Original story was on artist's FurAffinity page:
"The lion pulls open his dresser and reaches behind his stacks of shirts, grabbing several articles of clothing and lays them out demurely on his bed. A single spaghetti strap shirt, womens jeans, undergarments, and a pair of womens socks for good measure. This is one of two outfits he ordered in secret. He contemplates wearing it.

The past few times John tried it on, he felt reassured. The straps felt more noticeable on his shoulders than the small necked t-shirts he was used to wearing. And the fabric around his breast felt tighter and more secure. Something about it was so right, yet whenever he caught a look at himself in the mirror, his giant, hairy mane sent a visceral shudder through him. He didn’t look like any of the lionesses he might see wearing a shirt with spaghetti straps or tight jeans that hugged his hips. No matter how good he felt in these clothes, his mane was a constant reminder that something was wrong.

The worst part to John is that he knows he has a pretty good mane, as far as lions go. Many men bought fur oils and sprays to try and make their manes look as thick and full of luster as John’s mane was by itself. To look upon it with the level of disgust he felt every morning in the mirror seemed almost like a sin by itself. Most days he couldn’t even bring himself to feel hatred for it. Just a numb, hollow-eyed stare of acceptance as he brushed his teeth or trimmed the tips of his hair.

John realizes he’s been pacing, tail flicking behind him as he runs the same thoughts through his head. What if today, I finally cut it all off? He would have to explain to his boss on Monday. Explain to his friends. What would he say to his father? His mother? The look on every single person he would have to explain his new appearance to flashes before his eyes. He hears himself saying the lame excuse he’d give instead of commiting to his own identity. It’s just a silly thing I thought I’d try. It doesn’t really mean anything. Before he’s able to talk himself out of it like every other time, another part of him grows angrier. Angry at himself for putting himself down and for running through what he might say to all of these people in his life. Angry at his lack of action. Why won’t he just do something? Today will be different. Today he’s feeling bold.

He pulls off his shirt and tosses it onto his dresser, quickly changing into the outfit spread on his bed. Once he’s done fumbling and pulling his shirt into place, he takes a deep breath and walks into his bathroom. He looks into the mirror, gaze moving up from his legs to his chest before finally resting on his face. Dimly aware of the speed of his racing heart beat, he smiles to himself. It’s funny, he thinks as he opens the drawer to his sink, reaching around the electric razor. I’ve held back for so long because I’m afraid of how I might make other people feel. Today, John has to be selfish. It seems like the only possible way forward.

Tilting his head down, he pulls his ear to the side with one paw and presses the electric razor against his brow. Smoothly following the curve of his head, he makes the first cut. Several locks of hair tumble onto the counter. His mane feels a bit lighter. A few more strokes later and he can see short, trim fur along his scalp and the side of his ear. It’s smooth, he thinks while reaching up and running his paw along it. The rest of his mane could almost look punk if he shaved the fur off his cheeks first. With a laugh to himself, he switches paws and starts gliding the razor across his cheek, the buzz filling his small bathroom as more locks of hair fall into his sink. As he reveals more of his cheek he starts to feel an unfamiliar euphoria bubble from deep within his chest. He rubs his paw against his smooth face and smiles. The warmth in his chest deepens. Putting the razor back in his left paw, he follows the line of his chin, up to his other cheek.

He spends over an hour in his little bathroom, trimming away at his thick mane until he’s satisfied and then examines his reflection. The lion is all smiles, bright teeth flashing as he checks every angle, posing and watching how much more expressive his ears feel. And then, John sees himself as he feels. A woman. A lioness. John had refused to think of himself as a woman because up until now, he never felt that he could truly feel comfortable and see himself as he is. But there she was, smiling back in the mirror.

Maybe she could change her appearance. Maybe she could become what she felt and knew she truly was. And maybe that euphoria she felt as she walked back into her bedroom to find her camera was something she could hold on to."