X-change: Remedial School

Note: All of the characters in this story are over the age of eighteen. I didn't create X-Change or the concept of it. The Gifs have been on-line for years. Check them out if you like this sort of thing. There are many other stories on literotica.com that deal with X-change. Give them a read. There's some great stuff here. This story does not represent any real people or groups. Any errors or omissions are my own. This story includes a seemingly magical transformation. Look at the story tags. If that's not your thing you might want to go. Enjoy.

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The group of us were ushered into the generic "orientation room" at the front of our new school. It wasn't an exciting moment for any of us despite how cheerful the guidance counselor and the program director were making it out to be. The numerous scholastic propaganda posters did little to motivate us. This was "high school" for the people that screwed up enough for the real high schools to leave them behind. We sat in the same old, uncomfortable desks we once knew and waited. I looked about at my fellow students. We'd all been in some form of program before coming here: "Juvenile Hall" or as it was known the County Juvenile Detention Facility or JDC, County Youth Authority camps, or some other institution designed to house high schoolers that wasn't quite prison yet. Eventually, unless we did something very wrong, they'd have to let us go. Part of that included us demonstrating a willingness to complete and possibly even further our education. That's what brought all young men like me to one of several high school completion programs. My parents had been cautiously optimistic. My mom had three sons and I was the problem one.

The campus building was in the north of San Diego county along a stretch of corporate parks and regional buildings for the larger corporations. While the location was a little out of the way from the appeal of being in the San Diego downtown it afforded corporations larger space for their installations and the rent or property taxes were much cheaper than being in the real San Diego. The actual city that we were in liked to promote itself as a slightly more rural area known for farms and horse ranches. My new school was in a monstrosity of gray and blue lined with glass. Only two floors tall but it made up for that deficit with how wide and long it was. After parking just out front of the reception center my mom had my little brother wait in the car while she saw me off.

She was getting her hair done that day. It was still wet from her own prewashing: near black instead of our family's normal light brown and smelling of sweet berries. She'd spent our whole lives telling us about the value of appearances. My mom sold homes to the people that could somehow still afford houses in California. Before my mom left me there to go back to her busy day, she said to me: "I hope that this is a new beginning for you. For all of us. We love you, Bobby."

I agreed and told her that I loved her and all the rest of them. It wasn't worth fighting against my fate. It was decided. Of course, I already felt like shit for everything that I'd put my family though. There was no shortage of regret for what I did, and I still had trouble explaining why. My friends and I had been stupid--wanting quick money and things that were not ours. Unfortunately, it also got violent because people didn't like the idea of just letting us take their things. After it was all over, we knew that we'd been lucky. The prosecution wanted us to be tried as adults. But fortunately for us no one died or was seriously injured and we'd all been technically minors at the time That all happened three years before. Once we were all over the age of eighteen other options became available.

I sat there awkwardly in that desk that was already too small for me, and looked at my friend Brett. He still had the buzz cut that a lot of the guys decided to rock at the detention center. He still looked like a pissed-off young thug despite all of his claims of remorse. I suppose he was an attractive young guy with gray eyes and jet-black hair when it wasn't shorn off. People made a lot of gay jokes in the center. "Junior prison" as some called it. Did those things happen between the guys there? Probably. People talked about it. Nothing had happened between Brett and I, but then we'd been lucky enough to be processed out sooner than some of the other guys we'd met on the inside. I knew a lot of the other guys in the room. The only person missing was my former friend Ethan.

Once we were all settled in, the school director stood up before us. He wore an expensive-looking pair of khakis with the kind of polo that I thought someone who worked at a golf course would wear. The man looked like some local politician out mixing with the people in order to make them believe that he wasn't just another corporate product that was going to be on the ballot that fall.

The director was one of those people that spoke suspiciously well. "Congratulations," he said. "You've made it a long way to get to this point. I hope that you boys enjoyed the little break with your families. Remember that. The goal of this program is to ensure that you have more good memories. We want you to not only continue your education, but to evolve as human beings. You've all demonstrated abhorrent behavior that modern society deems as toxic. Some would say 'toxic masculinity'. It's safe to say that most of you are on a path towards prison or an early grave.

"I have some great news for you: that doesn't need to happen. We want to save you, and if we have your help, we'll do just that. You can leave here as a better person. The old you will be a creature of shadow living only in the past. What do you say to that?"

No one said anything, and I don't think the director intended to ever get a response to it. After the inspiring introduction we each got our time with a counselor after being given packet after packet of paper work to sign and to explain to us the different programs that were going to be made available to us. When it was my time with the counselor, I didn't get much out of it. He asked me a lot of the same questions they asked me in high school. I wasn't sure how to answer them because frankly I was amazed that I'd been allowed into the program. They told me to take it slow. After all: crafting what was going to be the rest of my life wasn't some simple thing. The gravity of their tone was probably lost on me. This was at an odd time in my life when I spent the majority of my time believing that I'd fucked my life up beyond repair.

School is routine and as special as this program was it had that quality. We all knew routine well enough coming out of Juvie and County Youth Authority. Most of my classes were intended to finish up what I had been working on in high school. They couldn't wipe the slate clean, but if I applied myself and completed the prerequisites then I'd eventually get my GED and began college level courses where I could build up a new foundation that hopefully would let me transfer to a school on the outside. Similar programs already exist all over the place so I wasn't sure what made this one so special other than the interior of the building.

The school didn't look like a prison at first. A person would recognize the hallways that formed a grid guiding students that paths to appropriate classrooms that were organized by departments. There was a library, a computer lab, and even recreation areas. The building was a product of the modern high-tech day. Fixtures were often glass, plastic, or some weird material in between. There were several plaques thanking many rich people from the tech industry for their generous donations and other posters with promises from those same corporate executives that they were eager to higher the newly reformed graduates of the program. If I told you some of the names of those people...you wouldn't believe me. The upper floor housed the offices of the instructors and the east side of the building was where we had our dormitories. We degenerates never thought that we'd experience college dorms and we were mostly correct. This was the program.

Despite our uncertainty things progressed as normal. We started to get used to school again and I even started to like it. Then some additional workshops were added to our schedules. These were small things at first. They wanted us to talk about how we ended up in our different situations and how we should have acted to prevent that. There were videos and live skits that were shown to us. The basic lesson from all of them was "toxic masculinity" is bad. Choosing to be violent or aggressive was a bad thing. Treating females inappropriately was a bad thing. I'd never done that last one to my knowledge, but the school had its own conclusions for all of us. We all went along with it, because that appeared to be what was wanted from us. When my parents called to check on me there was nothing negative that I could tell them. It took a whole two weeks before it happened.

"We've been sold out," said Brett to me. "Our families got rid of us."

"That didn't happen. It's weird, but look where we are, dude. You talk to Ethan?"

Brett shook head.

Our friend Ethan had been busted along with us, but as part of his defense Ethan had forsaken us as the never-do-wells that led him astray. Brett wrote Ethan off immediately as a traitor. It was harder for me. Ethan had been my best friend. On the inside he'd done his damndest to stay away from us, and all I got from him were a few curt and distant nods. As a result of that I'd gotten closer to Brett than I'd ever been, but I couldn't just let a friend fade away.

"We can't just write him off," I said. "He's our friend."

"He's your friend. Or so you still think. I don't see him here with us. That should tell you something."

I admitted to Brett that was true. The whole thing was so difficult. Ethan and I had been friends since we were kids back in the day. Our relationship early in life had such great meaning for me. To cast it aside was almost evil.

"I can't give up on him. It's Ethan."

"Whatever."

We parted ways to go back to our classes and these new routines that they promised would set us on the right path. Looking back on our situation, I suppose that all of us should've been grateful. My lawyer informed me that in the last several years multiple states had altered or relaxed some of their laws concerning juvenile offenders because of the new alternative programs and the fact that crime rates were actually down. My friends and I were the beneficiaries of this wonderful progress.

After math class I made my way to the computer lab to write an outline of an essay for English. I'd heard that some schools actually issued their students laptops to use. We didn't get that level of trust. Anything that was more expensive than papers and pens was confined to a room so we could be watched while we used it. While I worked on my outline, I heard a page over the intercom that summoned Brett to the Director's office. I wondered what it was about, but Brett was known to have an attitude if people rubbed him the wrong way. I feared that was probably it.

Within the program all of us were given an official email address and social network profile. The hope was to teach us relevant skills and that we'd network with future employers or educators on the outside. All of it was some very progressive stuff. Things that my rather conservative parents wouldn't have liked hearing about on the News, but if it benefitted their son, they were all for it. I used the opportunity to email Ethan—hoping to reconnect with what had been my best friend. That proved to be unsuccessful. After leaving the computer lab I bumped into Ethan in the hallway.

I said, "Oh shit. Sup, man?"

He was speechless for a moment. Ethan's big brown eyes studied me with uncertainty. People who didn't know us used to mistake Ethan and me for brothers. Not just because we were both brunettes with brown eyes. That's hardly a rare coincidence. We just happened to have many of the same features. Decent looking despite being sensitive about our noses. Ethan had a smaller frame, and people believed him to be my younger brother even though we were the same age.

He said, "Bobby.... You're here."

"Yeah, I guess most of us ended up here. I've been hanging out with Brett when I can. Have you seen him?"

"No."

It took me a few moments to start to catch on to what was up. Ethan was surrounded by a group of dudes that I didn't know. They didn't keep moving in the hallway when I stopped him. He was part of some new clique since I'd last seen him. Anyone who went to high school could tell you how that feels. Especially when it was your friend who'd been with you since forever. At that stage in your life you take your friends for granted. I wasn't wise to that. Not then.

"So, how are things?" I asked, realizing how awkward everything had become.

"I'm fine. It's good to know that you're okay. Someone told me that you got transferred to 'prison' prison. Glad that didn't happen."

One of his new friends spoke. "We need to be going, Ethan. This study lab is very important."

"Right," he said. "Well I'm sure that I'll see you around, Bobby."

"Sure thing, man."

I felt hollow on the inside as I said the words. We parted ways and as my old friend left with his new friends I wondered exactly where everything stood.

Brett knocked on my door later that night. I hadn't seen him for hours since he'd been summoned to the Director's office. I let him in and he asked to sit down. Brett chose to sit in the chair by the desk and seemed to collapse in on himself.

I asked him if he was okay.

He didn't look at me for a long time, and then he shook his head. "Not really, dude. I made a mistake with my whole attitude again. Some people can't take a joke. Fuck. I really thought that we were through the worst of it. Juvie was bad, but I thought that we made it through all right."

"We did, man. We made it here. What's going on?"

Brett looked at me with so much intensity that it made me feel uncomfortable. He said, "Would you do something crazy to help me?"

"What's 'crazy' mean?"

"Like something weird. But it will help me. Don't freak out, okay?"

"I'm not sure about this, Brett."

Did I suspect anything related to what was coming at that point? I'd be lying if I claimed that "weird" thoughts never entered my head while we had been confined in the JDC. There were days that I woke up and went to bed with a hard-on. Any form of sexual release is on the table when your body and your brain are starting to go crazy from denial. The least that I could do was to hear Brett out. Maybe it was something simple and not even sexual. I would've felt like a dumbass after that. My friend was going to pour his heart out and all I could think of was busting a nut. I agreed to help partially to staunch the guilt I was feeling.

Brett looked hopeful, but still frightened. "The program is here to change us," he said. "They're not messing around. One way or another they're going to change us, Bobby."

"Well that was the point, right? No big deal though. We just behave and stay in class. When they say that being a dude is a bad thing we nod like idiots and agree. Simple enough."

He shook his head. "It's more than that. They showed me all of it. The video, a PowerPoint, and even in person. I couldn't believe it, but now that they think I'm not going to cooperate, I have to do it."

"Okay. So, you said that you need help. I'll help you. That's what friends do."

Brett had a tiny smile on his normally serious face. "I've always liked you, Bobby. I know that you and Ethan go way back, but we're close, right?"

"Sure."

"When were on the inside I thought about you....in that way. I mean---not weirdly or anything, but you know: we were on the inside. It was different."

"We're not there anymore," I said. "It's okay now."

Brett dug inside the pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out what looked like the blister pack of a nasal decongestive pill. The tiny, little pill was bright pink to the point of looking like some strange candy. I was no stranger to drugs both on the street or the kinds that the doctors loved to prescribe to young people for all maladies real or imagined. Neither were a good thing from my own personal experience.

"What's that?"

"Their magic pill," he told me. "If they don't convince us to act like we're supposed to by the normal means they start us on these. Like the Director said: our behavior has been classified as toxic masculinity so we need treatment."

Before I could address how stupid that bullshit was Brett punched the pill out of the package and put it in his mouth.

I said, "Dude, don't take some pill that you don't want to take."

Brett didn't listen to me. He swallowed the pill and proceeded to take off his jeans. That left me staring at him with a "what the fuck?" look for a few moments. Then Brett began to shake like he was having an allergic reaction. I approached to check on him, but he gestured for me to stay back. Trusting my friend was difficult to do, but I had to believe that he knew something about what he was doing. That was how my experience with drugs normally was: I did it after other people did it in front of me, but there was always fear in the beginning.

However, this experience proved to be strangest. Brett began to change in front of me. Subtly at first. His height began to diminish. Brett had always been taller than me before, but in moments he was inches shorter. The stern features of his serious face softened and his rampant stubble fell away onto the collar of his shirt. After moments, I had to blink my eyes and ask myself when had Brett become so feminine. He groaned as bones shifted in his body. His hips flared out and his whole structure was made daintier. The hair fell off of his legs and soon enough they took on a feminine form. The whole of his being was altered. The flat chest beneath his yellowed "wife-beater" undershirt was stretched forward as generous breasts sprouted beneath it like swelling fruit. It was obscene yet captivating.

I covered my mouth at the sight of what was happening. It only got worse as the once prominent bulge within Brett's underwear receded and the outline of shape that I hadn't seen in a long time was left in its wake. Brett reeled and hugged his middle as changes were made within him. I noticed that his former flat ass had evolved into something curvaceous and plump that strained against the weak fabric of his underwear.

Things stabilized and the new Brett stretched out and took a deep breath in front of me. I felt as though I had beheld some kind of miracle like the pastor used to talk about in church.

"Oh God," he said. "That was worse than the PowerPoint said that it would be."

He or she stopped talking. She was surprised by the sound of her own voice. The former tough-guy gruffness was replaced by a voice that I wouldn't hesitate to call husky, but was decidedly feminine.

"What the fuck just happened?" I asked. "Am I tripping or something?"

The new girl said, "Are you tripping? Fool! Did you see what I just went through? Every bit of that shit was real."

"How was I supposed to not say that? I think I'm going crazy or something."

"You're not," she said. "This is what the pill is supposed to do."

"Why?"

"They said it's part of the therapy. The pill is called X-change and it's their answer to toxic masculinity."

"So, you're a chick now?"

"Only for a while," she said. "This lasts only for hours. Or so they told me. So, what do you think?"

Brett had become a well-endowed young woman. She looked odd wearing a guy's tighty whities and a stained undershirt, but I couldn't deny that she was hot. Her hair was still buzzed off as Brett's had been, but somehow that made her more attractive to me. Later, I would learn that the pill does its own thing. It lets the person's body decide what they would look like as the opposite sex. The hair was something that varies greatly. Some transforming males grew generous locks of hair and some barely changed.