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Carol has always hated the way she looked. Not in a self deprecating way that chipped at her outward image for years on end, but more a thing she had come to live with. Puberty was as helpful as it was problematic to her. She got a chest and hips and it evened her out enough to look decent but made her uncomfortable in the oddest way.
From a young age she was told to cover those body parts, to make sure they didn’t show heavily through shirts or hang out of skirts. She took it a step further and wore tight sports bras any chance she could, wondering why over the years her breathing was so shallow until she was advised by a doctor to wear something that wouldn’t squish her diaphragm.
She wasn’t any less feminine. She still wore dresses at the occasional dinner, or book showing but if it wasn’t marked presidential important, it was a button up with a men’s dress coat.
Carol remembers remnants of when she confessed about dabbling with gender identity, knowing she would never have the courage to sober. She had been intoxicated of some sort, a mix of substances and mentioned how damning it would be if she started dressing like a dude because doesn’t she already do that enough? Just a shorter haircut and a packer and she’d fit right in.
Helen didn’t laugh, but she didn’t seem upset either. She smiled at her curiously, and kissed her nose before whispering. ‘I would love you in any way that you presented.’
It made her throat dry as she swallowed and her head swim.
It was the first time where the option was readily in front of her, like a plate of fancy food at a restaurant, but she was terrified to dip her toes in the water. Instead she walked around the pool and out the gate, watching from outside.
But now she might have gone too far, and put herself in a predicament.
Carol has had binding chest tape around the house for as long as she could remember because of Helen and her supportiveness years back, even a binder if she looked hard enough but that wasn't her first thought. She really wasn't sure if she had any thought to begin with. When she wanted to do something, her brain was set on making it happen.
Is that how she ended up in her living room shirtless in plaid pyjama pants attempting and failing to get the binding tape off her fingers? Possibly.
The internet was the most unhelpful resource to someone of her age range, and she shut it off after the first attempt went wrong. She tries again, following the red irritation of her skin as she pulls the skin over and it still creases. She frowns, dipping her fingers in the cup of olive oil and rubbing it around the skin to pull it off. The worst of the entire process is pulling it off. She barely hears the door open behind her through the grunts of pain and sting around the skin.
“Carol?”
Carol's head turns quickly at the sound, and with it her hand flies to cover up herself forgetting her fingers were still stuck to the bandage. She yelps, yanking her hand off and looking down at her reddening breast, the nipple patch pulling with it.
She grimaces.
“Are you okay, Carol?”
Carol dips her fingers in the warm oil, rubbing it along her skin. Her frown worn into her face. “No.”
Zosia's face is unreadable as she looks between her and the equipment set out on the table. Her pace is slow as she walks up to her, looking at the oil in the bowl. “Is this Olive Oil?”
Carol half nods, wiping her hands on a dish towel before taking another piece of tape.
Zosia cocked her head, looking at her curiously. “Do you want help with that Carol?”
Carol pauses her cut, debating and giving her a firm look. Zosia has her set customer service smile on, hand on top of the other as she stares back. Zosia herself doesn't look experienced at all and if it were any other situation Carol would think it was just an opportunity to grab some boob.
But this time it's nothing close to that. Her – their minds are made up of over over three million transgender people worldwide — if she remembers that statistic correctly because that seems like an awfully small amount.
Half of those have had to be in her position at least once.
“We’re very experienced on this.” Zosia adds almost cheerfully. Like she sees the skepticism running through her mind.
Carol finishes her cut, letting it sit on the table. “I guess you'd be the best person to ask.”
Zosia smiles wider, nodding.
Carol huffs, sticking a nipple patch back on and handing her the tape. “Just don’t cop a feel.”
“We would never.” Zosia says, gently holding her breast like a doctor would. “Unless you wanted us too.”
The way she says it like she’s asking how the weather is tingles the back of her brain, while also having a handful of her boob fills it with horny teen boy thoughts. Carol shoves them away with her mental hands, and huffs out her nose showing off her best deadpan expression, cheeks only slightly pink.
Soft hands hold under her arm keeping it upwards. The tape is sticky against skin, and she is beginning to loath the feeling of it against her.
“Lift your arms?”
Carol does as told, sighing loudly and wincing as Zosia tugs on the tape onto her boob, and presses into it to make sure it's stuck on. Zosia looks up at her, startled and eyes wide. “Did we hurt you Carol?”
Carol shakes her head quickly. “No, just the tape is a little snug, it's fine.” She sets her arm down, and runs her hand over the now flatter part of her chest. Her face twists. “How long can I have this on for?”
“Binding tape can be on for a few days at a time compared to a binder which is no longer than eight hours, but it's still good to have rest days like during a weekend or overnight.” Zosia recites, hand fully removed from the tape.
Carol nods. “Can you do the other side?”
Zosia steps away to cut up another piece of tape, “Is there a specific reason you want to do this Carol?”
Carol shrugs. “You guys have basically ended the world so why not try everything I haven't done.”
Zosia seems to take that answer, nodding. She does it quicker than the first side and gently sticks the tape to her side. A gesture to ensure she isn’t in pain.
Carol walks over to the mirror in her bathroom down the hall. She runs her hands down her chest and watches them run into the jutted out bit of her chest. “This didn't really do a great job.” She turns towards Zosia, pushing her breasts inwards more. “Does it need to be tighter?
Zosia shakes her head. “Taping isn't recommended for people with bigger breasts, not usually.”
Carol deflates. “So this was for nothing?”
Zosia doesn’t reply, grimacing at the reaction on her face. Carol huffs, beginning to tug off the tape quickly before the shooting pain of what feels like skin peeling when she remembers it's not that easy.
“Maybe you should use the oil.” Zosia says, hand directing her towards it.
Carol gives her a ‘no shit’ look before dipping her fingers into it and soaking the tape in it. “What else can I use?”
Zosia looks back at the kitchen. “For oil?”
“No.” Carol shakes her head, not pausing her movements. “For binding.”
“Oh,” Zosia nods. “We can send a binder?”
Carol nods absently, fingers dragging along ribs as she tries to move the dripping oil to the tape. Zosia hasn’t moved a muscle, eyes stuck watching her. Maybe for her own safety.
But when she moves her head upwards to look back, Zosia doesn’t look worried. Zosia doesn’t seem to be anything but distracted as she stares down at Carol's torso. Leering. The only reason Zosia stops looking is because Carol has caught her. And like that she walks off quickly.
Carol looks down at her torso, abs barely visible but there from all the working out she’s had time for. Straight up boredom really had her doing anything. Now covered in olive oil that will suck to clean later.
She hums, making sure the tape is fully soaked before attempting another peel. This time only gently pulling while slowly rubbing the reddening skin that appears in its wake.
It’s an unpleasant sensation when it’s all said and gone, and Carol moves to peel off the nipple patches and throw them into the garbage along with everything else. The patches of skin sting as she dabs a wet cloth over them, hands grip onto the sink as the coldness numbs the welting bits.
Carol hisses, holding the wad of wet cloth to the spot for another few seconds before hanging it over the sink to dry. She’s almost surprised the hissing sound doesn’t immediately attract Zosia. She almost wonders where she went.
Hands grab and throw on baggy shirts that have been sitting on the edge of the couch. It sticks to the front of her chest because of the water, and she huffs at the new look in the mirror. Great.
“Carol.”
Carol looks up seeing Zosia beginning to walk towards her with a bag in her hand. It looks like an oversized sports bra when laid out and she stares down at it contemplating.
“This will work?”
Zosia nods. “Most definitely,”
Carol nods, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. In her peripheral vision she can see Zosia’s eyes advertising, then moving back towards her face.
The fabric is weird around her fingers. A scratchy plastic that she can’t tell if she likes or hates. Carol tugs to slip it over her head and onto her body.
Cold hands tug it downwards, ones that aren’t her own and it makes her shiver as the knuckles graze against her stomach muscles.
It settles a little snug, and Carol attempts to take an extra breath of air she can’t grasp for a good few counts.
“Huh.” Carol purses her lips, moving towards the mirror in her bathroom. She runs her hands down the front, then turns to the side to do the same. There’s barely a bump jutting out. It’s flat.
Her first thought is what Helen would say about this. Would Helen be turned off by the fact her favorite feature besides the other jutted out piece of fat is gone? She would always understand, that was the one thing Helen did best. Under Carol's quirks.
But would she like it? Even if she had said she would. Would it be true?
Zosia appears behind her, a smile on her face. “You like it?”
Carol lets out a shocked laugh, her hands still over her now bound back chest. “It’s crazy.”
“Do you want to see what it’s like with a shirt on?”
Carol pauses to think and compose herself before nodding quickly, and moving back to the living room to throw on the piece of fabric. It has been flipped inside out but she could careless as her hands run down the front and nothing is there to see. Her stomach swims with a new feeling of everlasting excitement.
“You look good.” Zozia's eyes meet her own in the mirror.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She hums. “Handsome.”
Carol's eyes go wide, and she turns towards the taller woman who has a soft expression on. She has been jokingly called handsome a few times by Helen, usually while tied up in a dress suit for events. There's a time she can recall it being genuine, once, and it brings her back to that moment.
Her stomach flips, and she immediately looks away. Back at the mirror, back towards herself. “You think?”
Zosia smiles. “I know."