to the fabric on his chest by only the thinnest strip of beaded emerald fabric, hung down to his forearms and bloomed outwards, growing soft like everything else he wore. The tightness in his torso was now affecting his breathing, and he began to take shallow breaths, as his ribcage and waist slowly compressed inwards. After a few moments of discomfort, he felt like his breathing returned to normal, though he could tell that his breaths were smaller than they had been before.

“What are you doing to me!?” Luke shouted, shuffling over to the door and pounding at it. No response came from outside. Luke felt the crotch drop out of his pants with a flourish, as the inseam gave way to the luxurious pleats, opening up his pants into a floor-length skirt. With every shimmying step, the material felt less like denim and more like some kind of slippery gauze. With a shiver, Luke felt his belt suddenly loosen detach from the upper edge of his pants. He grabbed at them before they fell to the ground, but the belt came alive like some animal, snaking upwards to seize the center of his former collar, now transformed into a richly-beaded sash stretching around his chest. Swiftly it merged into the emerald fabric, and began to thicken. At the same time, the back of his pants glided upwards, attaching to the thin strips of fabric attaching his sleeves to his torso. The immediate threat to his pants was gone, so Luke made another attempt to pull off the collar-sash. However, another look at his fingernails gave him pause. They were small and neat, and stood at the ends of narrow, dainty fingers. Gritting his teeth, he slipped his hands underneath the low-hanging collar and tried to pull it off. One fingernail tweaked his right nipple, which stiffened suddenly at the touch. Luke froze, withdrawing his hand in shock. He stood still for a second, eyes wide, before he slowly put his hand back over his chest and pressed down. He felt a jolt of unfamiliar sensation: a looseness, a softness of warm flesh which had never been there before. Horror in his eyes, Luke stumbled over towards the mirror, and gazed into it. Staring back was himself, but clad in a bizarre costume. Silky green sleeves covered his forearms, while a tight, nigh-near transparent silk garment hugged his torso. His nipples were nearly visible through it. The beaded sash was beginning to sink in the very front, forming an alarming y-shape, while a long pleated silken skirt, the colour matching his sleeves, sheathed his legs. The upper edge barely covered his groin, the band of his boxers was clearly visible. He looked like some kind of historical transvestite! A bizarre and terrifying thought, that he was changing into a woman, flashed through his mind.

Panic rising, Luke staggered back towards the door. His legs swished through the fabric and his muscles burned as his gait changed. He halted after two steps, realizing that his shoes, which had been growing uncomfortably tight in the course of recent events, were now beginning to develop heels. He took two more steps before spinning around, causing the dress to flare outwards at the bottom, as he prepared to sit down. He dropped himself down on the seat, immediately realizing that something had gone terribly wrong as he sat down. His buttocks were well padded, and spread out widely as he rested upon them. Luke seized their sides with both hands and let out a cry of shock, suddenly realizing this most recent change to his body.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?!” he cried, hoarsely now, at the thick wooden door.

No response was forthcoming. Luke sat, clutching at his slowly swelling buttocks in terror. After a few moments, morbid curiosity overtook him, and he pulled back his dress, leaning forward to see his shoes. The sneakers were nearly gone, converted to some sort of shiny material, and a one-inch heel stuck out of the back. The logos and different materials on the shoe were bubbling away to nothingness. The tongues of each shoe were nearly absent, while the laces were alive, weaving their way up around his legs… which looked darker somehow. Pulling his dress up higher revealed a ring of ever-thinning cotton rising up past his knee- his socks were lengthening into some sort of stockings. He shifted uncomfortably, as the dress fell back to the floor, causing a jiggling sensation on his chest. His hands raced up to steady the masses, which were still very small, but impossible to hide under the sheer fabric. Luke nearly lost himself in fear, but held control. He noted with muted relief that his groin seemed to still be itself. He pushed himself up, bracing against the wall, suddenly feeling a sliding feeling struck his groin. He cried out in fear, and his hands raced instinctively to the threatened area. Doing so, Luke lost his balance again and fell back onto the wall, striking it hard with his back. His tiny breasts jiggled again at the impact, stimulating his nipples in a way that he had never felt before. Luke cursed, in a distinctly higher pitch than usual. After a few moments of desperate patting through his dress, Luke realized that he was unchanged, at least in body. However, his boxer shorts were flowing around him and thinning out. The upper part of fabric was shifting into a pair of panties, but the legs were each sinking lower. Wiggling his hips allowed him to feel the fabric settling into a set of feminine undergarments, while the lower legs changed into garters, snaking down his thighs towards his rising socks.

Luke tried to push hard down on his legs, preventing anything from changing underneath his delicate dress, but the effort was fruitless, and his arms were growing tired. With a fearful glance, he saw his arms thinning, growing smooth and pale. Were his efforts to stop the change spurring on the transformation? Luke immediately withdrew his arms at the thought, and he pushed himself back up against the wall, willing himself to go limp. A crawling feeling on his neck quickly disproved the hypothesis. With a panicked motion, Luke swatted at his hair, feeling it grow longer and wavier. He gave a brief panicked noise, which came out as an effeminate squeal. His Adam's apple was breaking down, shedding mass and sinking away from prominence. Luke cleared his throat in a grunting manner, trying to deny the change.

“Let me o-out!” his voice cracked in the middle of the last word, triggering another furious burst of throat-clearing. Hyperventilating, Luke noticed that the sinking sash hanging from his collar was now touching the silk over his thighs.

“Ple-ease!” His voice cracked higher again, prompting a silenced squeal of fear. Luke rose back to his feet and strode across the room, struggling to maintain his balance in the now 2-inch heels. He sensed something deeply awry with his stride, but purposefully ignored it. Reaching the door, he hammered at it and shouted.

“Please let me go!” came a feminine voice. Giving up on the door, he flung himself over to the dresser and stared into the mirror. With frantic breaths, he watched with terror as his hair slowly darkened to a deep shade of brown, developing a loose curl and beginning to descend down the sides of his neck.

It was at this point that Luke's will broke. He froze, then began to sob, unable to look. His whole body shook as he wept, and with each heave he felt a growing jiggle in his chest. He shakily pushed one hand under the low-cut skintight fabric to feel his nipple expanding, slowly pushing upwards and away from his ribs. The skin grew pebbled as the nipple hardened to the touch.

Between sobs, Luke managed to squeeze out a few words.

“Pourquoi est-ce… why is… wait, what?” With horror, Luke found himself unintentionally speaking French, a language of which he knew little. He spluttered a few more words, only to discover his hold of his own language swiftly deteriorating.

“Mais… je ne peux pas… is… but... I... euh, I... quelque chose…”

Staring into the mirror again, he saw the changes slowly spreading onto his face. It was no longer his own face, no longer recognizably his own. Was he changing underneath too? His teeth felt different. His chin, his tongue, his lips, his nose, all felt different. Was his own mind being replaced too? And his chest… no, his breasts. They continued their unstoppable, creeping growth. At this point they were now proper female bosoms. That fact was inescapable. They were not piece of costume, some cold, alien object sitting on his chest- they were warm, supple, bursting with sensation, and a terribly real part of his body.

Luke had no more energy to resist, so he simply stared, dead-eyed, at his changing reflection. He knew that he no longer had the linguistic skill to plead with the man who'd thrown him in here in his own language. Luke’s breasts swelled gently outwards, and he shivered involuntarily. When would they stop? They hung heavily, sensuously on him now, the feeling of shifting fabric sliding over his enlarged nipples causing all sorts of unwanted pleasure. His eyebrows thinned, and his facial features finished their transformation. Luke looked on his reflection in defeat. His thin lips had become pert and pursed, his beaky nose had thinned and turned upwards, and his glittering blue eyes became a doe-like brown. The shape of his face itself had changed, it was round, its angles eroded away. Lucille realized, with horror, that his mind really was changing now. He could recall a childhood in Québec, growing up in the 1880s… but wasn't possible. It couldn't be! In horror, he tore through his own memories, suddenly unable to recognize which had been his before, and which were only now being introduced- was he even losing his own?

Lucille looked up once more at his reflection, which seemed to have stabilized. He had a short, but attractive hairdo, with a refined sort of face. Green fabric hung loosely from his arms, and cradled his legs in a long skirt, while a bejeweled sash rested atop and hung down between his breasts, the fabric now reaching nearly to the floor, swaying gently from side to side. Sheer, nigh-transparent fabric covered his torso, providing only the faintest semblance of decency to his feminine form.

But his thoughts were on his memories. Her memories. The distinction was gone. His old life was gone- he realized hopelessly, he was unrecognizable, and the memories that had been his before seemed just as clear as the once that had appeared only moments before. He was beaten.

This realization brought on the climax of his emasculation. Lucille felt a sudden shock in his groin. His legs locked together and twisted from side to side as she let out a high-pitched scream. His penis felt as if it was being eaten away from within, a new hole was yawning its way open beneath, while his testes were pressing themselves aggressively into her body. After a few moments of blazing sensation, the brief, but intense pain subsided, leaving behind only a soothing haze of endorphins. Lucille sighed in relief, then caught herself. The realization that she had welcomed the sensation after the change, even in the moment of the loss of her old gender, made the psychological blow of her changes that much more harsh.

As Lucille wept, her figure swelled to completion. Her breasts continued their growth towards voluptuousness, while her rear padded itself out further. The feeling of high heels under her feet became familiar. As the warm afterglow of transformation faded, the young woman felt a coldness begin to overcome her. With some resolve, she pushed herself vertical, wiping the tears from her face. She could still be brave. She could still fight this. She could survive.

Without warning, an angry voice called from outside. She recognized the sounds, but could not make out the English words, so quickly were they spit out. She could make out the number 'one' and her name, but little else. She knew her time was near.

Memories of Lucille's life, and realizations about her situation rose to the front of her mind. She moved over to the mirror and deftly applied her stage makeup. The Boss would be furious if she was unprepared. He was a cruel and violent man when upset, but he was fair. Without him, she would be a prostitute, or worse.

Just as she finished, the door flew open. The Boss gave a nod. Lucille's heart raced and her chest heaved as she rose to her feet, swiftly making her way out onto the stage. A stage light blazed at her, and she saw the packed crowd in front of her. Men, dirty, uncouth and unshaven. Men from all corners of the earth, drawn past the furthest frontiers in search of gold and fortune. Men who hadn't laid eyes on women in weeks.

Lucille managed to make a nervous smile to the crowd. They cheered, hollered and whistled. And then, quelling the terror in her heart, she let her memories take control, and began to dance.



Over the coming weeks, this alien new reality became a routine. Lucille danced six shows a day before retiring to the bunkhouse with the other girls, exhausted. On her day off, she cooked for the others and found the time to attend a service. Luke, she remembered, had not been much of a church-goer, but Lucille knew that her parents had raised her to be a good Catholic girl.

Lucille wrestled with that paradox of identity. Was Luke just a strange dream she had had? Or was Lucille entirely a fabrication, was her whole childhood manufactured in a moment, at the time of her transformation? She remembered it so clearly though, and over time Luke's memories seemed increasingly foreign... she couldn't even remember the language he used to speak, which caused her no small amount of anger and frustration.

That said, perhaps linguistic isolation in those first few weeks was for the best. It allowed Lucille the space to adapt to her new life, without having to also involve herself immediately in the social struggles of the other showgirls. Nonetheless, spending all of her time with them, she gradually began to pick up the language, though knowing that she had once spoken it fluently was secretly infuriating.

She made friends with a few of the other dancers, and even dared, once or twice, to broach the topic of how they had lived before they found themselves performing shows on the distant frontier, hoping to find some clue towards the mystery of what had happened to her. However, her poor grasp of English usually led only to laughter, confusion, and occasional misplaced sympathy.

Over months, Lucille became more comfortable in her female body, with its shorter height, different gait, and... prominent bosom. It was, in many ways, like growing into an ill-fitting suit. What had once been awkward over time became intimately familiar. Lucille didn't need to dance mechanically from those memories that had appeared in her mind anymore, she danced with instinct and joy... not to mention a keen sense of how she could move to best titillate her audience. With her talents, she was able to draw great crowds, and earn substantial tips on top of it all.

Lucille also slowly grew more comfortable with other aspects of her femininity. For a long time she had reacted with fear, anger and embarrassment at her own arousal, which usually served to quickly shut everything down. However, as these novel feelings ceased to be exotic and gradually became familiar, she lost her distaste and grew to accept them, and then eventually enjoy them. In due time, she even began to overcome her self-imposed mental blocks, products of her male memories, and started to look at men in that way, and wonder what it might be like.

In time, she would set her eyes on a handsome young Québecois prospector, with piercing blue eyes and a gleaming smile. Shared glances in church turned into outings, and before long Lucille had fallen head over heels in love with Jean. With him, her long isolation was broken, and it was as if the entire world was opened to her. Romance blossomed between the two, and within a year they were married. 'Lucky Lucy' left her job, then turned around and used her considerable earnings to buy the old dancehall from the Boss. Together with the ever-handy Jean, they expanded the building, erecting the finest hotel and restaurant in town. Over the coming years, Lucille would bear Jean six healthy children, two sons and four daughters. There were tragedies and setbacks in their lives, losing two infant children to illness, and losing the dancehall to a fire, but they recovered, growing over time into pillars of the community. In the Great War, Jean left to serve as an officer, but returned four years later, unharmed, to his family. Together, Jean and Lucille operated their businesses through good times and bad, well into old age, before their son Eric took over day to day management. Jean Millau died in 1963, and his heartbroken widow Lucille passed away in 1967. Both are interred at the Pioneer Cemetery at Fifth and Prospect. The second hotel partially burned down in 1988, at which point it was it purchased, rebuilt and restored by the Gold Rush Historical Society, who operate it as a museum to this day.

Luke blinked, feeling as if he was swimming in thick gauze. His whole body twitched, and he shook his head violently. The words were written in front of him, on an informational placard inside the museum. He looked up, and felt like he was looking into a mirror. Her face stared back. A few discombobulating moments later, he realized that it was just a large photograph of Lucille in her dancing outfit, framed on the wall. Reality was flooding over him like a rising tide. He was in an exhibit. Visiting an exhibit. But... he had been there. He'd lived her whole life. He remembered it all, Jean, those first nights in the cabin, the hard early years building the hotel, her children. Her children! She'd watched them grow up, and grown old herself.

Luke could only stare ahead, slack-jawed. Had he just hallucinated this all, from reading a woman's life history? But it had all felt so real. Had he gone back in time, lived this whole other life, and then come back when it was done? That's what felt right- but that was impossible! Luke was still standing in stunned silence when he heard his parents' voices.

“Luke? There you are, we've been looking all over for you. Where'd you wander off to? Find something interesting? You were bored out of your gourd last time I saw you.”

Luke's father looked up at the buxom figure depicted on the wall, then back to his son.

“Heh, trust you to find the turn of the century T & A.” Luke's mom playfully slapped his father's hand. His younger sister simply muttered “gross” and turned away.

Luke didn't respond, but slowly nodded, rejoining with his family- his family- as they headed towards the museum's exit. His body was present, but his mind was lost, caught disentangling a very lengthy knot of time. He knew he just wanted to get home, to be alone, and to decompress... but in that moment, he wasn't entirely sure where home really was.

[Sphore]

I have been a little hesitant to post my work after the mess that followed my last story, but I like sharing my work with people who share our interests, so here we are. This story doesn't have any explicit sexual content, or any particularly objectionable content as far as I'm concerned, but I think I'll be putting up little spoilered warnings (unfortunately this website does not seem to have spoiler tags, so I'll have to make do with tiny fonts), describing in brief, prosaic terms what is included within the story. If anyone has suggestions for good ways to do content warnings for their work, I'd definitely like to hear them!

Thanks for reading!

-Sphore

[CNash]

Gosh... That was excellent! A plot device almost like one from the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "The Inner Light", but put to use far differently...

Your transformation scene was very well written and descriptive; it did help to have the image on hand, given the unique nature of her costume.

[iamlampy]

Great story! And a well paced, wonderful transformation. Believable and tactile.

[Grungepunk]

I've always been a big fan of your work and glad to see you back with another excellent piece.

[Sphore]

Thank you very much for the responses guys. I'd never seen "The Inner Light" before, I see the similarity, although I suspect that the trope of living someone else's long life in a brief vision has probably been told many times. And I do particularly like the descriptor 'tactile'. I hadn't thought of it that way before, but I really do like transformation writing that includes a lot of sensory language. You've given me another way to look at and improve my writing.

[Chaos Echo]

Clearly, he's her reincarnation, and he was simply reliving his past life.

[CNash]

Originally Posted by Sphore

Thank you very much for the responses guys. I'd never seen "The Inner Light" before, I see the similarity, although I suspect that the trope of living someone else's long life in a brief vision has probably been told many times.

Heh, sorry - The Inner Light is practically the ur-example of this kind of story, at least amongst sci-fi/fantasy geeks - all you have to do is say "it's like that episode where Picard lived a whole lifetime in one afternoon" and people will know what you mean.

(Pleas do watch it if you haven't, it's generally considered one of the best episodes of the whole series.)

[Raijin]

This was a really well written story, I enjoyed the ending as well.

[genderhazard]

likewise, good job

[tgfreak123]

welp, thats one way to teach history to a kid

[Scorch]

Great story, the transformation was well paced and interesting. I wonder if Lucille was a ancestor of Luke or something, along the lines of Assassins creed where you can view your genetic history with the Animus system.