The Childhood Friend Who Used To Be A Wild Little Brat Turned Out To Be A Very Beautiful Girl.... - Chapter 4

After dinner, I returned to my room and collapsed onto my bed.

So many things churned inside my head.

And all of it was about him—the guy I reunited with yesterday for the first time in five years.

I still remembered our first farewell clearly.

The boy who had always been by my side ever since I could remember—my next-door neighbor, my constant companion—was going far away.

I held back my tears until we reached the station.

But the moment I got home, they spilled over. I cried until I wore myself out and fell asleep.

Then the very next week, he suddenly showed up again, using the weekend.

I remembered being so shocked and so happy that I punched him as hard as I could.

After that, unless something serious got in the way, he came to see me almost every week.

So much that it felt like he spent more time with me than with his grandparents at his family’s place.

Well… apparently, he really did.

Then came the second farewell.

This time, he went somewhere that wasn’t “a little far”—it was a place where we couldn’t just meet whenever we wanted.

I didn’t cry the way I did the first time, but starting the next day, it felt like a hole had opened up inside me.

And when I realized I kept looking for him without thinking, the truth hit me so hard it left me stunned.

We had grown up like twins. Having him next to me had been normal.

So when that daily life vanished, anxiety flooded in.

In the middle of that anxiety, I got my first period—and it forced me to realize all over again that I was a girl.

It felt like I wasn’t myself anymore.

That fear stacked on top of the fear of him being gone, and I lashed out sometimes. I got rough. I got reckless.

But even then, the thing that calmed those messy emotions down… was his face flashing through my mind.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back again.”

The smile he gave me when we parted.

Even though he looked like he was about to cry too…

When I thought about him doing his best in some unfamiliar place—surrounded by people he couldn’t even speak with—I felt a little lighter.

If he was hanging in there, then I could hang in there too.

I decided I’d keep waiting for him, just like before.

After I’d gone through my period a few times and finally learned to accept—calmly—that my body was changing… I experienced self-pleasure for the first time.

It started with a letter from him.

Inside were photos.

One was a group photo with his classmates over there.

The other was just him—grinning wide, holding up a fish he’d caught in the tropical sea.

The first photo made me feel relieved.

He’s doing fine.

The second photo—his smile, after so long—made something warm and nostalgic rise in me.

I remembered feeling my body start to heat up as I kept staring at that photo.

Looking at him on the beach in a swimsuit, sun-tanned… I missed him so much that, without realizing it, my hand drifted to the most private part of me.

I kept whispering his name as my fingers moved.

That was my first time.

Afterward, I panicked. I regretted it.

Why did I do that?

But after that, whenever the fear of him being gone came back, thinking about him while I did it became a habit.

When I learned that this act—masturbation—was something a girl did when she wanted a man… I hated myself for it.

I thought maybe I was staining him. Dragging him through something dirty.

But I couldn’t stop.

When I started middle school, my chest slowly began to swell.

Just like when I got my first period, I felt that creeping sensation of becoming more and more “a girl.”

And with it came this fear—like my resolve to keep waiting for him, unchanged, was starting to crumble.

Mom recommended I start wearing a bra.

But accepting that felt like I’d become someone he didn’t know.

I hated it.

At first, I wrapped cloth around my chest.

But when I kept doing it, Mom got fed up and bought me a corset.

Since then, whenever I went out, I held my chest down with the corset.

I only took it off at home.

Maybe it was because every time I looked at my growing chest… I hated the idea of anyone other than him seeing it.

His letters kept coming, just like before.

And every time, he included photos.

But I never sent photos back.

Because I didn’t want him to know I’d turned into this.

Even the day I heard he was coming home… I still thought about him and touched myself.

Up until then, it had only been something I did to drown out loneliness.

But the moment I thought, He’s really coming back, something changed.

If we hugged like we used to… would I be able to hold myself back?

When I imagined seeing him again, I could feel the parts of me that had grown as a girl start to burn.

My fingers drifted there again.

It felt like the “girl” inside me was reaching for him—wanting him.

My body responded so easily it scared me.

And when I tried to push past a certain point, another voice inside me screamed that it was wrong.

Only one person gets to cross that line.

So I followed that voice, kept it the way I always did, and lost myself in the familiar rhythm until I climaxed.

Then yesterday—Mom got a call and learned he was back.

And we went to pick him up.

On the way there, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

When we met again, I kept thinking:

Would he accept me like before?

Would he see right away that I’d become a girl?

But when we reunited, it seemed like he didn’t notice.

I felt relieved… and somehow, a little lonely too.

We were restarting our relationship the way it used to be.

I should’ve been happy.

So today, when he saw me in my school uniform and froze in surprise… it felt new.

And for some reason, the way he panicked made me happy.

I was happy that he still talked to me like normal—even though I looked like this.

The truth was, I was barely holding back tears.

But then I found out something else.

Over there… he had slept with a girl I didn’t know.

He explained what happened and how it led there.

But the frustration still surged up inside me.

He said he didn’t have romantic feelings.

Even so…

This must be what jealousy feels like.

“Taku… I… about you…”

I thought… I love him. Not just as a childhood friend. The part of me that is a woman wants him.

I felt the crotch of my untouched shorts starting to get wet.

He’s my childhood friend… my partner… my one and only best friend… but I want more than that…

I traced my finger over the damp fabric of my shorts.

A wet, squelching feeling came through the cloth.

When I pressed a little harder and rubbed, the fabric scraped against that sensitive nub.

“Sorry, Taku. I can’t hold it in…”

I kneaded that sensitive point through my shorts.

Love juice kept seeping out, spreading slowly.

I pressed the rough fabric in and rubbed along my folds.

It felt good. But if it wasn’t me… if it were his fingers instead.

My shorts grew wetter, sticky fluid overflowing, leaking from the sides and running down my inner thighs.

It felt shameless. I always tried to act like a guy, but just knowing he was nearby made me want to become a woman.

I reached for my chest, something I never touched during my usual masturbation.

The place that made him notice me when I pressed against him. Until now, it had been nothing but a nuisance… yet it made him see me as a girl.

For some reason, that made me happy.

As I slowly kneaded, I felt again how soft my breasts were.

At some point my nipples had already hardened, and even the brush of my shirt sent sharp tingles through me.

“If it’s Taku… I can show you… You can touch me… no… I want you to touch me.”

If the one touching my chest right now were his hands, what would it feel like?

Would he be gentle? Or would he grab hard?

Thinking about that, I kept squeezing my breasts.

One hand slid over my shorts while the other kneaded my chest.

“Taku… Taku~~”

After that, I just moved my hands without thinking, picturing him the whole time.

I didn’t know when I had lost consciousness, but the coldness of my soaked shorts brought me back.

It was my first time fainting from masturbating.

Usually I felt guilt afterward, but today was different.

With him so close, I imagined where the two of us might go from here.

Maybe that’s not it. Not where we would go… but what I want to become with him…