Change

He shifted nervously as he stood in line. He had chosen this lane because the checker was a woman. He didn't know why that made him feel better, but it did. Just a little. He glanced down at the basket in his hand. The contents were carefully selected: a sandwich from the deli, a drink, a box of protein bars, a box of tissues, all there to make it look like he wasn't there just to buy that package of panties.

There was nothing special about the panties; there were three of them, cotton, assorted colors, labeled "briefs". About as Plain Jane as you could get, he supposed, and held back a chuckle. Jane.

He placed the basket on the belt, behind the groceries of the woman in front of him. He schooled his face to look calm, even bored. There was nothing unusual about his purchases. Lots of guys buy panties, all the time. Clearly his girlfriend had sent him, he hoped people thought. The woman in front finished punching her PIN into the machine, and was gone. She didn't seem to suspect anything.

The woman at the register (more of a girl, really) didn't seem to care what his purchases were. She smiled as she told him hi, and ran his items over the scanner. His heart jumped as she picked up the package of panties, and he made himself look busy working the credit card pad. Nothing unusual, here. Everything is so boringly usual, that I can't even be bothered to watch the pretty girl ringing me up, he tried to tell himself. She _was_ pretty. That bitch.

* * * * *

He didn't shift nervously in line anymore. He still chose this lane because there was a girl running it; he hated it when there were only men available. His purchases now were more bold. Not just panties, but almost entire outfits. He would buy skirts and blouses and skinny jeans and t-shirts with the short sleeves that signified female ownership. He knew all of his sizes now, both male and female. It seemed that there were a lot more sizes to remember when you were a woman. Or dressed like one, even if only in private.

The was a man in line behind him. He hated that. He hated when anyone was in line with him, when he bought girl clothes. Even if the man was cute. But the man would judge him, was already judging him. A quick glance back told him that the man wasn't even looking at him or his girl clothes. It didn't matter anyway, right? He would never see the man again.

He avoided conversation as the girl rang him up. Always a different girl. Always he hated her, because she got to be a girl and he didn't. Always he envied her, wished he could look like her, wished they could hang out together and talk about cute boys. Sometimes he wanted to fuck her. More often, he wanted to be fucked by her.

She asked him if he wanted his card to be used for the total amount, and he said yes. He finished punching things on the payment device and waited for his receipt. He tried to smile politely as she handed it to him, and invited him to have a nice day. And he tried not to think "fuck her", because he knew he wouldn't.

* * * * *

The man who helped him with the shoes was not an attractive man. But he was friendly, and eager to sell him shoes. He knew about this store, knew that drag queens shopped here all the time, knew that he was not the strangest thing that anybody had ever seen there. Something about this place was comfortable; many of the shoes were naughty shoes, designed to elicit sex. Most of the styles came in womens sizes rarely seen on women. He wasn't home, far from it, but he was in a place of comfort.

A "normal" couple entered the store. He hated them for being normal, for being able to be normal. He felt less normal as they walked around, and he wished they would just leave. He registered the slight look of shock on their faces as they realized what kind of shoes he was trying on, but it flitted away like a bird. They would leave him be. Were they judging him? It didn't matter.

He ended up buying three pairs of shoes, all expensive. He wanted to buy more, but this was not his last stop of the day. He knew the other people were not getting the same service as him, because they were only buying one pair of shoes. And they were normal shoes. His shoes were not normal. They were sexy. Three-inch red heels. Lipstick red. A shiny pair of black Mary Janes. There was nothing plain about these Janes, he thought idly. And the boots. They came up over his knees. Black leather, sexy, exuding their forbidden qualities.

He wished he could wear these in public, after he left the store with them. But he would never pass as a woman. Would he? He had lost weight. He knew that some women were overweight. Most women were. And he could be one of them. But he didn't want to be. He wanted to be wanted, like one of those bitches in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. And none of them were overweight.

* * * * *

He nervously studied the boxes of douches in front of him. Which was the right one to clean him out? Fresh scent? Mountain breeze? This was new territory. He had read all sorts of things online about the douches. Were they really okay for men to use? Some people said they used them all the time. Some said they would dry you out if you used them in your ass. If you used them too much, he thought. Were they right? He didn't know.

He grabbed the "Fresh scent" box, because it seemed the most innocuous. He moved further down the aisle, where the tampons and the pads were. Did women use those when they used the douches? Were douches used during a woman's period? He didn't know. He wanted to try them all out. He wanted to stick a tampon inside of himself and see how it felt. He wanted to put the pads in his panties while he slept.

Finally, he bought neither. He grabbed a couple of candy bars that he didn't intend to eat, and headed for the register. He could pick up tampons and pads at the next store he went to. The woman at the register seemed disinterested. So a man was buying a douche and some candy bars. Who gives a fuck? He doubted she would even remember him or his purchases once he had walked out the store.

At the next store, he bought super-absorbent pads. And at the next he bought mini tampons.

* * * * *

He felt funny. The douche had been a little colder than he expected, and his tummy felt odd. And he seemed to be leaking a little. He had taken note of the filth that had been rinsed from him. He had had to sit on the toilet twice more after rinsing himself out. Was that normal? He would have to look it up online. But he was glad that he had bought pads. He didn't want to stain any of his panties.

He put them in his panties and pulled them up. No, the pad didn't reach all the way back to his bung hole. He slipped his panties down, moved the pad back, and then pulled them back on. Did girls ever use pads because they thought their assholes would leak? He didn't know. The pad was far enough back, that he wondered if they could cover a vagina and an ass opening at the same time.

He laid down in his bed. His bedroom was private, so he always dressed like a woman here. Tonight he was wearing black leggings and a pink t-shirt. And his pad-lined panties. He didn't know if any women regularly used leggings as pajamas, but he did know that these were comfortable as fuck. Did women ever use pads to protect their panties from their asses? He didn't know. His ass still felt funny. He drifted off to sleep, with dreams of both fake and real penises penetrating him. Just like that douche, but bigger, and thicker, and over and over.

* * * * *

Her eyes flitted awake in the morning sun. Her tummy felt funny. No, it felt awful. She had cramps. Then a sudden realization hit her, and she tore the blankets away. "Shit," she murmured, looking at the red stain gleaming back from her crotch. She had loved those panties. She jumped out of bed, and ran into the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, she pulled her panties down and surveyed the damage. Her panty liner was back too far, and had only caught some of her period. It looked like her other hole had had plenty of coverage. She was too mad to laugh at herself. Why did she put it back so far, anyway?

She hated having her period. Some guys would still want her, of course. Some even got off on fucking a woman on the rag. And they were all kind of creepy. But when she got horny, she didn't seem to care so much. And if it came down to it, plenty of guys would love to just fuck her in the ass.

What a weird concept that is, she thought to herself. A perfectly good vagina, and they get off on fucking my ass instead.

She thought about what to wear that day, and started off the the black Mary Janes. She loved those shoes.