The Boymoder Diaries

The story posted here is an artistic work of fiction and falsehood.
Only a fool would take anything written here as fact.

Act 1: Boymoding

Chapter 1: The Date

 

"So, uh, what do you do?" 

This was the worst line she could’ve possibly opened with. She knew this deep inside her heart. It was a verbal knife stabbing into an open wound of every listless millennial's heart. But she asked anyway, because her brain had swiftly shut down at the slightest glance of his arms.

"Well, dating you, I guess!"

Oh, that was smooth. Her brain shut down a little more, and she giggled. That was nice. That was exciting. That was crazy. That was fucking insane. She giggled at a fucking guy flirting with her. She's on a date with a fucking guy. What the fuck was she doing? What the fuck was she doing!?

It was three months earlier when she started chatting online with Chad. She'd done this for years with random fucks online, but they'd never gotten 'real' enough for her to ever actually take them seriously. Whenever guys would actually offer to meet up in real life, she'd quickly close whatever trashy ERP chat log she was in, or try to delete the disgusting hookup app off her phone faster than she could blink. 

This time, however, seemed different. He wasn't all that unique compared to the other guys, apart from being a bit funnier. Maybe it was her that was different now. Maybe she has actually been able to change, for the first time in her life.

She was a little bit giddy. This was another first step into the rest of her life. To go on a real date, with a real guy. She'd never gone on a date before in her entire life. Her entire life! And now she’s finally going to do it? Really? For real? For actual actually? 

But what was she going to wear? Her wardrobe was still pretty shoddy. Closets change as much as people do in their lives, even when they’re trapped inside their walls. But for her, change was slow going. She had a black hoodie, a dark red hoodie, a grey hoodie...and some jeans. And some sweatpants. Some flannel. Some band-tees. A single sports-bra (reluctantly purchased). Her tits really did hurt, after all. Fuck, am I this much of a coward?

"Yeah, I am," she said to her reflection, who said it back to her simultaneously. 

She kept on trying outfits with her paltry selection. She needed something cool. Something normal. Something nobody would ever doubt that she was just a normal guy. Something nobody would be able to tell what's hiding underneath. Something pretty. Something cute. Something eye-catching. Something that would make a guy fall in love with her and want to stay with her and not leave her. It needed to check every box or else she was going to get shut down. Maybe she should order something from Amazon? Some piece of novelty trash that wouldn't even fit because it uses weird sizing and then she'd have to return it and, oh god oh god, it'd be too late.

She'd just started taking the pills 9 months ago. She was feeling the tingles in her chest, followed by occasional shooting pains. It was a good pain. Satisfying, and real. She smiled every time her buds shocked and burned her, piercing her brain with shocks from the newly crafted nerves and organs. From trying to run down the stairs a little too fast, or when bumping into a door frame, she now had to be careful of her changing body, something that made her both ecstatic and terrified. She was being born anew, from the dancing flames inside her chest boiling her from the inside. Pain was femininity. Pain was progress. So maybe these new sensations rushing through her body made her a little more impulsive than usual, back when she was surrounded by so many walls in all directions.

No no no. Fuck fuck fuck. I can’t do this. 

This was too much change all at once. This was way too major. She had to call it off. She couldn't be pretty enough for him. She couldn't be a real girl for a real man. She barely has even been practicing make-up yet. The dollar store foundation kit she bought months ago was still gathering dust. He wouldn't really be happy with some weird looking gangly dude showing up for a date, right? Her breasts weren't even big enough for any guy to like them yet. Wouldn't everyone just think he was fucking gay? She didn't want to hurt him like that, to shame him in public like that. Maybe he'll get angry with her and reject her in front of everyone, maybe even hit her.

She looked at her fish bowl, a single beta swimming aimlessly around. Watching it was hypnotizing, relaxing in a fashion. Oh, to be a beta trapped in a tiny little bowl... Maybe someday it’ll graduate to an actual proper tank. A slightly more spacious glass prison.

Her entire mattress suddenly started buzzing with excitement. She forgot she threw her precious phone somewhere in her many, many blankets during her existential panic. She quickly burrowed through the folds like a scared rabbit.

...A fucking phone call!? Why couldn't it just be a text!? That's something she liked about Chad, at least. Who the fuck even phone calls these days? Ah, it must be...

"Heyyyyyy brooooooooooooseph. What's up!"

It was Mark, one of her roommates.

"Yeah dude. I'm uhh...meeting up with someone later. Ha-ha...Just trying to find something nice to wear..."

She couldn't say with who, or why. That would be too shameful. Admitting she’s going to date a guy is too humiliating. 

"Just wear that one nice hoody you got. It's not like a job interview right? I got a suit you could borrow in the back of my closet if you go check. But not sure it'd fit someone like you, you're like, too small."

It wasn't a job interview. But it sort of was. She's been trying to get this ‘job’, but had no experience. But without a job, how was she supposed to get experience? If someone didn't give her a slip of paper proving it to the world? Giving her life authenticity, legitimacy? To herself, to others?

"Anyways, listen listen, if you're free later tonight after that, we're gonna hang out. I'm totally unleashed tonight by Sandy. John's free too. We got a whole night ahead of us. League, bro. And weed!"

Sophia didn't smoke, but it always cheered the mood up anyways, so she didn't mind too much. Living with occasional stoners was better than the dreary deathly silence at her family home, punctuated by explosive bouts of competitive screaming.

It was hard for Sophia to do more than one thing a day, though. One Task, One Day, was her rule for herself. Today was a special day, however. Not only would she have her first date ever, but she would hang out with her friends later too instead of holing up in her room all day and only communicating through cryptic texts. It was a very big day indeed.

—

Checking constantly from her phone, to the nicely dressed guy outside the bar, to her phone again, to the guy, to phone, guy, phone, guy - she’d possibly taken approximately 10 minutes to finally make the effort to finally cross the road to greet him. 

"Uh, h-hey. Yeah. It's Nick. I'm Nick. Hey. Are you…?" She said. ‘She’ was Nick, of course.

Did she look good? Was her hair okay? Was her hoodie okay? Was her jeans okay? Was she okay? Was she okay? Did she look cute enough? Will he not run away from looking at someone like her? 

"Hey!" He was Chad. Wow. He was really Chad. It’s Chad! It’s really him! He's tall! He's tall!

"Nick? Isn't it Sophia? You look amazing, wow, it's so nice to finally see you in person. You look better than in your selfies, you know."

Sophia. Sophia. Sophia! 

She did a quiet gasp and beamed at him, her eyes trying to send an electric shock into his very neuro-circuits, with the frequency of a high-powered flexatone. 

"NO NO NO NO," she screamed silently with her brows, "YOU CAN'T SAY THAT HERE!"

Chad just chuckled, somehow reading her mind's eyes. "Aha. You're being cute. C'mon, let's go in! We can talk there!"

Cute!? He can't say that either! Oh fuck. He just called her cute, in public. People were watching. People were glaring at them both, calling them freaks. Probably. She was so scared. She was so excited.

He grabbed her hand and took her inside. Oh god, a real warm hand. When's the last time she's even held hands with anyone? She couldn't really remember. He was really real, tangible, corporeal, actual. And...he was so big. This concept in her head suddenly had mass imparted to it, given form through particles. He was just so big. His shoulders were so big. He had a wonderful smile. A nice jawline. Some facial hair, just enough, but not too much, right? He looked pretty strong, too. Sophia knew that if a man is strong, it means he can pin her down and fuck her better. That makes men's strength hot. Muscles were hot. Tall men are hot. Bigger guys are hot. Everything to make her feel more feminine in comparison. She felt her cheeks burn hot, and started sweating in her grasped palms. 

Not only that, but her budding breasts - hidden behind 3 layers of clothes - suddenly started tingling, with a dull ache swinging back and forth between them as she walked. This could never have happened before she changed her hormones.

Holy shit. Is this what liking guys is like? Is this how real women feel, when they see a hot guy? Is this how gay men feel? Am I different from them? Am I real like them? Are these feelings real like theirs are? Am I...

"Care for some drinks first?"

"Uh! I'll get some for you! I'll go!" she bleated out. She needed some space, because every time she looked at him, her brain tied up in another knot, distracting her from whatever might have instead been going on in her heart.

"Are you sure? There's a lotta dudes up there. Are you sure you can handle it? They might just eat you up!"

Was he teasing me? That makes me feel funny…

"Uh yeah? It'll be fine!" she somewhat confidently replied. Sophia wanted to show that she was confident! A confident real girl. No cis woman would feel scared about doing something as normal as this, only sex minorities would. To prove she was a real woman, she had to be fearless. And brave. And real.

"Uh, hello, can I, can I get a ginger ale and a rum, please?"

"Can't handle more than a ginger ale. They're getting weaker these days, eh fellas?"

What? Was the bartender calling her a faggot? 

"Uh..uhm...ahaha. Yeah."

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She did an awkward stutter and pretended to ignore the stool dudes. They just started laughing in reply. They were just some drunk bastards, of course. One of them even had a trucker cap like something out of a fucking movie. This wasn't some fancy place after all, or even a family restaurant. That's what dates with shady dudes on gay dating apps are like, she reasoned. She thanked goodness nobody she knew in her Real Life would ever set foot in a place like this. In that way, it was safe for social undesirables of all stripes and flags alike.

One of the stereotypes leaned in, letting a "The rum boy’s back there gonna be real lucky tonight!" slip between his teeth.

God, he fucking smelled! Men are so... Ah, and they’re talking about sex. Sex! Did...did they really think she was a girl?

The best thing about boymoding is that you know you've earned every malefail. Every "miss" thrown your way, every “she” whisked past your ear. Trying to look like a guy, and still getting called a girl? With no liberal progressive ally fuck who already knows you're trans and is just lying to validate you at a moment's notice? Without being obnoxious yourself, and demanding to be called the right pronouns, emblazoned with a fucking badge on your chest? That's the true test of passing. After all, no real woman needs to state her pronouns before a conversation. Only trans people ever need to.

She tried to respond back to the disgusting old drunkards, maybe with a flirtatious yet masculine "I can handle plenty!", but a frog caught her throat. The forced husky voice she'd tried to force at the start of the date was already gone, without her even realizing it. Fuck. She'd trained too hard. It felt like torture to keep it lower than usual, when she was feeling like singing at the top of the world. What was it… a C3 pitch? A D3? She just needed to talk the same as when she was a shut-in during college, or when she’s back home with her roommates, but years of secret voice training hiding in her room has ingrained itself in her vocal musculature. They say it doesn't work like that, that it’s just trans delusions, but it’s true. It also works on an emotional level - if you've worked so hard for a good voice, and feel it speaks to your soul, it's hard to suppress it for too long. You want to show off your hard work and effort a bit. You want to be rewarded and praised, presented with a complimentary “Miss”. It's a life sustaining force.

"Thank you..." she said, with her proud girl voice. If she looked like a girl now, it's only sensible she sounded like one too.

She swiftly made her way back to Chad, with a silent medal attached to her shoulder, like a military general who conquered no-man's land. 

"Nice! So, it's Sophia, right?"

Her ears perked up at hearing that word, said in real life to her, for the first time in her life. Her name virginity. She never liked the term 'deadname', but it's a shock how much hearing one's real name makes them feel like they're actually living.

"Ahh, that's so embarrassing, man..."

"It's cute though. I think it suits you."

She can't really remember all the names she's used in her alternative lives online. Alternate dimensions, alternate timelines that will never come to pass. “Sophia” was the most recent one that felt right to her, but she still wasn't sure yet. Maybe she’ll choose a different one someday. But for some reason, hearing Chad say it out loud somehow made it more real for her. Like she was being branded with a word, giving it authenticity.

A real name. Maybe, someday, she’d become a real girl, too.

“You know, I didn’t really expect you to look like this, even from the pictures. You really just look like a girl. I was expecting like, a twink or something who abused too many photo filters, ya know? Haha.”

Sophia could feel her ears burning red. “I’m not quite there yet, aha. Thank you..."

“You’re like a real life trap, ya know. It’s crazy."

Haha. Well, I guess I am. 

“I’m uh, cheating a bit, though! Aha. Not like in the cartoons...”

“Oh right, you guys take, like, supplements or whatever, right? I’m not so sure about that, you should try to go all-natural. There's exercises you can do without mutilating your body, you know? I've seen charts like that online, they probably work!”

“Ah, yeah, of course…” 

Those charts didn't fucking work at all. She knew from experience.

... An awkward silence. Should she try complimenting him, too? He's giving her all these compliments, so it's only customary, right?

"Um, thank you, uh, you look...you look really..."

I can't say it. I can't say it.

"Uh, um..."

Freak. Freak.

Her breath got heavier and heavier. She couldn't possibly compliment a guy. A dude. A man. She couldn't possibly fucking FLIRT with a guy in real life, in reality, for real. That would seal the deal. Getting compliments and horny messages from dudes online at least frees her of any wrong-doing, it's them who're the freaks, controlled by their horny sinful desires.

But...his arms...

She stopped her breath for a moment and slipped out in a sharp exhale, "You look r-really nice too. Do you uh...do you work...workoutandstuff?"

"Oh so you were checking out my arms, huh? Impressive, right! Aha!" he said with a sly smile.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. HE JUST FUCKING SAID IT. 

"They're...yeah they're pretty good...!" she let squeal out through her fingers that were covering her face in shame. This was so different than online ERP chatrooms.

It felt so relieving to just admit that. They did look pretty good. Pretty good to hold her down and fuck her with, or hold her in bed. Maybe they'll even kiss, and she'll feel his light stubble rub against her smooth lasered face. Contrast. Conflict. Contradict. The fact that he was so different to her made her feel like melting in her seat. He was so different. He was a real man. Hell, he didn't even think before speaking like she compulsively did. And if he was a real man, then next to him, she must be a woman.

Is this really okay? Despite having male roommates, they still felt like a mystery to her, despite being one of them. She was never feminine growing up like real trans girls were - she was rather just a little too strange, a little too weird, a little too much of a loser, for anyone else to want to be around her, boy or girl. But now she's on a date, one-on-one, with one of them, one of their kind. A real actual dude.  Her teenage boy self never would've been able to believe this could ever happen. But now, she was almost like a woman, with a man. She was almost like a normal girlfriend, with her boyfriend. Maybe she could even be a -

"And what'll it be for you boys tonight?"

The waitress finally came over. Shattered.

This was always supposed to happen. This was the whole plan. That's why she dressed as a man, after all. That's why she wore all these layers to protect herself with. She shouldn't be disappointed about it. She won't be sad about it. She won't let herself. She should never have built herself up or gotten her expectations up. She needs to drill it into her to be more humble next time or else she'll just humiliate herself again. Maybe she should've worn something cuter after all.

As Chad made the order for some cheap fucking bar food, she wondered just how disgusted he must be by the fake woman sitting across from him. Who looked completely, totally, and utterly like a man.

—

An all too familiar ceiling. Water from a fishbowl quietly churning in the background, and her shitty graphics card randomly starting up it's rattling fan over and over again. Tired discordant ambience. She hasn't cleaned up in days. Cleanliness is for days off, she figured.

Was she supposed to do something else? Is that how dates are usually supposed to go? Is this how Mark met his current girlfriend? Or how John met his exes or whatever? What are dates even supposed to be like? She thought back to all the stories she’d read, television shows she’d watched, scanning through the keywords and genre tags in her mind.

They didn’t even hold hands...and he took her to some seedy fucking bar and then left after a little bite...what if she'd gotten hurt? Would he have protected her? Chad didn’t seem to even want to kiss her. Or maybe she was too autistic to pick up on the signs? She suspected for years that she must have some kind of autism, but was too scared to get diagnosed. Did she miss her chance to lose her kiss virginity? Did Chad hate her? Was he actually disgusted by a faggot like her? Of course, she’d be disgusted if she ever met someone like herself in public, so he was probably disgusted too. It's a natural reaction to someone like her, after all. Anyone would feel the same. (Sophia had a bit of a knack for figuring out what people really think and feel inside like this. That’s how empathy works.)

Wasn’t she supposed to have sex, too? From everything she’s learned about boys from growing up, the first and last things on their mind is Sex, Sex, Sex. Well, most boys. If they don’t get sex out of a relationship, they'll eventually leave out of boredom and unfulfillment. But with her body the way it is now, sex is impossible. Until she’s fully prepared and ready to have sex, Sophia knows that she’ll be alone forever. No one in their right mind would ever want to sleep with a tranny, and no real man would bother wasting his life away on a tranny he can't even fuck properly like he could any real girl.

She was so proud of herself for taking such a huge step towards the beginning of a new life. She got so excited, she even felt butterflies in her tummy like the love songs all talked about. But she was still just a boy. Today was little different than hanging out with John or Mark back at their apartment - except with some flirting, that was probably just a prank anyways. All in all, this was a complete failure. She should be ashamed of herself for feeling so proud and confident, for feeling so happy, at something so worthless and pathetic. She should be ashamed of herself. She needs to try harder before she gives herself any kind of relief or congratulation. Failure.

When she finally girlmodes for real, she’ll go on another date with Chad. A real date. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll stop feeling so empty inside. She’s sure of it. Maybe. 

I wonder if the waitress thought I was gay...

 

---

 

Mommy, I'm walking in your shoes! It’s fun! The TV said it was hard, but it's easy. Just like how you do it! They're so funny to walk in...! They're so funny. How do you do it all the time? Mommy?

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