Hey, all! Thought I’d christen this forum with a little novelette I worked up over the course of a couple days. It’s a little rough quality-wise compared to my normal stuff, but I think it’s still pretty cute and very wholesome. It’s also the first story I’ve finished since getting back into writing ABDL/babyfur stuff again.
Description: Childhood best friends Megan and Victor haven’t seen each other in years. Victor hides a secret or two. Megan knows far more.
Content Warning: physical regression, trans themes, self-hate/internalized transphobia, implications of past trauma
Chapter 1
The Lie
“Hey, Megan?”
“What’s up, Vic?”
“When I grow up, I wanna be a magician.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
“Why?”
“Because there’s all these really cool lights, and explosions, and music, and you get to wear makeup and really pretty clothes. And then when you go out on stage, all the people cheer!”
“You wanna be a magician so you can wear pretty clothes? You can do that without being a magician, you know.”
“No!”
“Then… you wanna be a magician so people will cheer for you? Do you just wanna be famous?”
“No, silly! I wanna be a magician because of what cheering for someone means*.”*
“…You want people to yell at you?”
“No, Megan. I want to make people smile.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! I swear!”
“…”
“Okay, being famous would be pretty cool too, but I wanna… When my mom and dad and friends see me, I wanna be able to make them smile.”
“…That’s a really cool dream, Vic.”
Today was the day.
Rumors had been spreading for months in communities of like-minded people. These sorts of wild phenomena didn’t come up all the time. This one, though, had apparently lasted for quite a while, and had shown no signs of going away anytime soon.
Most people would walk through the aisle without realizing anything was up. As always, there was some sort of ritual, some method to the madness required to make the magic work. Fortunately, people smarter - not to mention more arcanically capable - than Megan had already sussed out the exact steps needed to trigger it. She’d even talked it over with her teacher just last night. All she needed to do was follow some simple instructions, and she’d be along for the ride.
Or Victor would, at least.
She’d have to be careful, of course. This wasn’t something contained. This phenomenon was wild, uncontrollable, with no known source. Thus far, though, as far as she was aware, there hadn’t been any serious incidents. No one had yet found a way to screw things up that badly with this particular surge. She didn’t intend to be the first.
Today, Megan had a date with a childhood friend. Not a date date, just a catching-up sort of thing. She generally preferred girls anyways.
Vic definitely wasn’t a girl. She supposed he was a pretty normal 20-something year old guy, albeit one with long, wavy, unkempt hair and a bit too much fuzz on his face. That part was new, one of the many questionable decisions he’d made since he decided on going to college.
Megan leaned up against the side of the building, stroking her forearm anxiously. This was going to be a huge turning point, huh? No going back once she started. It wasn’t just going to change Victor’s life forever, but hers, too. She knew it was for the best, but…
Would their friendship survive?
Did it matter? Hadn’t it already fallen apart? Hadn’t everything, for Vic at least?
She pulled out her phone, opening one of the social media apps to scan Vic’s newest profile. There he was, front and center. His latest video showed him standing in a dimly lit basement, sandwiched between two other guys who were all grinning at the camera. They probably all had something going on, but Megan focused on Vic. Stains on the t-shirt and cans of beer in their hands told the story of late, drunken nights, and the timestamp reading 2:33 a.m. only made that more evident.
Knowing Victor - and judging by what Megan had seen scrolling through that feed over the past few weeks - his entire current look probably started as some sort of drunk bet. Baggy death metal t-shirts and torn gray jeans? Victor didn’t even listen to anything with an electric guitar in it. Smooth jazz and big band, if she remembered right, and she was a hundred percent certain she did. If she gave him a lot of credit, that was probably just a cheap thrift store find. If not…
She just hoped they wouldn’t pass any actual metalheads. She might die of secondhand embarrassment.
More importantly than the drinks and late nights, though - and even more importantly than his questionable fashion choices - was the story that Vic’s face told. He smiled, but it looked nothing like the smiles Megan had seen in the past. His eyelids were drooping, and dark circles had formed just beneath his eyes. She flipped to the next post: his latest exam results. Straight A’s. The rest of his posts follow the same trends: night’s out with the boys in which every smile looked forced, and reminders of his academic status. Not once in the entire feed did Megan spot a single moment where Vic looked like he cared about any of it.
They’d planned to meet at a favorite local spot, somewhere both of them frequented back in high school. She waited diligently for him in front of a little hot dog stand. To her eye, it looked almost exactly like it had years ago: a little metal frame on wheels with a “JUMBO HOT DOGS” sign, maybe slightly more faded than it had been, underneath a plastic cover on the front of the box. The stand itself sat in front of their local Save-Mart. It was a pretty convenient location, she had to admit, and not just because it was familiar.
About fifteen minutes late, she saw him coming. He pulled into a nearby parking spot in a beat-up old Toyota. He even almost managed to stay in the lines. Then her friend jumped out of the door, made eye contact with her, and smiled. This one, at last, looked real.
She’d missed that smile. She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen it in at least five years, even though he’d only been gone for two or three. For that split second, before either of them said anything, it felt just like old times.
Old times were almost what Megan was here for.
“Hey, Vic?”
“What is it, Megan?”
“I think I wanna be a writer when I grow up.”
“But I thought you wanted to be a mer- a maree- a person who studies fish.”
“Uh uh. I did wanna be a marine bi-ah-low-jist, but now I wanna be a writer.”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“Well, um… ‘Cause when you were talking about wanting to be a magician, I thought about that too.”
“You want to write magic tricks?”
“No. Like books, and movies, and stuff like that.”
“Why? You still didn’t say.”
“…‘Cause I wanna be able to make my friends smile too.”
A few days ago, Vic had finally returned home. By the end of his junior year, partying and drinking had become the only life he had outside of studying. Study all day, drink all night, repeat until exams. Pretend to have some sort of social life. Focus on getting the prerequisites he needed if he ever wanted to get his MBA. Then, the next semester, start again.
He couldn’t stay in the dorms during the summer, though. That left visiting home and staying with his parents. He took the couch; a quick trip past his old room showed it filled top to bottom with boxes. His parents woke him up at 6:00 a.m. every morning with questions about whether or not he was going to get a summer job, reminders to study, and occasional gripes about his smell. he endured. After he finally got through these first four years, he could move on to that master’s program. Then, he could finally get a job that would make them smile.
On one fateful day, the ding of a new message called out from Victor’s phone. He let out a sigh as he lifted it into view, expecting to see yet another picture of his friends having fun on some beach somewhere. Instead, the message simply said “Wanna get dogs and hang out?”
He leapt up from the couch and darted for the door. After slipping on his shoes, he rushed straight to his old, beat-up red Corolla. He jumped in the driver’s seat and turned the key, only to be stopped by another message.
“Does this Saturday at noon work for you?”
Vic trudged back inside, cheeks glowing red. “What were you up for in such a hurry?” his mother asked from the kitchen.
“Nothing. Thought I forgot something, that’s all,” he replied.
The next few days passed in a painfully slow blur. Every second he had to wait felt like a needle stabbing into his chest. When was the last time he’d seen her? What was the last thing he said to her? He didn’t remember. Had they even spoken since he went to college? Oh no. What if she hated him for that?
After several days of boredom and building tension, Victor pulled into a parking spot near the front of the Save-Mart lot. Kind of a miracle that there was a spot that close on a Saturday. He turned off his old, beat-up Corolla and stepped out to see the sites. There, in the same place they had to have met at least a hundred times back when they were both in high school, he saw his old friend.
A redhead with slightly messy chin-length hair stood just in front of the stall. She wore a solid black v-neck shirt, with a matching skirt below and a gray zip-up hoodie tied around her waist. She waved the moment Vic got out of the door, not a drop of anger in her eyes. Relief coursed through Victor’s veins, and he returned a smile.
She’d been off on her own, hadn’t she? He knew she was studying, but it was some sort of private course of study, not a college. He didn’t remember the name. It had to be around here, though, right? As far as he knew, she was still living in the same old house he remembered. Otherwise, why would she be here?
The two locked eyes as he strolled across the intervening space. “Hey, Megan!” he called out mid-approach.
“Hey, Vic!” she replied. She opened up her arms, and he went in for a hug.
He’d washed this shirt, right? At least since the party the other night? He didn’t smell like booze, did he? He hoped not.
“It’s cool to see you again,” Vic said as he pulled away. “Been up to anything fun?”
Megan shrugged. “Not anything too exciting. Same old town, same old stuff.” She waved to the man standing behind the cart at last. “Can I get a couple of dogs? Both of them fully loaded, right?” she asked, glancing over to Victor.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Victor watched as Megan dug around in her purse, pulling out a couple of bills. She passed them across to the other side of the cart, then looked back to Vic. “Kind of surprised. You used to be a ketchup only kind of kid.”
“What can I say?” he asked with a shrug of his own. “I grew up.”
“Yeah,” she replied softly. “You did.”
Vic frowned. Awkward silence took hold over the two. Only the sound of a hot dog vendor slathering toppings onto their dogs broke it. He rushed to grab the offered food at the same time Megan turned towards it.
Both of their hands grasped the first offered dog at the same time. Megan spun towards him, her eyes alight with surprise. “Sorry. You can have this-”
He’d already let go by the time she finished talking. She let go right after. The hot dog tipped forward off of her hand, falling in slow motion. It smashed right into the center of Vic’s shirt, then slid slowly down from there.
By the time it fell to the ground, the mess of ketchup, mustard, relish, chili, cheese, sour cream, onions, and who knows what else had thoroughly coated the entire front of Victor’s outfit. Remnants of the stains ran all the way down past his knees. The sticky, damp feeling somehow even managed to reach the inside of his boxers.
Megan leapt into action, grabbing several napkins and rushing to scrub away what she could. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another hot dog.”
“No- no, it’s my fault,” he replied. He couldn’t move, though. She was already wiping down one of his pant legs. “Megan, you can stop-”
She stood back up. “It’s not your fault. Really, it isn’t. It’s definitely mine.” She glanced back down at the streaks of red and yellow. She grimaced. “I don’t think we’re going to get that out. I’m so sorry. Let’s just- Let’s go into Save-Mart, okay? You grab some cheap clothes. I’ll pay.”
Victor stared, standing stiff and still for a single confused moment. “It’s not that big of a deal, Megan,” he replied after a moment of consideration. “Look, I have to clean stains out of stuff all the time.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, like, the stains other people leave at parties!” he hastily corrected. “People get drunk. All sorts of shit happens at those things. You get used to it.”
“You still need something to wear for today,” she replied. “We’re supposed to start our day by getting hot dogs. I don’t want you to have to stand around in something that looks like that. I can’t imagine it feels all that great either.”
“Really, Megan, it’s fine-”
Megan’s right index finger suddenly lifted, placing itself right atop his lips. “I don’t want to hear it. You need clothes. A t-shirt and some pants, right? Maybe some socks and underwear, too, depending on how bad it is.” She pulled her finger away, pointing it towards the Save-Mart doors in the same motion. “This place isn’t even that expensive. Now, come on. Don’t make me fight you over this.”
“Hey, Megan?”
“Yeah, Vic?”
“Do you really like my magic tricks?”
“Huh? What do you mean? Of course I do!”
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“My friends were saying that you just pretend to like my magic. That no one really likes it.”
“What? I- I’m not pretending! I love your magic tricks. They’re super cool!”
“Really?”
“Duh! You’re really good at it.”
“…”
“You- you like my stories, right? You aren’t lying about that, right?”
“No! No, your stories are super cool. I really liked the one about the witch’s apprentice.”
“Okay. Good. And that one is kinda my favorite too. It’s really special to me.”
“Is one of my tricks your favorite?”
“Of course! I still can’t figure out how you made ten whole quarters disappear. I mean, last time you did that trick, you didn’t even have sleeves or anything!”
“Yeah! Haha…”
“…”
“Vic, are you still gonna get that sparkly purple cape you were excited about?”
“…Maybe.”
“You should!”
“I dunno. Isn’t it kinda… girly?”
“…”
“Megan, are we still friends?”
“Of course we are, Vic! We’ll always be friends. We were friends even when you were nine and I was only seven. We’ll still be friends next year when you go to eighth grade, even if I’m still in sixth. We’ll even be friends when you go to high school. That’s not gonna change, ever.”
“Promise?”
“Pinkie promise.”
No matter how many times she thought it through, no matter how strongly she convinced herself that this was the right thing to do, the guilt of lying to her friend still ate at Megan’s heart. Lying to him about just wanting to catch up was one thing. Coordinating the spill - especially when he tried to take the blame - and hiding what she was planning was another.
She followed him through the store, keeping close behind. They searched the clearance racks for a t-shirt and set of sweatpants that she knew he’d never wear. Black pants with a white stripe down the side, plain gray shirt with a generic “New York” printed on the front. She insisted on holding onto them, pushing him onward towards the next missing piece. Every second she had to wait just pounded that nail further in.
“Are these socks okay?” she blurted out, grabbing a random pair from the shelf. He raised an eyebrow.
Slowly, Megan turned her attention towards whatever she’d grabbed. That pair of bright pink knee-length socks went right back onto the shelf. She snatched a single pair of plain black socks in their place. Thankfully, these earned a nod.
Her heart stood still as she started to turn. This was it. she had one shot. She knew what she needed to do. She’d even practiced it, as much as you can practice this sort of thing.
What if this was a horrible idea? What if it ruined everything forever? Was it too late to abort?
But if she didn’t go through with it, would she ever see that smile again?
“Underwear is over here,” she said, praying he wouldn’t notice the shakiness in her voice. She led the way towards an aisle, one that ran from the back of the store to the front. They entered at the front, at the section lined on both sides with products targeted at elderly individuals. She shook her head, then made a beeline for the boxers.
As she arrived, she glanced back at him one last time. He wasn’t paying much attention. Even without the stains, his clothes were dirty, and the smell of alcohol clung to him. That might have been typical for a college student, but it hadn’t been for Victor. At least, not for most of his life.
More than anything, though, he looked tired. He looked sad. He frowned every time he didn’t know she was looking. He kept glancing at his phone, sniffing his booze-scented shirt, looking in Megan’s direction with a mixture of shame and fear.
He probably didn’t even realize how sad he looked. He might not have even realized that he was sad. He never sounded like he did, at least not when they talked about what they were planning with their lives, not when he finally gave in to the pressures of his parents and his peers. She could see it in the way he carried himself, though, the way his head drooped, the way he sluggishly wandered the corridors, the way he stared off into space. The light in his eyes was gone.
Megan took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. She reached towards the boxers… then shook her head. Her hand drifted to the right, to a pair of brightly colored panties patterned with flowers and bumblebees. She reached towards the package, pointing in its direction as she spoke. “Do these look okay?”
“Hey, Vic!”
“Hey, Megan.”
“What’s up? You don’t look like you’re doing too great.”
“…”
“Oh, I know! Show me that new trick you were working on, the one with the cards and the four boxes. Showing that stuff off always cheers you up.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no*.”*
“Are you okay, Vic? You never miss a chance to show me what you’re working on. Come on, maybe just do the one where you hide the card in-”
“I’m not doing any magic anymore!”
“…What?”
“I said I’m not doing that stuff anymore.”
“Do you need a break?”
“…”
“Wait. You mean… you’re quitting magic?”
“Yeah. Never again.”
“I- I don’t understand. That’s… that’s like your thing. You’ve wanted to be a magician literally your whole life.”
“Not anymore.”
“Come on, Vic. What’s really going on? You know, you can talk to me if-”
“I don’t need to talk to you. I’m not doing any of that anymore. My parents and I had a talk, and we decided it was for the best that I stop doing something so childish and silly. People don’t make careers off of doing magic tricks.”
“Some of them do-”
“No, they don’t. You have to get really lucky for that to work out, and you have to be one of the best in the world. I’m not one of the best in the world. I’m just some junior in high school trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
“You really don’t want to do magic anymore?”
“…”
“Vic, if it’s a money thing, my family’s-”
“Have you ever seen how other people look at us?”
“What?”
“You know, when we’re walking down the hall at school, or when I’m practicing magic at lunchtime. Do you know how they look at us?”
“I- I don’t-”
“They look at us like we’re freaks*.”*
“Vic… Then let them! To hell with that. Who cares? I’m a freak. I’m happy to be a freak. Freaks actually have real friends, and freaks actually care about each other. Freaks do the things that make them happy. Freaks make each other happy! Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“…I’m not going to make anyone happy doing what I want.”