Adam stared past the mirror-glass and into his own eyes. They were perfect in place and symmetry, blue as the sea. His cheekbones, nose and jaw came together to make a flawless model’s face. His rational mind said that he should be happy, for he had everything he could ever want in terms of intelligence and good looks, and his parents were kind and loving. Still there was sadness inside those eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his parents that there was something wrong with him, that the perfect son they had spent so much money on gene-tailoring… wasn’t really perfect after all.
Adam could lie to his parents, to the world, but not to himself. He saw the gorgeous young man in the mirror, but he hated him utterly. He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced down at the body in the mirror, resisting the urge to flinch in distaste, as he often did at seeing it bare. Yes, it was a perfect body, but it wasn’t his. It was the body of the perfect son. But in truth, all his life Adam had known that he much more wished to be the perfect daughter.
(#00668 - A303)
He’d stolen one of his mother’s old dresses. One of her ‘circus tents’ that she dragged out and laughed at to think she was once so fat with child.
Body gestation had its risks, they said. But it was the ultimate expression of love…
That’s what mother said. They could have gone for an artificial uterus, but the fashion at the time was to use the uterus already there…
If they had been unfashionable… Maybe Adam wouldn’t be in so much trouble.
He slid the dress on. Cupped a purely imaginary bosom onto his slim frame. Restyled the hair that Adam had been allowed to grow out to a certain length. Just a little too long for a boy.
“Hi,” she breathed, trying to sound more like the girl she knew she was. “My name is Adelle…”
“Do you want it to be?”
Adam froze. Panicked. Almost messed herself. “Please don’t be mad?” she squeaked.
Mother was leaning against the doorframe with her perpetual glass of tan liquid. It was fashionable to be an alcoholic… but only those closest to her knew that it was sparkling apple juice.
“I’m not mad. The risks were explained. Including the fact that you could have missed out on some important hormones. Entirely my fault. Adelle. It’s a pretty name.”
There should have been yelling. There should have been fury. Everything she’d read on the subject told her that the bodyqueer were routinely rejected.
“Y-yes…” she stammered. “I’d like to keep it, please?”
“Of course,” said Mother. “I suspected you might not be the son I ordered. I’ve had all the right doctors lined up for some time.”
The dress dropped. “Really?”
“Of course, darling. Only the best. And always the best. Want to start the process?”
Adelle’s mouth said, “Yes please!” before her brain could think it.
It was going to be a great year.
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