The Z Gene

A recent Saturday morning in June, 6 days after I turned 19, finds me strolling through Morningside Park. To my left Lady Liberty is lying on her side. Her head is propped up on her hand. My fraternal twin sister Joann is on my right.

Looking back at the year just completed at NYU, I chatted about the things I did with guys in the fraternity, some of which Jo remembers. I also talked about guys I know at school.

On a deep level I tried to imagine myself as a girl having Jo's figure, a slim hourglass. I don't see myself as a cross-dresser. Even so, I like the outfit she's wearing; a black short-sleeved off-the-shoulder top and ripped jean shorts.

On this day I would learn a surprising secret about myself, one that I could easily accept. Jo had known the secret since we were born. I would come to wonder why she never told me.

"Steven you have the Z gene."

"What the hell is the Z gene?"

"That's the one that will change you into a girl if you stare at her too long. You know how much you like to ogle women."

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind having a body like yours."

Jo grinned then gave a reply.

"I find it funny that you stare but you never pursue."

I never had another girlfriend after my brief fling at age 15, though I do prefer them.

Suddenly I could see myself carrying a crossbody bag, though not a terribly expensive one. In my mind I pictured it packed with everything a woman carries inside her bag: meds, tissues, tampons, vaseline, makeup kit, hairbrush, compact mirror, elastics, phone, wallet, pen, gum, tic tacs

"What would you wear?"

"I love what you're wearing."

"Is that so?"

I replied with a nod. I added that "Capris jeans are nice."

Late afternoon sees Jo and me back home in St. Albans. I'm standing alone in front of a window on the second floor of a wooden shingled house. Below me lies a well-maintained lawn where I used to play as a small boy with my friends.

My mom does genetic research. She reiterated my sister's explaination of the Z gene and reminded me that I was born with it.

I spotted a young woman on the sidewalk below my window. She happened to be wearing a black Floral-print romper with 3/4 sleeves and flared ruffles at the cuffs.

My body suddenly began to reshape itself. In my periferal I could see my hair growing. It came to a stop at the level of my chest. My face was changing shape as were my hips. Mounds were growing on my chest. My upper arms felt soft to the touch. All the effects of my workouts had gone away. My teeshirt and shorts had morphed into the romper that I saw below my window.

I had to see this to believe it. My mirror above and behind the dresser showed me Joann. She wasn't even in the room.

September

My room in Brittany Hall at NYU is a long fairly narrow living space with a hard wood floor and a couple of rugs. There's a bed at each corner of a large window and a desk on each side of the room with book shelves above it.

I came inside, took the bed on my right and the desk beside it. Barely a minute later the door opened. In walks a blue-eyed blond wearing ankle jeans, pointed-toe booties, and a pale-pink cable-knit sweater.

"Hi, I'm Stevie."

"Jackie," she replied.

At that instant her eyes caught my eyes.

I asked, "are you from New York."

"Boston," she replied.

She engaged me in girl talk. Over the next several minutes I came to know a lot about her friends, family and even her x boyfriend. I told her much about my life and friends.

She asked, "what's your major."

"Psychology," I replied.

"Same," she said.

There are more interesting topics in a girl's life. My sister taught me that the day I morphed.

I asked, "what happened between you and the x boyfriend."

"No sparks," she replied.

Her eyes still held my eyes while she related the long story of the relatonship and the breakup in great detail. Our intense physical attraction will eventually give way to a sexual relationship.

"Do you feel like grabbing a bite to eat?"

"Yup," she replied.

We found a table by the window at Palladium food court. We kept eye contact over an unhurried meal.

I'm lesbian. I liked girls in my former incarnation as a boy. She's hot. I want her. She wants me.

Should I tell her about the event? She'll never buy it. It happens to one person in a billion. If it makes the scientific journal then she'll believe it. It's best not to tell her now.

At 10 p.m. in the privacy of our dorm we both closed the books and notes. Tomorrow's another day, another lecture.

A look led to a passionate kiss. Within seconds I am lying naked under her. She is gently rubbing me between my labia as she kisses her way down my body.

I let out a soft moan, then another soft moan. She pulls her fingers from me and her tongue goes there. I clench my teeth stifling a scream.

Jackie wedges her thigh between my thighs as her tongue brushes my lady parts licking my juices.

We rose in the morning at a late hour giving ourselves little time to get dressed. Jackie took my hand in a tight grip as we headed out.

I have to tell my sister that I'm in love. She's straight but I know she'll understand and accept me.

Like me, Jackie has straight siblings. Will she tell them about us?

We are walking through a brisk breeze toward the main campus. Other students are also headed away from the dormitory complex.

Just out of my last class, I sought Jackie inside the fairly crowded Palladium food court. It took me several seconds to locate her and take the seat facing her.

"You finally got here."

She closed the text book and stuffed it into her back pack.

Does she know about the Z gene? She knows what color and brand name bra I wear, even my size. I may as well tell her that I was not born a girl. It's only a question of timing. I can't be the only person born with it. It's not like it's an affliction. I like being a girl now that I'm used to it.

"I got out of my last class at 1 o'clock."

That statement told me that she had been here for an hour.

Several more days passed. Jackie and I got into a routine. Even though class schedules didn't match, we managed to spend time together during the day. We pulled the beds close to make it feel like sharing a queensize.

Jackie pulled a New Port from the pack on her desk and flamed it with her Bic. She took a deep drag and lowered her hand to the desk top.

Until this moment I ignored her smoking. In fact, I didn't regard it as an appealing habit. Now as I contemplated telling her my secret, I felt as though it might calm my nerves.

"May I have one of those?"

"Help yourself."

I flamed my first ever cigarette and inhaled deeply. Smoke streamed from my lips toward the floor.

On a subcoscious level my brain decided that the ciggy tastes good and feels right.

I took two more long drags then spoke.

"Have you ever heard of the Z gene?"

"Oh my God you were born with it, wern't you."

"Yah," I said.

"What was your boy name?"

I said, "the masculine form of Stephanie."

She nodded.

It will be such a relief to satisfy my craving for nicotine. On my way to my first morning class I detoured to a small store off campus. Barely outside the store I drew the first cigarette and lit it with the pink Bic classic.

We walked and talked, each of us enjoying our cigarette.

"Were you caught by surprise when you were morphing?"

"Not at all," I said. "I expected it to happen."

"I was born female. I hope I never change."

"I was surprised when my sister told me I was born with the gene. My mom confirmed it."

Two o'clock could not come soon enough. Outside in the breezy air I cupped my hands around the flame shielding it until my cigarette started burning. Relief came with the first drag.

Jackie approached. We walked side by side to Brittany Hall.

"I've been aching for a cigarette all day."

Jackie did not reply to my remark.