Gamer Girl

By Bryony Marsh and Chris Archer

Gamer Girl is the story of a teenage boy who, after reluctantly agreeing to help his older sister by letting her make him up as a project for her college course, finds himself inadvertently presenting as a female in an online computer game.
Thoroughly enjoying the experience, he returns to the game at a later date and joins an all-girl ‘clan’. It’s only meant to be an innocent bit of fun – after all, if anybody realises he’s a boy, he can just sign out and never go back, with no harm done, right?
However, it soon becomes more complicated than that, with higher stakes to play for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryony Marsh
• Release date: Jul 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215162507

Bryony Marsh

I’m a member of the TransScripts writing community, on a mission to show that the transgender fiction genre can be innovative, thoughtful and classy. Just because my stories feature characters in situations where gender is an issue doesn’t mean they’re predominantly ‘fetish’ in nature. Find my short stories on Fictionmania; find my novels on Amazon.It’s always been important to me to approach the challenges imposed by the 23rd pair of chromosomes in good humour and with the guidance of a moral compass. We only pass this way once and I intend to have some fun along the way: I hope you’ll join me in that.Bryony Marsh is, of course, just a pen name. (I seek to preserve my anonymity because I’m allergic to beatings, which cause me to break out in all sorts of cuts and bruises...) In ‘real life’ I’m married, I’m a proud father and I work in engineering. Writing fiction is something I’ve always done, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Book preview

Gamer Girl

by Bryony Marsh and Chris Archer

Quite by accident, fifteen year-old Danny Birch discovers that online video games are more fun if people think you’re a girl. It amuses him to deceive people in this way and it helps him to overcome the shyness that he normally feels around girls.

Falling in love, though… that wasn’t part of the plan.

This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialogue and characters are imaginary and should not be construed as real. The incidents and dialogues are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 Bryony Marsh and Chris Archer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Chapter 1

Two words for you, dear sister – ‘no’ and ‘way’.

Technically, that’s three words, Kate said, as though it was some sort of amazing revelation.

The ‘and’ doesn’t count, gormless, I replied, and if there had been a third, it would’ve rhymed with ‘clucking’.

Not if you value your health, it wouldn’t, she threatened. Aw, c’mon, Danny, she pleaded as she sat on the end of my bed. Just for me? Please?

I was unmoved. Sorry, Kate, but no means no.

Pretty please? she tried. I swear I won’t tell anyone. You know how important this is to me.

I was getting tired of it now. "For the last time, no! You are not putting any bloody make-up on me!"

Is that so? Kate smirked as she stood up, then dived on top of me, pinning me down on my bed.

Get off me, you fat cow! I shouted at her, less than happy that my sister could overpower me. She was two years older, but I still hoped that I might outgrow her, eventually.

Fat, am I? She laughed again. That does it, mister! She then started to tickle my ribs – and when I say tickle, I mean she put heart and soul into it, a full-on assault on my poor ribcage.

Kate, stop, please! I pleaded through my involuntary laughter. I’ll piss myself if you don’t!

She stopped and got off me.

Why can’t you just get one of your friends to help? I asked as I recovered from the ‘torture’.

She sat on the edge of the bed, looking gloomy. I would, but I’ve done that before, she said. The tutor’s told me that my skills are okay, but I need to come up with something different if I’m to pass this module. That’s why I thought of doing a ‘boy-to-girl’ makeover – I’m certain none of the other girls will have thought of it, so I’ll get marks for originality, if nothing else.

A frown creased my forehead. It wasn’t that I simply didn’t want to help my sister – it was the way in which she wanted me to help. At fifteen, I was concerned that puberty had decided that I wasn’t worth bothering with, although our mother assured me I was just what was termed a ‘late developer’. While most of the boys in my year were ‘filling out’, with more than a few of them bragging about their need to shave regularly – if not entirely frequently – I seemed to be stuck with the body I’d had at twelve. Stick thin with no visible sign of muscle development, I often brooded about how I’d ever manage to get a girlfriend.

In fairness to Kate, she was pretty good as annoying older sisters went. We got on well for the most part and we’d been really close as kids. I’d have helped her out with most things, but this? This was too much: I was worried about the barely visible nature of my masculinity as it was.

Sighing heavily and looking like her world was about to end, she got off my bed and went to leave my room.

Hang on a sec, I told her. I’ve had an idea.

She stopped and turned to look at me with a flicker of hope in her eyes. What? she asked.

Well… I began, what if I let you do it, but not all girly?

What d’you mean? my needy sister enquired.

Well, you could do me up as a flesh-eating zombie… or a gruesome accident victim or something.

Kate rolled her eyes. We did all that earlier in the course, dork: the ‘Stage and Screen’ module.

Oh, was all I had by way of response.

She sighed deeply. Looks like I’ll just have to forget about passing this module, she said glumly – but she made no move to leave my room.

We looked at each other in sullen silence. The moment stretched uncomfortably and at last it was my turn to sigh. "If – and I do mean if – I do it, I want you to promise me, on pain of death, that you won’t ever let anybody know about it. You take your photos, and then –"

I have to film it, she interjected.

Oh, God, it gets worse, I groaned. Alright, can you promise me that the film will go straight to your tutor, it won’t get shown to the class, and you’ll never use it for any other purpose?

She nodded enthusiastically. Yes! I swear – cross my heart and hope to die.

You’d better be serious, I told her, ’cause if I do this and it gets out, I’ll be known as Danny the Tranny all over the bloody town!

Complete secrecy forever, she promised.

I hope I’m not going to regret this, I grumbled.

Chapter 2

Two days later, I found myself in Kate’s bedroom, wearing one of her old t-shirts to protect my clothes while she applied various concoctions to me. Nearby, clamped to a tripod, her webcam recorded everything that transpired. In the glare of two desk lamps, I felt somewhat like a prisoner undergoing an interrogation, though in my own case, I was frequently told not to talk.

What are you doing now? I asked, trying to keep my face immobile as I did so – and learning that I’d have made a terrible ventriloquist.

Ssh, she said. This is a cream foundation. I’m blending it out towards the edges because I don’t want you to look too doll-like. You’re really pale, Danny: you should get out more. Your neck is like… well, it’s just really pale.

She told me that my acne had cleared up nicely – which didn’t seem a very complimentary sort of thing to say. Likewise, telling me I had a nice, fine nose did nothing to improve my spirits. If, as I suspected, it meant I made a convincing girl, then I didn’t like it.

Noses run in the family, I told her, knowing how paranoid – groundlessly, I should point out – she was with regard to the size and shape of that facial feature.

Shut up, she said. You’re like the worst model in the history of cosmetics.

Do you want to stop? I suggested, making to rise.

No, I don’t, she said. Sit down, keep your gob shut and let me work.

+++

I glanced at the clock, noting glumly that I’d now been in the chair for forty minutes. How many more things could Kate possibly do to me? Tweezing a couple of ‘stray’ eyebrow hairs was the last straw. It hurt!

That’s it! I declared. We’re done here. No more.

She signed. Okay, okay. To be honest, you’ve come out better than I dared hope. Just let me take some still photos to accompany the video…

Same rules, I said. Nobody else ever sees them, yeah? Just you, me and your tutor.

She rolled her eyes. Complete secrecy, remember? Now, lift your chin. She began to take photos, but almost at once the doorbell rang. She turned to the window and looked down. Oh, she said, it’s Simon.

Jesus! I exclaimed and snatched for the packet of cleansing wipes, but she slapped my hand away.

Don’t you dare! After all that work… and we still need to finish the photos. Just stay here: I’ll tell him I’ve got homework to do.

Alright, I grumbled, but I’m charging overtime. You’d better be quick, the meter’s running!

We hadn’t actually discussed any fee for my time, but I felt that some sort of protest was in order. Already on the stairs, Kate didn’t bother to reply.

I crept over to the door, but I could hear Simon at the foot of the stairs. I decided I couldn’t risk a dash to my own room, so I’d have to stay in hers. Damn it, why hadn’t she just told him to sling his hook?

I didn’t exactly hate Simon, but we were so mismatched as to be practically different species. To me, he seemed a kind of human peacock, obsessed with ‘image’. With him, everything had to be the latest fashion, which meant he was a walking billboard of designer labels and conspicuous consumption. In moments of weakness, I envied his confident strut: a boy who turned heads and for whom the dance floor held no terrors… but I also thought him very shallow. He bristled at any hint of disapproval, though, accepting no alternative viewpoint. He simply couldn’t understand why a person might listen to music not currently in the charts; why he might have hobbies that didn’t involve the gym, girls, pubs or clubs.

The last thing – the very last thing – this universe needed was for him to find me in my sister’s bedroom, in full makeup and a t-shirt that featured Garfield and the word ‘adorable’.

I wondered why he’d decided to grace us with his presence when he ought to be watching the football or something. I also wondered what – apart from the obvious – Kate saw in him. She was a good-looking girl, though, always very well presented as a consequence of her college course: there’s no such thing as a grungy beautician. Perhaps they were meant for each other.

Raised voices from downstairs: it seemed that Kate and Simon were arguing now. I really didn’t want to earwig on their argument and I didn’t dare to do anything that might reveal that I was upstairs, so I plugged in her headphones and settled them over my ears. They were dusky pink, but the sound quality wasn’t too terrible.

I glanced at YouTube, but nothing really appealed to me and when I discovered that she didn’t even have an adblocker installed, I abandoned the site in disgust.

I considered what other attractions her computer might offer, noticing the icon for LiveQuest on the desktop. I doubted my sister had ever played it, but this was a throwback to when we’d been younger and we’d been obliged to share a single computer. Since it hadn’t been used for months or even years, the game demanded an update, but that was okay: I had nothing better to do.

I was pleased to see that the update downloaded quickly: soon it was ready and I launched the game. I didn’t particularly mind that this wasn’t my computer and thus lacked all my saved maps because I’d heard that the latest update included a new character creation system with some specialisations that I wanted to take a look at. There was also a series of new, low-level quests set in a network of tunnels under the city that I hadn’t checked out.

Within five minutes, I’d set up a new character: Skubbo, the novice priestess. We called newbies ‘skubs’, so the name seemed appropriate. As a female, I automatically got a charisma bonus that gave my prayers longer duration; the slight reduction in strength didn’t seem like a bad price to pay.

I spawned in beside the fountain, as all newbies do. Skip… skip… skip… I opted out of all the tutorials and other such rubbish.

A barbarian wandered onto the screen, positioning himself just behind me and repeatedly pressing ‘crouch’ in a motion generally considered to be sexual in nature. I moved away, heading for the temple, where I knew I’d be given my newbie equipment: a wooden shield, some worn out boots and the like.

There were a lot of people milling around in the grounds of the Temple of All Gods, probably trying to put together a group for a delve in one of the dungeons. In a raid, a party always needed a couple of well-armoured guys who could deal heavy damage, one or two people with ranged attacks to snipe at enemies, a thief to scout ahead and a healer. If they’d come to the temple, it was the healer that they lacked.

Judging by their equipment, everyone was at least five or ten levels higher than me, so I just stepped around them and went to greet the sexton, a computer-controlled character who I knew would give me some shitty equipment and ask me to deal with an infestation of rats in the storeroom. I was expected to kill the rats and bring their tails to him as proof, in return for some slightly less shitty equipment, this constituting my induction into the LiveQuest game.

Hey, do you wanna join us?

A player called Artful Bodger had spoken to me. Clearly a thief, his black velvet cape meant that he was at least Level Nine.

I just got here, I typed while the sexton rattled off his tale of woe about rats in the storeroom.

Hey, c’mon: raid with us, a dwarf called Shaw’tarse suggested.

Skubbo, is your mic off? one of the others asked. You wanna raid with us, switch your mic on.

I brought up ‘settings’ and ticked the box, ‘caps lock toggles microphone’.

I’m just trying out the new character specialisations, I said.

In my headphones, I heard laughter.

What the hell voice settings are you using? Shaw’tarse demanded.

I, uh… I checked and found that I’d been given ‘molasses’, ‘pig demon’ and ‘quavering’ for voice settings. I changed ‘pig demon’ for ‘haunted house’ and checked ‘echo reverb’ as well.

Is that better? I asked.

It’s cool, Artful Bodger said. Whatever. Enrol in our group.

I’m only Level One, you know, I protested.

It’s okay, a warrior called Mudstuffin reassured me. We won’t do anything stupid. You have ‘healing breeze’, right?

Of course.

The sexton chose that moment to hand me some quilted armour.

I’ve got some bronze chainmail you can have, Shaw’tarse said. Forget that padded shit.

Sandals of swiftness one, Artful Bodger said, flipping them towards me.

Everyone chipped in: in the space of a minute, I’d been given a really decent set of starting equipment.

Leave the fighting to Mudstuffin and Shaw’tarse, Mercurior told me. Kind of lecturing, but I decided it was okay: he had no reason to assume I wasn’t a complete skub.

Just throw in a blessing or two, he went on. Keep doing ‘healing breeze’ if anybody’s hurt – and stay out of trouble. We got this. Drink from a mana potion whenever you get low.

It seemed that Kate might not come back for hours. What else was I going to do? She was probably making him some food or something, even though she’d promised to get rid of him. Meanwhile, I decided, I might as well entertain myself.

Mudstuffin led us right to the heart of the Death Cult settlement and we went into their warren of tunnels. Each time a foe was killed, some of the green sparks that flew up would come my way and lodge in my experience bar. I got a smaller share, based on my low level, but it was far better than pissing about in the storeroom, gathering rat tails.

Mudstuffin and Shaw’tarse blocked the tunnel, keeping the cultists from getting through to the squishier members of the group – me and Mercurior the mage. Artful Bodger would sneak around, backstabbing foes or sometimes deliberately getting one monster to chase him, then luring it towards our group. ‘Pulling’ was a classic strategy that allowed us to fight enemies one at a time.

There was lots of good-natured chatter as we pushed deeper. Film quotes; memes; stupid jokes and the inevitable background of grumbling about who was doing all the work and taking all the risks. Shaw’tarse was taking a certain amount of damage, but it was nothing that I couldn’t fix with my ‘healing breeze’ prayer. In return, he’d lob me any mana potions he found on the corpses of his victims. Playing as the lowly Skubbo was fun – particularly with a supportive group like this.

Let’s go deeper, Mercurior suggested when we came to a pit with a ladder.

That’s what she said, Mudstuffin replied, but it seemed that this indicated agreement, because he started down the ladder.

The new level was almost completely dark and we remained in the sad little puddle of light at the foot of the ladder. Mercurior cast a spell that made his staff send out a beam like a searchlight, spinning it around to reveal rough tunnels leading off in six different directions. The light fizzled out and our mage cast the spell again.

I can’t keep this up indefinitely, he said.

Also what she said. Mudstuffin was clearly a fan of innuendo.

I looked through my inventory. The sexton had given me three small wooden torches, so I lit one and held it aloft.

Don’t you have ‘holylight’ or something? Artful Bodger asked.

Nope, I said. Level One, remember?

How’s it looking, stumpy? Mudstuffin enquired.

I can see, of course, but I’m not seeing anything but empty tunnels, the dwarf reported.

Lead on, Mercurior told him.

Skubb, stay close to me, Mudstuffin told me.

Artful Bodger laughed. Are you afraid of the dark?

Yes, said Mudstuffin. I can’t hit what I can’t see.

The shadows are my personal playground, Bodger announced. I was thinking of becoming a vampire…

Not another bloody vampire assassin, Mercurior protested.

Did I say I wanted to be an assassin? There’s lots of –

At that moment, there came a howl and a horde of misshapen things that might once have been human ran at us. Our two fighters were kept busy, killing the attackers but slowly being forced back by sheer weight of numbers. Mercurior sent an arc of lightning down the tunnel: it didn’t seem to do much damage, but at least it lit the area up nicely.

I was about to give Mudstuffin a blessing when I discovered that the horde had merely been a distraction, sacrificed to occupy our fighters. A giant with the head of a bull loomed behind me: a maggoty, half-decomposed minotaur with a huge stone axe.

Uh, guys… I didn’t know what I thought they might do to help, but they needed to know.

Oh, shit, Mercurior said – which wasn’t much help.

I’m a bit busy just now, Shaw’tarse complained.

I did my best to face down the minotaur thing, delving in my inventory and holding up my holy symbol. The beast stopped just outside melee range, moving its head from side to side and bellowing.

I can’t hold it for long, I warned, watching my mana drain away.

You should have gone before we set out, Mudstuffin quipped.

A handful of caltrops clattered onto the ground in front of me: Artful Bodger was doing what he could to help. Mercurior shot a spray of little sparks and Shaw’tarse redoubled his efforts to finish off the lumpen beasts that had rushed us. I watched my mana bar dwindle, having no way to replenish it in time, then I saw my character falter and lower her holy symbol. I wanted to retreat, but there was nowhere to go and Mercurior was even squishier than me, since mages weren’t able to wear armour.

In this fancy gear, I can probably survive one or two swings of that axe, I thought. So, whatever: here we go.

The minotaur thing hit me with astonishing force, instantly taking three quarters of my health.

Nice knowing you, I said, speaking quickly because dead players can’t communicate with the living.

I’ll take it from here, Mudstuffin said, interposing himself so that the minotaur thing couldn’t hit me again.

The combined effect of the caltrops, Mercurior’s spells and Mudstuffin’s carefully timed work with shield and broadsword was taking its toll. The beast retreated, appearing confused, while I chugged mana potions. Recharged, I stepped forward to show it the holy symbol again and after a few seconds it collapsed into a pile of maggot-infested body parts. A snowstorm of green sparks swirled around us all and I caught enough of them