A/N: Apologies for the delay in updating this story. My own transition is taking up a lot of my time IRL, but I will keep updating this as often as I can.

"What can I get for you, Ma'am?" asked the barista.

Jim gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes skyward. "Not this again!" he thought.

Whilst Jim had made every effort he could to fit into his new role as a young man, there was only so much that could be done without medical intervention. His therapist had insisted that he had to enter a period of 'Real Life Experience' before any medical treatment could be prescribed. That meant that he had to try to live as a man whilst still looking and sounding like a woman. It was almost impossible to achieve and he found himself being misgendered almost every day.

Despite having changed his name, cut his hair in to a short men's style, wearing only men's clothing and flattening his breasts with a specially-made vest, he still looked and sounded too feminine for his liking. Without testosterone, he still had soft skin, feminine features and a high-pitched voice. It didn't seem to matter what he did: people would instantly read him as female. Every single time they did it felt was like a slap in the face. He desperately hoped that testosterone would make him look more convincing so that people would accept him as being male.

"Actually, it's 'Sir'" he corrected.

The barista laughed at him. "No, it isn't!" she replied. "You are definitely a woman!"

How dare she? How dare she decide for herself whether some random stranger is a man or a woman? Jim pulled out his college ID. "Look here... my name is James. James! Does that sound like a woman's name to you?" he challenged. "See the little 'M' here, under where it says 'Gender'? Do you have any idea what the 'M' stands for?"

The barista looked affronted. "Well, you sure do look like a woman." she replied.

"Yeah, well I have a hormonal problem that makes me look and sound like a pre-pubescent boy. But I'm getting treatment for it and it doesn't make me feel any better when people like you insist on calling me a woman!"

Jim stormed out of the coffee shop, vowing never to go back there again.

- \\/, -

Jim sat in the Endocrinologist's waiting room, his right knee bouncing up and down with nervousness. He'd had all of the blood tests and had been approved for testosterone therapy: now he would finally be prescribed his very first dose.

His name flashed up on the waiting room message board: "MR JAMES KIRK". Wow, he didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing those words, especially when preceded by the title 'Mr'. His heart swelled in his chest every time he saw his name and knew that it actually referred to him. It was so much more comfortable than that horrible old girly name he had been forced to answer to for so many years. 'Cynthia' had never been a part of him: he never felt like it described him in any way. It was just a convenient word that everyone else had used when they wanted to get his attention. Heck, they might as well have called him 'hey you' for the amount that his birth name meant to him. He was glad to see the back of it. Jim took a deep breath, stood up, and went in to see the Endocrinologist.

The Endo ran a few more tests on Jim to confirm that none of his readings had changed since his previous appointment, and he then handed Jim a prescription for testosterone supplements. Jim would have to hypo himself once every week with a slow-release form of testosterone which would maintain steady levels in his bloodstream. He figured that would be fine: he'd never had a problem with hypos before so it should be a piece of cake. And if it helped him 'pass' better in public, he was all for it.

The nurse showed him how to load and operate the hypo: he had to measure his dose into the hypospray, then hold it up to his neck before pushing the trigger to release his medication. Testosterone is a thick substance, so it stung really badly going in - far worse than he'd imagined. But he would cope with a bit of short-term pain if these regular shots of 'T' would finally get people to start treating him appropriately. And if these hypos would leave him looking like he was sporting a permanent hickey, that could only add to his growing reputation on campus.

- \\/, -

Jim was astounded by how quickly and convincingly his body began to change. He'd decided to keep a monthly record of his voice and his physical changes so that he could track his progress: after just 10 months on testosterone, his voice had dropped to a mellow baritone and he was sprouting some light facial and bodily hair. His fat distribution had changed too, making his hips appear slimmer and more masculine. He found that he could handle increasingly heavy weights at the gym which lead to him developing a decent set of guns. His laterals had started to form into a pleasing V-shape. All-in-all, he was starting to look a lot more masculine, provided he took care to bind his breasts. And best of all: his dreaded monthly visitor stopped coming round after the first three months on 'T'.

For the first time in many years, he was actually pleased with what he saw in the mirror. For the past 14 years he'd carefully avoided his reflection whenever possible; he'd only check himself out very fleetingly to try to ensure his curves didn't look too obvious. But now he could look at himself properly in the mirror because a man was starting to take form right in front of his eyes. As long as he had his breasts tightly bound, he was starting to look pretty darn good. He decided to go out for a coffee to celebrate his new-found happiness with his outward appearance.

"What can I get for you, Sir?" asked the barista.

Jim grinned to himself. His life was finally moving in the right direction.