JulieYBM

  June 22, 2015:

  The best spot in a gym to run on a treadmill is typically found in the middle of the back row. When I had first begun going to the gym and running on treadmills I naively ran on the treadmills situated up from, pced as if to allow the runners to look out into the parking lot. One girl, two girls, three girls, four! I watched as scores of women began running in front of the windows, suffering the despicable leers of the men passing by, and then fading into the background, deeper into the gym, so as to not be the focus of unwanted eyes. As time passed, I too found myself needing to do the same as it became increasingly apparent that men were beginning to see me as a woman—even under baggy clothes—and would leer at me with a look no man had ever looked at me before.

  If possible, it was best to find a treadmill close enough to the front desk that you wouldn’t be in trouble if you were approached by a guy looking to chat up a girl.

  It was especially important to be near the front desk if you were a gay boy on hormone repcement therapy who now looked cute enough that even in a baggy hoodie and sweats you just looked like a girl wearing her boyfriend’s clothes. I was not, in fact, wearing my boyfriend’s clothes that day, because his were much too rge for me to exercise in.

  My old clothes were now way too baggy for me, though, considering how much my figure had changed after eighteen months of HRT and exercise. I had spent months considering just buying clothes in a smaller size, but now I was mostly putting off doing so because guy clothes were a major bore to shop for, and it was becoming apparent that it might just be worth it to just bite the bullet and buy women’s exercise clothes instead.

  For more than just their fashionability, that is.

  As much as I still expected to get called slurs or get my hate crimed for looking the way I did, I was apparently in no danger of that happening, considering the number of heterosexual guys coming up to flirt with me tely.

  One of which was, unfortunately, one of the personal trainers at the gym.

  As the man with the name ‘Ross’ on his nametag approached me I gathered my mental strength and prepared for his usual overt bullshit, “Hey there, Candi, right?”

  ‘Candace’—or the cutesier ‘Candi’—was the name that I was beginning to use with my doctor and any pce where I had to lean into the whole ‘pretending to be a trans woman’ thing—or in the case of most pces these days, just a woman.

  And for once, I was gd my boobs were too small to visibly bounce through my hoodie.

  The bnk cheque assumption from people that the name ‘Candi’ and the presence of breasts—however woefully small—on my chest was somehow indicative of me being a woman was more than a little bit damning in how people perceived gender, but since I was technically pretending to be a trans woman with my doctor to get on HRT, I had decided that it was best just to let it slide. Outside of people that I knew that I was going to have to interact with regurly, I’d basically given up on correcting people about my gender. Ashley had been quick to point out to me that simply allowing people to assume that I was a cis woman was the best way to avoid unpleasant conversations and physical contact, too.

  Unfortunately, that had the added side effect of me now having to deal with the gendered politics of being socially a ‘woman’—and all of the bullshit that came with that.

  The more I tried to feel comfortable in my body as a boy, the more I just wound up being perceived as a girl. Fate was truly a strange mistress.

  Nevertheless, I hoped that the thudding of my feet on the treadmill would ward off evil cisheterosexual spirits, but no such dice.

  As if in sync, with each step towards the treadmill I was running on, Ross’ eyes—brimming with positivity and expectancy—shined harder, while his steps cooled down the closer he came to his mark right in front of me.

  Having the aloof gym himbo before me with eyes wide enough to make a googly-eyed stuffed animal blush, I braced for impact with a practiced pep to my speech, “Umm…hiya…Ross?”

  Men always preferred—expected, really— when a girl sounded happy to talk to them.

  “That’s my name!” The staffer’s voice had a chipperness that could have either just been his normal mode, or something he reserved for a cute girl he wanted to get in the pants of. I reserved judgment, just to see how he would continue to conduct himself.

  “Hey, so, we noticed that you’ve been coming here a lot tely, and—well, you know how it is, corporate expects us to hit a quota—so I was wondering if we—”

  —Using corporate-speak ‘we’ twice in one sentence? Damn, talk about desperation.

  “—were wondering if we—”

  —Three times!—

  “—could sign you up for a free first personal trainer session?” I’d grown accustomed to looking down on a lot of the men that would stare at me, but Ross here seemed almost like he was about to die of a nervous sweat as he stood stiffer than a stiff in front of the treadmill. Unperturbed, I continued jogging away at a nice clip, while I considered the brow-beaten corporate dog before me and his pitiful offer.

  Clipboard in hand, and hands practically praying to God that they would get to touch what the eyes so loved to watch. The dusty brunette hair was almost charming—if he hadn’t been at least twenty years my senior. It was hard not to feel a little power hungry with it.

  “Sorry hon,” I apologized between breaths, paying special attention to keep the tone of my voice bright and harmless, “My boyfriend helps me with everything I need!” With a practiced grace I raised my right hand up, thumb extended, to poke back behind me, deeper into the gym. Michael was doing some sick curls. “In fact, I was about to meet up with him at the weights so he could spot me for a bit.”

  It was cruel of me, but I kind of enjoyed seeing the color fade from Ross’ face. Besides, the toned, six-even personal trainer was unlikely to have a shortage of attractive women to be hitting on—he didn’t need a twenty year old gay boy humoring him for an afternoon.

  “Oh, of course, I’m sure,” of course he would exaggerate the word ‘sure’ in an implicit way, “Well, let us know if you ever change your mind, Candi!”

  “Bye Ross,” I fshed the most confident smile, just to let him know that I was well aware that I knew how much he wanted me, but couldn’t safely admit it. Ending the conversation like I had all the power—because I did have all the power—I slipped my earphones back into my ears to return to the significantly more fun listen Barbie Girl by Aqua and continue my run.

  Cliché? Definitely. Even though I didn’t look like a straight man—or even a gay boy—anymore, the choice of song still kept me fearful of being judged for not being a straight man. What if my father found out that his only son was a stereotypical faggot who liked sex with men and dancing around his apartment in pink crop tops, short-shorts and the occasional dress?

  The strange satisfaction that I took from Ross’ defeated expression brought me back from my own self-loathing. I would have never experienced the thrill of toying with a horny, desperate man before HRT. I had noticed that my mood had significantly improved over the course of the past year and a half, which made sense to me now that I could look in the mirror without cringing. I read—heard?—somewhere once that liking the way you looked was a major confidence booster, but I never could have expected to feel so liberated by it.

  Like, yeah, sure, fine: I looked like a woman now—and I fucking loved it. I wasn’t trans like Ashley was, but goddamn, did I enjoy pretending to be.

  After finishing a cool down p I wiped down the treadmill—nicely glistening with my sweat—then made my way back over to Michael as he pumped untold amounts of iron. Even from a distance I could see the veins on his ever-thickening arms, which only made me squeeze my thighs tighter together as I approached him.

  I wasn’t going to be able to brainstorm myself into a solution regarding my appearance while working out at the gym, but I could at least enjoy the moment while it sted.

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  Michael and I hadn’t slept much st night. It was hard to not be restless, given what today meant. As the light of the still-rising sun began to fill my apartment through the curtains, I paced back and forth through my apartment. A disheveled Michael sat right leg on the couch and left firmly pnted on the hardwood floor. I counted my good graces that he was wearing nothing but his underwear—god knows, I needed the distraction.

  Suddenly, a ding from our phones. Michael hurriedly picked his phone off of his right thigh and unlocked it. I leapt up against the back of my couch, pcing my left cheek against his right to read the news with him: Obergefell v. Hodges had passed.

  Same-sex marriage was ruled to be protected under the Fourteenth Ammendment.

  “Holy fucking shit?!” We screamed in unison, Michael pulling me over the top of the couch and onto him.

  Before I knew it, I was kissing my boyfriend as if I had never kissed him before. My lips took on their own life and pnted a trail of kisses down his neck, then down to his pecs, and finally his abs, each little breadcrumb like a milestone in our retionship that had led to this very moment.

  Pulling me up by my chin, Michael looked down into my eyes with that warm look I always loved and just smiled.

  Same-sex marriage had been legal in Washington for almost three years now, but a nation-wide recognition made it much safer to travel while in a same-sex marriage.

  It made it much easier for our community to be recognized as legitimate—both across the United States and the world.

  If Michael and I ever got married, I would be able to make all the same important legal decisions his wife would be able to make if he were ever incapacitated.

  It was a relief, a relief in so many ways. To think that a binding piece of paper was liberating, rather than imprisoning.

  Returning his gaze, I couldn’t stop myself from weeping a little: “I love you so, so much, Mikey.”

  Brushing my long, golden locks from my eyes, Michael smiled that perfect smile of his, “I love you too, hon.”

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  “Hon?” I called out to Michael as he dried off in my apartment's woefully small—compared to back home—shower, “Hey, you don’t think short-shorts are too slutty, right?”

  Raising his voice just below a shout so as to communicate with me from another room, there was a curious humor to Michael’s voice, “Babe, this isn’t your first rodeo—people are going to be naked. It’s a Pride. In Seattle, for god’s sake!”

  Teasing Michael was always so easy, “Yeah, but what if I get called a slutty faggot?” I countered with a forced coo, just to see if I could make him shake his head in derision.

  Poking his head back into my bedroom, Michael got one look at my ripe, thick thighs in my shorts, looked me in the eye and said: “You just want me to call you a slutty faggot, don’t you?”

  “Okay, kinda?” I replied, trying not to sound too proud of myself.

  Michael’s face told me that he was not buying my innocent act, “Christ, Harri.”

  Striking the cutesiest pose that I could—cocking my hips and tossing up a peace sign—I wanted to force Michael to stew in my cheekiness a little longer. Michael was always finding ways to push my buttons, but with my new figure I found that it was becoming increasingly easy to fuck with him.

  Boys were always so easy to get to show their stupidity: show a little ass and they would come lining up in droves to tap it.

  Eyes dropping down to my chest, Michael asked with an almost hollow voice, “What are you going to do about those? It’s too hot to wear a sweater outside all day.”

  Ugh, pay attention to my ass, Michael! Or my thighs!!

  Pulling the tight, pink crop top I was wearing down, I ughed Michael’s concern off with that bold confidence I had taken to exuding more often tely, “Pfft, it’ll be fine. I’ve worn way more yers before in even hotter weather.”

  Admittedly, it was getting kind of hard to hide my breasts—even if they did look a bit small on me still—but the trusty old pastel pink sweater that I had purchased almost a year and half ago was still coming in handy any time I thought it would probably be best if I appeared a little less feminine than ideal.

  That is to say, any time I was out running errands alone.

  Not that that was stopping people from only calling me ‘miss’ now, though.

  “Besides,” I giggled, letting my right index finger draw a line down Michael’s chest while I stared oh-so-enchantingly into his soft blue eyes, “That’s why I’m wearing these cute shorts I bought the other day when Ashley and I went shopping. I’ll get plenty of ventition, Michael!”

  “I’m not convinced,” Michael took me by my right wrist and gnawed on my right finger, “Bahd yew dew yew, I ge-th.”

  “You’re overreacting, trust me Mikey,” I giggled at the big lunk’s silliness before withdrawing my finger from his mouth and walking over to my closet to pick out the sweater. “It won’t be that hot out today, hon.”

  “Says the guy who paid for me to get my car’s AC fixed so he wouldn’t melt anytime we were driving somewhere,” Michael accused, his strong arms effortlessly sweeping me off of my feet into a princess carry.

  Laughing from suddenly losing my footing, I yelped at Michael, “Michael stop,” then wrapped my arms around his neck for stability, “You’ll ruin my tuck!”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time!” Michael countered in a triumphant, roaring voice that overpyed each sylble, before dumping me on my bed.

  The frightening rush of dropping three feet had me screaming like a girl.

  Joining me on the now creaking bed, Michael sat on his knees—with me between them—and slipped his right hand beneath my shirt for a squeeze as his lips went to work on mine. I liked his hands on my chest a lot more now that there was something to squeeze, and now that the darn things weren’t so sore all the time.

  Still, I wished that my breasts hadn’t stopped growing. As hard as it would be to hide them from my family, I still wanted to feel the weight on my chest. Or see how my figure looked in cute clothes. On one of my many shopping trips with Ashley, I’d spotted so many cute keyhole dresses and tops that I wished I could pull off. As much as I was quickly becoming a not-so-normal gay twink, the small size of my breasts was a bitter topic.

  Michael had helped a lot with getting me in shape since we started dating eighteen months ago, and I was endlessly grateful for it. Countless hours at the gym doing cardio and squats were doing wonders for making me finally feel like I wasn’t some sort of lumbering, shapeless twink giant thing.

  Like, I had an ass! And hips!

  Things with Michael were never better, but a lot of men were starting to stare at my ass wherever I went—even seemingly straight men—and it was kind of as exciting as it was unsettling how much I kind of—okay, more like a little more than ‘kind of’—liked the attention. Well, mostly from Michael. And friends. It was hard to process it all, because I was never quite sure when I was safe. If a straight guy learned that he was getting a hard on for another guy I don’t know how safe I would be.

  Eighteen months ago I had myself pinned as just a cishet guy, but after taking a shot on Michael, I realized that I’d been letting my fear of the consequences of being gay control me for my entire life. My retionship with Michael, taking HRT, and crossdressing—they were all ways for me to escape that bnkste of a person that I used to be. Hell, even studying to be a teacher let me be somebody different. The old me would never have opened himself up like I was now.

  Not that my father—mostly through my mother—wasn’t constantly pestering me to take business courses. Ugh!

  As happy as I was with my more agreeable sense of self, it did concern me that I was perhaps developing some kind of voyeur fetish or whatever, but I also really liked the power all of the attention gave me. The strange guilt I felt from that ate away at me—if straight guys were attracted to me now, did that mean I looked like a woman? And if I did look like a woman, did that mean that I—a mere cis gay boy—was sending the wrong signal about the kind of attention women wanted?

  I knew that HRT would make me look more feminine and generally like a woman, but when I started I didn't understand the full reality of how I would indeed be having to expin to random straight men that I had a boyfriend already just eighteen months ter. Furthermore, being that I was just a gay boy on HRT, and not a woman, was it really fair for me to suddenly be thrust into a position where I would have to let straight guys continue to operate under their mistaken impression that I was a woman?

  Letting them continue under the impression that I was a woman was kind of super fucking important to not getting the shit kicked out of me, after all.

  It was a bit of an interesting thought experiment, though. Most people who didn’t know me just saw me as a woman these days, even though I wasn’t trans. If society saw me as a woman, did that simply make me one? Even if I didn’t think that I was a woman? But if society saw me as a woman, didn’t that mean that I was now expected to represent women? Between Ash, Sarah, Megumi and acquaintances I had made through them it felt like a terrible betrayal not to just properly portray the social role of a ‘woman’ in a way that wouldn’t reflect poorly on all the lovely women that I was now friends—or friendly—with.

  Hiding the changes from HRT when visiting my parents was hard enough six months ago when they saw me at Christmas, and I was only a year on HRT at that point. How was I going to keep doing that for two more Thanksgivings and Christmas’? Wear a bunch of yers and just hope that nobody noticed that I had breasts now? Or that my face looked feminine? Or that I had a killer ass now?

  Michael’s lips locking with mine broke me from my sidetracked mind and momentarily brought me back to the present. So long as I kept dodging my parents, I wouldn’t have to expin a damned thing to them, right?

  Annabeth, however, was a different story. I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive her for the way she treated Megumi, especially after learning that Meg was trans and the mother of her son. It was unforgivable to me that—

  —Along with a firm squeeze of my chest, I could feel Michael's hard cock pressing against my fttened crotch. A strange—but increasingly familiar—heat traveled up my belly and throughout my body. It was such a shame I was a man: if I had a vagina I could have felt Michael's cock sliding into it right now. If I lied to my doctor about having bottom dysphoria…would I be able to get a referral for bottom surgery?

  Breaking his lips from mine for just a moment, Michael sheepishly asked, “Think we have enough time for a quickie before we leave?”

  Deviousness raced up my spine at the thought, “Fuck, lemme just suck your dick?”

  My hands were already scraping at Michael’s belt and zipper before I had even finished my sentence. Freeing his sausage from its tight packaging, I enthusiastically went down on it after guiding Michael to y back on my bed. There was a rightness to sucking dick—as opposed to having my dick sucked—that I had grown increasingly excited by over the past year and a half. A calmness—

  —as if each—

  —and every—

  —bob down—

  —was like breathing for the first time!

  The warmth of Michael’s cum pouring into my mouth—as he held me by the back of my head so that I couldn’t remove myself from his cock—as if I ever would—sent every inch of my skin abze. To take a piece of him into me was some parts perverted and some parts revolutionary.

  I was a cocksucker.

  I was a faggot.

  I was not the man my family expected me to be.

  I was not even a straight man.

  Fuck, why did I even have to be a—?!

  “You good?” Michael asked, gently lifting my head up as I licked my lips.

  Cheekily, I wrapped my right hand around Michael’s cock to bring it back to life, “Perfect!”

  Michael’s load in my mouth stretched from bottom to top—like gum stretched thin—with each fp of my gums.

  The sight of me—cum pooling in my mouth before I sent it off to its new home in my belly—left Michael a giggling mess, “Jesus, Hare!”

  My long-perfected, slow jacking of Michael’s cock went uninterrupted by his torso-rattling chuckle, “Mmm, you like that, big guy?”

  He wasn’t ‘big guy’ just because of how tall he was, either.

  “Still going at it?” Michael snickered, pulling my top up enough to pinch my right nipple, “Jesus, Hare, you’re leaking!”

  “No I’m not!” I replied, careful not to let any of the pool of cum still in my mouth escape.

  “No, no,” Michael’s eyes shot downward, “In your…uh…”

  “Aww, fuck!” I groaned, noticing the visible dark spot. Swallowing Michael’s load at st, I pushed off of my bed and immediately felt the wetness of my own splooge in my panties and shorts. “Ugh, I thought this got harder the longer you were on HRT?”

  “...mind if I lick it up?”

  “Eww! Gross, Michael!” I cried out, remnants of Michael’s smegma still between my gums and teeth.

  As I walked to my closet to change out of my shorts I could spy out of the corner of my eye the big lunk rolling his eyes, to which I merely scoffed.

  Slipping my soiled shorts off, I could feel a mild stiffness remaining in my cock as my tuck came unfurled.

  Ugh, I should’ve told him to just fuck me in the ass, instead.

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  It was my second Seattle Pride, but the effect was no less breathtaking. The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed and boomed with 300,000 queer people. Music and Drag performances spread across the streets and bounced against the neverending skyscrapers. The sight of people like me—cd in their various queer colors of both hair and cloth—living their best lives—even when they were living in Hell any other day of the year—was exciting in ways I could never put to paper through pen or brush.

  The warmth of Michael’s rge, rough hands crossed with mine was intoxicating. I could never have done this before—never could I have touched a loved one or felt comfortable being seen holding hands with a man—but here I was now, free of that fear. Free of that Hell.

  Even the sweat of Michael’s palms intermixing with my own was a relief in some way. A little piece of him and a little piece of me, forever between us.

  Forever to remind me of our love.

  Well, until the next time I used hand sanitizer.

  The bring, screaming, and ever-so-scorching rays of the sun belted down on me and my gay little frame from far above. Heat attacked me from all angles—above, below, and body heat from each side—but I persevered. To be able to bounce off of the concrete below just to strike yet again seemed too cruel a power, but it was a tactic that mother nature had no qualms engaging in.

  She was rarely forgiving.

  Even if the sweat was beginning to make my bra, top and sweater stick to my back.

  “Babe, please just take the sweater off,” Michael groaned, leaning down on me just a teensy bit to get my attention. “You’re going to pass out and I know you don’t want to make a scene in front of a few hundred thousand queer people!”

  “I—I’m fine, Michael, Jesus!”

  “Hare, you tell strangers that you’re a woman named ‘Candace’ anytime we go somewhere. Hell, a woman called you ‘miss’ at that booth we were at twenty minutes ago! You know, the booth where you were looking at dresses?”

  Ugh, I hated it when he used logic with me. Slipping my purse strap off, I handed my boyfriend the cute, pink bag covered in cute little frogs before slipping my sweat off and tying it around my waist. Arms extended as if I were presenting myself, I let my annoyance show as I asked, “There, you happy?”

  “Your tits look nice,” Michael stuck his tongue out while handing me back my purse.

  “Fuck you, I know they do!” I grumbled, peeking down just to double check that they were, indeed, nice.

  “Come on, let’s get some water in you while we’re at it,” Michael’s hand wrapped painlessly around my limp, band-covered wrist as he pulled me along to a volunteer handing out free water bottles from a—clearly seasoned—water cooler stuffed full of mercifully still unmelted ice.

  The two unlucky water bottles—that were not long for this world—were soaking a cool kind of wet in my hands—their cheap pstic bels practically peeling off—as I quickly downed them in quick succession. My personal beanstalk dweller had uncapped the second bottle for me while I put my recent chugging skills to the tell on the first bottle.

  “See? Much better,” Michael sing-songed as I checked my hair and makeup in a compact mirror that I kept in my purse. I did not need anyone thinking I was a man with tits or something, after all.

  Well, not that I wasn’t, but—I just really didn’t want to get hate crimed or something!

  At Pride! In Seattle!! Surrounded by probably a few hundred fuckin’ thousand queer people!!!

  Okay girl, that is not very likely to happen, but still!

  Letting myself hang with great exaggeration off of my boyfriend, I whined in that way that I knew always got him a little flustered, “Heeeeeeeey, I’m tired, carry me!”

  It was just deserts for his nagging, anyway.

  Pushing back against me with his stronger—heavily carved—frame, Michael growled, “Stop being a little brat and figure out what you’d like to check out next, blondie!”

  Scoffing—with maybe just a little pyed-up offense—I pointed my right index finger against Michael’s ever deepening pec cleavage, “Hey you!”

  Michael didn’t look impressed by my grand dispy of offense. Looking down at my finger, then back up, Michael gave me the most comically challenging face I had ever seen. Not even a single word escaped his mouth.

  “Ugh, fine, fine—let’s go over—”

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my second favorite Woods girl,” a familiar voice called from behind.

  Turning around, I was stricken by the sight of one of my nephew’s mothers, Megumi. Cd in a shockingly revealing outfit—for her—I was surprised to see Meg rocking jean short-shorts and a bright green romper covered in pink flowers. It was shockingly colorful for her, given her penchant for dark clothes, skirts and long-sleeves.

  Bisexual and trans wristbands wrapped around both of her wrists.

  “Well, there you are!” I giggled, unable to even sound like I was admonishing Meg as I wrapped my arms around her for a hug.

  I could hear Michael’s voice call out, “Nice to see you again, Meg!” over my shoulder as I held eternally onto my unofficial sister-in-w.

  If Annabeth hadn’t been an idiot Meg would be my official sister-in-w.

  “No Hinata?” I asked, reluctantly ending the embrace—one that I never would have initiated a year ago.

  “Naw, it’s Beth’s weekend this week,” Meg replied, her smile faint as she pulled her twin-tails back off her shoulders. “I doubt she’d be happy if I told her I brought the baby to Seattle Pride, anyway.”

  “What, does she think he’s just not going to realize she has two moms when he grows up?” I scoffed bitterly, rolling my eyes with little in the way of forgiveness.

  “Hon,” Michael whispered, hand on my shoulder, “Let’s not focus on that right now, okay? I doubt Megumi wants to spend Pride rehashing the same shit over-and-over.”

  Looking up at Michael for a moment, Meg turned back to me and smiled, “Yeah, there’s time for that another day, Candi!”

  “Come on, Meg!” I whined through a little pout, “You can just call me Harri! You know that I’m just a gay guy, not trans!”

  Megumi’s amused look irritated me as much as it confused me.

  “Ugh, whatevs,” even as I let it out, I could tell that my groan didn’t sound very convincing. Hanging myself off of Megumi’s shoulder, I filed around aimlessly in the air, “Come on, let’s go buy some cute clothes, Megumiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

  Locking her fingers with mine, Megumi stepped forward, turned back to face me and then Michael, then me again. With a smile nearly as wide as she would wear when she was holding Hinata, Megumi gripped my hand a little tighter, smiled a little brighter, and then stepped a little further.

  Following her was easy enough.

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  Clothes shopping for cute clothes at a Seattle Pride was ironic when you considered the number of naked attendees just casually walking the streets of Seattle.

  It was still a bit funny to think about it as such, but having a queer body to celebrate with cute clothes was something that I now qualified for being able to cim after coming out as gay and starting HRT. Some cis men walked around with nothing but a full dispy of their muscles and penises, others—me—walked around with their boobs in cute bras and shorts.

  “Aren't you gd I brought sun lotion now?” Michael teased, his thick, strong right arm wrapped warmly around my waist as he kept me close by.

  “Hush, you,” I admonished as I pyed hard to get, pulling away from Michael to grab back on Megumi’s left arm.

  Megumi just rolled her eyes, stifling a ugh at my poor expense. Frustratingly, I could tell that she was holding back, which only made my pout poutier.

  “Come on Meg, don't be that way!”

  Scoffing, the young woman finally relented, “You two really are the same, you know that?” Meg reached around and patted me lightly on my head before straightening my bra strap out as we continued our slow walk around the Space Needle.

  “Me and Mikey?” I asked, confused.

  “You and that sister of yours,” Megumi ughed, booping me on the nose.

  “Ugh, don’t even start on that,” the disgust in my voice was hardly pyed up, but Meg didn't seem to be any less amused by it. I caught myself rubbing the spot where Megumi had booped me without even meaning to. My right index and middle fingers took on a life of their own, which only made me more embarrassed. I couldn’t just have either of them thinking that I was bothered by this small dispy of intimacy, especially when—well—ugh, fuck.

  I had to change the subject, pronto, “How's work?”

  “The usual. Working from home is nice when you have to keep an eye on a kid, and even nicer when it's just you and the walls. I'm thinking about saving up for a house of my own, just so Hinata has more room to py as he grows up, though.”

  “That sounds like a lot of up-keep, though?”

  “It’s worth it. I'll be spending most of my time at home, anyway.”

  It dawned on me that this was the difference between Meg and I that I really hadn’t been understanding. Meg was a working adult—I was still living off of my well-to-do folks. Even though I was sneaking around behind my parents’ backs having gay sex with my boyfriend between studying to become a teacher while simultaneously trying to keep them satisfied with my business studies, I was still not having to worry about protecting and nurturing the life of a child. As uncomfortable as my life could still be, Meg had to actually think about what was best not just for her future, but her child’s future.

  Something that, being gay, I probably would never have to worry about. I’d never be a mother—and certainly never be a father—and I could now tell that that was the gulf at the center of it all. Babysitting Hinata would be the extent of my ability to ‘raise’ a child.

  “What about you? How is life on the education track?”

  Megumi’s question snapped me back to the moment—for which I was dearly thankful, “The usual. I'm trying to bance things out with my course selection so that my parents don't realize that I'm mostly focused on becoming a teacher, so it's mostly been a lot of pusible deniability wrangling.”

  “And I suppose that they'll throw a fit if they realize that you're also pulling a double major?”

  “Well, yeah. Then again, it's not like they're going to miss the extra tuition money, considering how things are going for Dad at work.”

  “That sweet, sweet Military Industrial Complex money sure does hit something different,” Meg giggled, suddenly throwing her hands up into the air with a hirious snappiness.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I answered back, a bit lost for words over it all.

  My sneaky life was ultimately a comfortable life—and it was basically paid for with blood money. I wasn’t a fan of being reminded of that, but if anyone had to do it, I was at least gd that it was a woman who was almost like a sister to me, if not a former cru—well, a sister to me.

  “So,” Meg started, nursing her water bottle, “You realize that you're going to have to change your name and gender marker legally, right?”

  “What do you mean?” A chill surged up my spine at the sudden change in tone to Meg's voice, and my steps became shorter and less adventurous.

  “Girl, come on,” Megumi’s exasperated voice made my chest contract inward. My breathing became ragged in ways I could not quite put into words, “You can't just apply to work at schools looking the way you do and calling yourself a man. You've been on HRT long enough that complete strangers just see a young woman!”

  “B-but…I'm not trans?”

  “Yeah, and my brother knocked up your sister, not me.”

  “Wait, I thought that you were a only—?”

  “Exactly! I don't have a brother!”

  I growled at Meg's sarcasm, realizing that whatever point she was trying to illustrate came across as only more and more valid.

  “Meg, my parents will—”

  “We'll help you.”

  “But, I—”

  A rge, warm hand from my love nded gently on my shoulder. Turning back to look Michael in the eyes, I saw the sincerity of the look in his eyes. The concern sickened me, even if I didn’t know why. Michael had been the perfect gentleman to me all this time, but I had never been able to process what exactly it was that he wanted to say with his looks whenever the subject of the future came up.

  Turning back to Meg, I tentatively opened my mouth, before pausing. Finally, “I know that I can’t hide being gay from my parents forever. Or being on hormones.”

  The duo seemed to wait for me to say something else, so with a sigh, I added what I figured they wanted to hear, “When the time comes, I’ll rely on you two for help. I just want to try to wait until after college before I tell them, you know?”

  “Waiting for the tuition checks to clear is a dangerous game, hon,” Meg grimaced, suddenly less chipper than I had known her to be since we had reconnected.

  “I know, Meg…I know.”

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  The little café that Michael, Megumi and I had crammed into was—surprising nobody—crammed full of queers of all sorts. It was difficult to even get a word in edgewise as we waited for our orders to be ready, but I nevertheless relished my opportunity to finally get out and be among other people like me. My first Pride season st year had been thrilling—if a little daunting—but this year—with freshman jitters out of the way—I was really able to take in and enjoy the mood of it all. My world was a world of grays and blues most of the time, but during summer—during Pride—life was a kaleidoscope of colors.

  Sophomore Slump? Eat your heart out, bitch!

  Unfortunately, that did mean needing to wait an ungodly amount of time for our order to be ready, though. For the sake of brevity, I had insisted on paying for everything as a single order, but that had unfortunately come with a lot of prodding from Michael and Megumi to not forget to order something for myself. Eating was something that I had come to kind of dread—for multiple reasons—because sticking to a diet was difficult unless I was preparing the food myself. Nevertheless, I had caved and ordered a sad, if only so that I wouldn’t pass out from all the walking around in ninety-something degree weather.

  I also had the sneaking suspicion that Michael was still concerned that I wasn’t going to eat much. An unfortunate side effect of having my boyfriend help me get in shape was having him scrutinizing what I ate now—well, that I ate now. I couldn’t help it, though. The paranoia about my body getting more masculine had definitely become something that I was now aware of consciously, but as I looked at my order—as I picked it up off of the counter—I couldn’t help but feel my stomach turn and twist.

  Well, I suppose that if I didn’t eat then I wouldn’t have the strength to work off all those calories, would I?

  Returning to our table—crammed between other tables full of people of all types—I carefully sat the tray down and jump-started a conversation before anyone could notice whether I was eating or not, “So! How is my favorite nephew doing?”

  Megumi’s slice of pizza looked tauntingly like she was mocking me. Not so much in how she was eating it, of course—the poor woman was apparently been the type to not wait for food to cool before going about gobbling it up—but in how she basically moaned as the sizzling delicacy broke apart in her mouth with a single, sharp chewing motion, “Lofly!”

  “You can wait until you’ve swallowed,” I returned, a strained smile pstered on my face. It felt like she was mocking me. She knew how much I loved ham and sausage.

  “Thash wah she thed!”

  I should just walk over to Pike Pce Market and throw myself into the cold, unforgiving Puget Sound.

  Mouth now unobstructed, “Lovely! I think he’s not as big a fan of switching between two different homes, though, but hey—what are ya gonna do?”

  “Must be hard, having to adjust to two different homes—especially at that age,” Michael’s sympathy belied the greater issue.

  “Gosh, I wonder whose fault that could be?” I could hear their eyes rolling over the roar of the crowded café, “I mean, I’m just sayin’!”

  “Candi, I understand how you feel about your sister, but please don’t take every opportunity you can to bring it up,” Megumi’s weak voice matched the sudden fatigue on her face.

  Digging my acrylics into my palm, I put on my best facial expression—whatever the hell it was, I couldn’t tell—and dropped it.

  “She’s got that new pce on the waterfront in downtown Tacoma, right?” Michael interjected, drumming his index fingers on the table on each side of his croissant sandwich…thing. Good lord, that thing was stuffed with a lot of ham and cheese! Is this how he kept becoming more of a sexy, manly god?

  “Yeah, it’s gorgeous. The nearby parks are kind of few and far between, but she keeps her pce stuffed with a ton of toys, so the baby has plenty to py with. God, you’ve gotta see the view of the water from there!”

  “I Google’d the neighborhood,” Michael said, raising his monstrosity back to his mouth for a bite, “It’s on a hill, yeah? The view has to be gorgeous!”

  “Certainly a better view than all that surrounding forest around the family estate,” I conceded, for Megu.

  “Yeah, way less dreary a pce to grow up around—even the harbor machinery is kind of nice to look at!” Meg held up her phone to show us photos she had taken from the balcony of my sister’s apartment. The bright, blue skies were to die for: not a cloud in the sky!

  “I guess you spent a lot of time around the Woods estate, then?” Michael asked, mouth covered by a polite hand as she chewed.

  “Oh gosh, yes. I practically grew up around those two knuckleheads,” Meg giggled, which only elicited a nasty look from me on instinct alone. “Bethy and I met in sixth grade, then—well—she and I began spending a lot of time around one another,” then, pointing to me, “And of course, Candi here couldn’t stop herself from wanting to tag along.”

  Leaning to his left, Michael teasingly bumped me with his shoulder, “Nine year old Candace wanting to hang around the girls, eh?”

  I rolled my eyes at my boyfriend’s amusement, “I mean, hey, at least they let me. All the boys thought I was a weirdo. Probably smelt the homo on me!”

  Megumi’s giggle seemed even more teasing, “I guess you don’t remember, but yeah, you didn’t really have friends outside of us.”

  “I guess you let me tag along so much because you felt sorry for me?” Perhaps it was unwise to prod, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Well, there were a lot of reasons, Candi,” Meg’s voice took on a hesitancy that contrasted with her bright smile, “At the end of the day, I was gd to get to know you so much better.”

  A little nervous series of taps with my feet ter, “That’s funny, I feel like I remember you being so much less…well, the cheery woman you are now?”

  Megumi’s smile took a bigger upturn, “Well, we all grow and change in different ways. I think getting to interact with other girls—even a younger kid like you who saw me as an older girl—helped me grow up a lot. I mean, when you’re twelve and stealth, you’re still going to be scared to really spread your wings, if you know what I mean.”

  Finishing a sip of water, “No, yeah, I get it. God, I barely remember back then, but I still knew that if I didn’t toughen up my dad would keep yelling at me and saying all that shit about how I was a boy and needing to man up or whatever. God, it was scary how pissed he would get.”

  “Yeah, I remember how often he made you cry and Bethy and I had to console you afterwards,” Meg sat her slice down in her to-go box and took a moment to think about what I assumed were unpleasant memories of her past, “I’m gd that Hinata doesn’t have to grow up around that man—and I’m happy that when we’re you’re done with college, you won’t have to see him ever again, either.”

  Was that really true, though? Was I really going to just…never see my parents again, once I had a degree? Could that really work? Even if I was gay—even if I had to expin why I look so different now to them someday…would it really lead to—?

  Grainy, starkly-lit bck-and-white footage of my father and mother filtered into my consciousness. Their scowls, their harsh body nguage and their harsher words surrounding me and tearing me to pieces. That was the confrontation that I was in for, wasn’t it? A confrontation where my life of limbo would end, just as my life of privilege would end. The world would be over, I would be nothing more than an orphaned child—an orphaned child, wrapped in the body of an adult man, now destined to filter through the world alone for decades more than before.

  Michael’s curious voice brought me back from the dark depths: “Your parents are still pissed at Annabeth, I assume?” Michael ventured, eyes telling of how he was a little hesitant as he shot me a quick look, which surely clued him in on how dazed I looked and felt.

  “Yeah, well, basically. I’m lucky Bethy isn’t trying to work with your dad to prevent me from seeing the baby,” the bitterness on Megumi’s face was like a knife in my own stomach, “Your mom’s a bitch, but at least she doesn’t call me slurs to my face when she sees me.”

  “Jesus Christ, girl!” I snapped from my semi-daze and wrapped around the table to sit on the booth chair next to the disgusted woman, “Fuck that piece of shit!” My father was a man who I had learned years ago to never cross, and his reported treatment of this woman I would call sister was definitely not something I would never expect.

  I took the weak smile in response from Megumi as a victory.

  “What about your folks?” Michael asked, hoping to lighten the mood, “They must be cool?”

  “I'm happy to know that my baby will have at least one set of loving grandparents,” Meg shined, “They've been amazing.” Her smile and her voice were like sunlight again, nourishing my soul.

  “They supported you, right?”

  “Yeah. Turns out the upside of having parents who met at an bisexual support group helps a lot when their kid turns out to be trans.”

  “Jeez, that house is fruitier than the produce section!” Michael’s line was somehow ripened with even more charm with the boisterousness of its accompanying ugh.

  “Tell me about it!” The life in her voice grew stronger from our shared ugh, “Whatever happens, I know that I have been really, really lucky, and I'll make sure that Hinata is, too.”

  My right hand wandered to my stomach, letting me feel its firmness. Normally, I loved the feel of its patiently crafted firmness, but as I listened to Megumi's voice and saw the conviction in her eyes, my body felt terribly wrong.

  The awful pit of carcinogens burned once again in the darkest depths of my stomach as the taste of cigar ash returned to the tip of my tongue and the rims of my lips. I had little trouble recalling the lectures from my father about what it meant to be a man—in particur, a man of the Woods family. I couldn’t recall if my tears were from the tobacco smoke he blew in my face or the disgust in his voice when he would tell me to stop being such a little faggot. I had only been a child, the first time he caught me pying with Annabeth and Megumi, wearing that cute, pink—

  “Babe, are you okay?” Michael’s warm bear paws reached across the table and swallowed my left hand as it id lifelessly on the table. Even when trapped—reliving the nightmare of a life under my father’s roof—Michael’s warm hands could still reach me.

  Eternally dark as his eyes were, Michael’s gaze as he took me in always seemed brighter than any day I had ever spent under the sun. What was it he saw when he looked upon me? How could I ever make his idea of me a reality?

  I wrapped my right arm around my belly, tightly gripping onto what little of me there was to grip, and dug my acrylic nails into my left side, “I’m fine, Michael.”

  I had lied to my lover, not for the first time, and not with the first fake smile I had ever cursed him with. The little lie was the only way I knew how to move forward.

  The little lie was the only way I knew to not give a name to the first born daughter I would never feel growing inside of me.

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  The thumping of the bass accompanying the pulsating gel lights drove into my very skull not only as mere sensory invasions, but as a true reminder to me that I was—indeed—within a queer club. Dozens if not hundreds of queer people spilled both out of the club and into what seemed like every little corner as they yelled over the thudding bass their conversations, ughed at their jokes, kissed their loves—sometimes multiple at once—and groped one another in ways I would not have expected outside of the privacy of even just a bathroom stall.

  Each individual swept up in the sea of drinking, smoking, groping, kissing, and cheering was a unique story lost to time—reserved only for those individuals and only for that chance to experience it. The parties I had attended growing up hadn’t felt anywhere near as electric—nor anywhere near as meaningful to those attending—as the rave that Ashley had invited Michael, Megumi and I to.

  As Ashley led us to the bar, I couldn’t help but admire the way her shoulder bdes and her trapezius’ movement unencumbered by her backless top, I found myself enchanted by how slender they were. Was that the benefit of beginning HRT at sixteen, rather than my nineteen years of age? I couldn’t help but bite my lip, cursing the way my body had become so masculine, even if much of the damage was beginning to fade.

  Finally, we arrived at the bar and Ashley ordered us a round of shots.

  “I know you’re not twenty-one for another two months,” Ashley yelled above the beat of the club music, “But hey, I got you inside of here anyway, so fuck it, right?”

  Accepting the shot of liquor with some name I did not know, I replied, “Fuck it!” in affirmation and finished the shot in a single upward motion, “Not my first shot!”

  One of the perks of growing up at big family parties was being well-accustomed to alcohol before being of legal age.

  Ashley giggled at my defense, hanging off of my right shoulder, “Fuck yeah, Bunny!” And ordered another round as Michael and Megumi finished theirs. Making a big show of it, Ashley downed her shot immediately upon receiving it, then took me by my hand, “Let’s dance, Bunny!”

  Looking at Michael, ever devoid of jealousy, the sipping giant nodded his ck of defensiveness and elected to stay at the bar with Megumi.

  I downed my second shot and let my legs follow the forward motion of my guide's forward march.

  Hurriedly pulled along by Ashley and her firm, sweaty grip on my wrist, I felt the buzz begin to settle in as my steps worked to keep up with that of my excited blue-haired friend. The burn of my alcohol remaining in my throat did little to hamper me as I yelled out my woos and my giggles with each and every bump into a random stranger.

  Finally, Ashley and I arrived at a space just big enough to begin our dancing. I was terrible at it, of course, no matter how many clubs and parties I had gone to with Michael and the others, but it had hardly mattered. The glisten of Ashley’s sweat dripping down the length of her beautiful, toned arms and nding in the exposed pit of her arms entranced me. How was such a beautiful woman possible, and would I someday be able to match her?

  A pair of men soon appeared before us, trying to cut in, much to my chagrin. Neither man was my type—neither man was above six feet—and quite frankly—as I smiled through my gritted teeth—I was in no mood for being interrupted. I hadn’t seen Ashley in damned near forever with the way our schedules had been, after all.

  Grabbing my friend by her wrist, I pitched my voice up in my most polite, feminine tone, “Hey boys, I need to borrow my friend here for a moment.”

  “Anything we can do to help?” The douche with the shitty spiked frosted tips asked, “We’re really good at helping women.”

  “Girl problems,” I smiled back, my smile a little less fake from trying not to get killed by a man that I didn’t know and a little more real from getting to imply I was menstruating.

  The men immediately took as close a thing to a respectful step back as they could, holding their hands up palms out defensively in unison.

  Shifting my hand down, I crossed fingers with Ashley—her giggle at my fib ever so fiendish—and pulled her back into the sea of dancing fairies

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  Once in the restroom—crowded with femmes of all sorts—our duo of giggles fell over each other in a mercifully free stall.

  Locking the stall door, I stared at the gorgeous trans woman in her eyes as she wobbled in pce, trying not to fall face forward into my shoulder.

  Our faces were just inches apart, our chests pressed against one another due to the tightness of the stall. I could feel the beating of her heart, a drum among a bathroom orchestra of instruments making noises. Was she simply exhirated from the excitement of the day? Or was my little fib from moments earlier still tickling her fancy?

  “Gawd, you're such a naughty girl, Bunny,” Ashley's giggle was infectious, and I almost wanted to not correct her.

  “Ugh, come on!”

  “We're in the girls’ room, Bunny, that makes you a giiiiirrrrllll!”

  Bitch.

  Ashley wrapped her hands around my neck and pulled me in for a surprise kiss. By the time I had moaned my protest, I was already tasting the rum and coke on Ashley’s breath as it cshed against the fruity drinks I had poured down my gullet. The swirl of her tongue around mine left me agonizingly aghast at the idea of breaking from her embrace. The heat building in my belly left me craving more as it spread out across my body and sent my toes into a curl.

  A twitch in my short-shorts sent me reeling, and I pulled back from Ashley.

  “What the fuck, Ashley?!”

  Ashley burst into giggles, “Gawd, what a scowl! Come on Bunny, I saw the way you were lookin’ at me!”

  If she hadn't just sprung a surprise kiss on me, I might have found her little hiccup cute, “Fucking A, Ashley, I have a boyfriend!”

  “Don’t mean you didn't like it!” Ashley's words were beginning to slur now, and I had to wonder how many drinks she had already had that night—she was slumping back against the side of the stall for support. “Come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, Bunny!” Ashley’s hands rose with little accuracy to reach for the sides of my head again, “Let’s kissssss a lil’ more, yeah?!”

  A voice called from the other side of the stall door, “Hey, hurry up in there, you buncha dykes! Some of us gotta shit!”

  Embarrassed, I unlocked the stall door and Ashley and I finagled around in the cramped stall to get the door to open properly. A tall woman with a shaved head and guns that would make even the Second Amendment blush impatiently tapped her foot on the ill-kept tile floor—chipped and stained with goodness knows what.

  “I love your tank top,” I blurted out in a rush as I dragged the blue-haired lush out of the restroom stall and to the exit.

  “Ugh, femmes and their coke,” I could hear the butch muttering as Ashley and I passed through the exit.

  Before she was out of range, Ashley turned back and yelled, “Actually, I'm more of a futch—” and with a final tug of her arm, “—fuck, Bunny!”

  Once outside of the crowded restroom, I dropped Ashley's wrist and made my way outside of the club.

  Able to breathe the fresh air of the Seattle night at st, I began walking uphill with a nasty attitude to my steps, muttering beneath my breath, “Bitch.”

  I was beginning to regret wearing heels all day.

  “Candi! Wait up!!” The familiar boom of Michael’s voice caught up with me, echoing off of the surrounding buildings.

  I kept walking, but it didn’t take long for my boyfriend to catch up, “I’m ready to go home, Michael!”

  Michael’s concern was evident even without looking up at his face. The pavement was a good enough sight for my sore eyes as the blurriness of my tears warped my vision.

  Why the fuck was I crying? I had kissed girls before! Sure, it was torture, but Ashley was—but I was…I don’t even know?

  I told myself that I was gay. I am gay. Kissing girls only ever made me made me want to—

  Breaking from Michael’s embrace, I turned to my left and hurled up everything in my stomach.

  “Candace?!” Michael wrapped his left arm around me to hold me steady as I continued to expunge my insides onto the streets of Seattle. Even among the chaos raging in my mind I could still feel his right hand on my back.

  “Hang in there, hon,” Michael’s whisper was crisp on the heavy, hot air of the night.

  It would be a few hours still until the coolness really settled in before the heat would ramp back up around five or six in the morning. All I wanted now was to just go home and fall straight onto my bed.

  “Oh shit, Bunny!” The sound of two pairs of running footsteps approached straight into my left ear. Turning to look up, I found Ashley and Megumi approaching, looks of concern pstered on their faces. “Are you okay, Harri?”

  I almost didn’t recognize the name on Ashley’s tongue—or in general. I had been ‘Candace’ all day, and to suddenly be reminded of who I was outside of college and outside of the life I was building with my boyfriend and friends, I felt suddenly like a fish out of water. Clearing my throat, I grunted out, “I’ll be fine.”

  “Harri, I’m so sorry about what I did back there. I thought—I just thought you were into it?”

  I shot a look back up to Michael, who looked like he had an idea about what had happened.

  “Ashley told me,” Michael’s voice was steady and even, and I wasn’t sure how to read it.

  It didn’t really matter what his voice was actually saying, though, because I burst into tears either way, “I’m s-so sorry, Mikey!”

  “Harri, it’s not—”

  “—It’s not your fault, sweetie,” Michael’s voice took on deeper warmth as he allowed me—face covered in my own vomit—to double over into his chest.

  We stood there until I was done sobbing.

  ***

  June 26, 2015:

  The bck light of the digital clock of the radio of Michael’s car popped on-and-off, showing that it was now ten minutes until midnight. With the window of the passenger side down, I was able to enjoy the cool breeze generated by Michael’s driving on the highway, back to my apartment. It was refreshing to feel a breeze on my face after a day in the sweltering sun has permanently affixed my clothes to my body.

  Groaning, “I think I’m gonna die when I get home. Be sure to bury me with my favorite dildo, yeah?”

  “I’ll suffocate if I do that.”

  “You big meathead!” I reached over and bit Michael on his right arm, barely able to make his bicep budge, “Mufferfucker!”

  “To bi for cep?” Michael gagged as I pulled my teeth off and sat straight back in my seat.

  “Hardy-har-har! But no, really, I’m so—I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “I can’t say that I’m happy about what Ashley did, but I know how she gets—and I know that you never meant to hurt me or anything.”

  “I swear, I didn’t enjoy it!” The sensation of the heat still burned in my belly, like a branding on a cow, “I’m gay, remember?”

  Michael didn’t really reply, electing to keep his eyes on the road.

  “B-besides, Ashley? Not my type. Did I ever tell you about the time she gave me a handjob? Worst han—”

  “I don’t need to know about what you two did before we got together, Candace.”

  “Oh, shit, sorry. Must be weird, since you dated her brother and all.”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  The calm of his voice was a little unnerving, but I couldn’t stop myself from chattering away.

  “But seriously, wow, I’m so gd I finally figured out why I was so different! Like, yeah, of course I’m going to be a shitty boyfriend to all those girls I dated in high school! I’m gay!”

  “Harri, it’s fine, really.”

  There was that name again. That fuckin’ ugly, awful, no-good goddamn mother mcfuckin’ name name. My name.

  I turned back to my right and stared out the passenger window yet again. I needed the cool breeze on my face to blow away all the tears.

  ***

  June 27, 2015:

  The cool, inviting sensation of my bed sheets was refreshing after a long day in the sun. Michael id down next to me just as the clock struck ten minutes after midnight and wrapped his chiseled arm around me, enveloping me in the familiar musk and warmth of my beloved.

  Face half smooshed into a pillow, Michael moaned, “What a day.”

  Even his breath was warm.

  I returned the moan with one of my own, “Yeah, I’m kinda wiped,” but my hands betrayed my words as I began reaching for Michael’s cock.

  “Interesting definition of ‘wiped’,” Michael chuckled, eyes shut but grin wide.

  “I gotta be honest, big guy,” even just feeling the giant trunk spilling out of my palm was enough to make me giggle, “I regret not asking you to fuck my ass this morning.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, sexy,” I needed to forget about all this shit.

  Opening his eyes, Michael shifted his head and began kissing me on the lips, before trailing down to my neck. His cock stiffened with no further need of encouragement, but I couldn’t help but jostle it around lightly in my palm. A thick, long prong poked outward through his shorts, obviously terribly restrained by the no good garment.

  I had always been so terrible at kissing with my ex-girlfriends. Taking the lead and ‘being the man’ was just so excruciatingly awful. Teasing Michael and coaxing out some of his inner beast had always been infinitely more rewarding.

  Christ, I loved how huge his cock was, though.

  Michael nipped and bit at my neck, sending that awful, small little pain that I liked straight into my veins, as he began to get on top of me. Perverse as it felt, I truly did love it when he fucked me missionary style.

  Then, an idea struck. It was perverted and insulting to all the women that I loved so dearly, but I couldn’t help but want to try it out. “One sec, babe!”

  Michael pulled back, looking me in my eyes. Whatever he saw in them seemed to amuse him for a sly little grin of confusion spread his lips in the cutest of ways.

  Slipping out from under Michael, I took off from my bed and ran to my closet. Digging through the overly crowded thing, I pulled out my recent purchase, hid it with my body, and then slipped out of my room, “Be right back!”

  Dashing into the bathroom, I hurriedly doffed my outfit from earlier in the day, soaked myself in a quick shower, dried off and finally slid on the lingerie Ashley had helped me buy back in te April. Ashley had practically begged me to just wear the damned thing for Michael so I could tell her what his reaction was, but I had been unable to bring myself to do it. As vexing as her behavior was, I couldn’t help but enjoy that little rascal when she tried to share in my journey into queerness.

  I had been crossdressing daily for a year and a half, but somehow sexy lingerie—with stockings that had those little straps that connect them to the underwear!—seemed like a perverse venture.

  Clothing specifically to make my boyfriend horny during sex seemed like it was going too far—like I was making a mockery of all women everywhere.

  But I couldn’t help it. I was exhausted from an emotional day and needed nothing more than a good, satisfying release.

  Making sure that my tuck was secure in the panties, I stepped back from the counter to get a better look at myself in the mirror. My face was now cleansed of the long rotted makeup I had applied over twelve hours earlier, but even without any makeup at all I looked amazing. I couldn’t believe how good my body looked in the bright red piece. My heart pounded furiously in my chest—enough so that I thought that it might actually burst through and ruin my cute breasts and the even cuter red ce bra housing them.

  Realizing that I was growing somewhat stiff down there, I bit my lip, threw caution to the wind, and decided to reapply my makeup and blowdry my hair before facing Michael. If I was going to do this—if I was going to make him wait—I was going to go all out.

  Hair finished drying, I brushed it as quickly—and with as much care—as I could. I hadn’t timed myself, but I felt my hands moving at warp speed as I scrutinized and reapplied my makeup, aiming less for a fruity gay boy kind of way, and more in a sultry—girlish—way. Bck eyeliner and eyeshadow made my eyes pop in ways I had never seen them pop before, and as I applied contouring to lessen the harshness of my cheekbones and thickened my lips with a matching red shade, I couldn’t help but marvel at how that scrawny little faggot Harrison disappeared more and more.

  “Fuck yeah,” I whispered to my reflection, which quickly grew a wide smile that I had never seen on it before. Straightening up off of my sink counter, I checked my reflection from all sides.

  I finally, finally looked perfect.

  Well, bigger boobs wouldn’t have hurt.

  Shining that bright smile in the mirror’s reflection somehow just a little brighter, the tarted up bimbo in the mirror giggled, “Showtime, girly!”

  ***

  June 27, 2015:

  “Hey hunk,” I whispered, poking my head back into my bedroom to find Michael lightly pying with himself.

  “Holy fucking shit, is that you, H—”

  Quickly approaching my bed, I pressed my right index finger against my boyfriend’s lips, “I know that you’ve never had a girlfriend before, Mikey, so I was thinking that maybe for tonight I could, y’know, help you practice a little?”

  Lips free of my finger, Michael stared back at me, eyes wide. Finally, the silly lunk broke out into a cocky smile, “What, like in case you find another mass of muscles you prefer to date more than me?”

  Giggling, I bent down and kissed the silly boy on his lips, “Yeah, sure. I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to find a sexy girl you wanted to date with your sorry ck of practice, either.”

  The lustful cheekiness in his voice sprouted as a wide grin across Michael’s face as he reached for me, “I think I’ve already found one, actually.” Wrapping his arms around my back, Michael pulled me inward, tight against his chiseled chest. Even with meaty pecs like his, I still felt the difference in softness between his pecs and my small breasts.

  Even with that little, twitching, miserably out of pce thing down there, I still felt more like a woman than ever before. It was an insult to Ashley and Megumi, but I needed it more now than ever before.

  Leaning down into his embrace, I kissed Michael on the lips again, extracting a rich nectar from his mouth as I poured my tongue down his throat. I could take the lead like this. Hands grasping Michael by the hair on the sizes of his head, I squeezed and pulled as if my very life were on the line. Digging my acrylics first into his hair, then directly against his temples, brought to me a sense of control I had never felt before.

  I wasn’t a straight guy anymore! I didn’t have to be straight anymore! I didn’t have to be a guy anymore—not here, not now!!

  I pulled my lips from Michael’s again, like coming up for air, and smiled uncontrolbly. “

  “Fuck, you’re so hot, H—”

  “I’m your girlfriend tonight, baby, remember?”

  Please remember.

  A beat.

  And then, Michael’s eyes took the loveliest of shapes as he looked straight into mine like he could clearly see my very soul: “I remember…Candi.”

  The sound of Michael’s deep voice speaking that name reverberated throughout my ear canal. Suddenly, I felt a growing wetness in my panties that only grew stickier as Michael repeated the name.

  “Fuck,” I gasped, as I threw myself back first back on my pillow, “Take me, Mikey!”

  Michael swiftly repositioned himself on top of me—like the way I had always wanted—and pressed his lips against mine. The way his tongue pressed into my mouth and subjugated mine sent a bolt of lightning down my spine as I dug my cws into his back, pained grunts from the titan of a man be damned.

  Pulling my panties aside with one hand, Michael pulled up and angled his lower half, “Fuck, your dick is—”

  I had completely bnked—ugh, I didn't have a vagina! My tuck was obviously going to be blocking my asshole, too. Ugh.

  Reaching down, I scratched myself as I pulled out my tuck, “Okay, fuck, just shove it in already!!”

  Ever the perfect gentleman, Michael acquiesced.

  Missionary was supposed to be ‘the boring position’, but for me? Able to finally look Michael in those devouring dark eyes of his and feel like anything but a man as he fucked me, I somehow felt more aroused than ever before. Each thrust into my hole sent new bolts of lightning into my brain, overcharging it with an energy I had never felt before.

  “Fuck, that's it, that's it!”

  Unable to stop myself, I bit Michael's left ear lobe, nibbling just to keep myself from screaming as he slid in and out of my hole like a hot knife through butter.

  “Good boy, good boy,” I cooed into his ear, encouraging him to push harder and harder, faster and faster, “Candi loves you so, so much.”

  Finally, with a grunt of my name, Michael released a stream of scorching seed into the only hole I had to work with down there. The pile of muscles barely had the strength to roll off of me.

  As his hot seed spilled from my ass, I couldn’t help but fantasize about the next time I could pretend to be his girlfriend.

  Eyes closing against all hope, the st thing I could remember was feeling my boyfriend’s hand on my belly.

  It almost felt like I was swelling with child.

  ***

  June 27, 2015:

  I awoke around half past nine ter that morning and prepared breakfast for my tuckered out man. With Michael sleeping over more often, I had taken to stocking my fridge with actual food more often and taken up learning how to actually cook. Sure, eggs, sausage and toast was hardly an impressive menu, but for a college student it was practically working three jobs between csses.

  When Michael dragged himself out of my room, dick a swingin’, he blessed my crops immediately, “God, you look amazing in that outfit, Candi.”

  I giggled—amused that he was still calling me that—as I handed him his pte, “Please, I look awful. I forgot to take my makeup off st night.”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” it was as if there was no concept of sarcasm in the world of Michael Scott Summers. As deep as his voice was, there was a cuteness to its warmth that I couldn’t quite put into words.

  “Pfft, sure, right.”

  “No, I'm serious!” Michael came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my belly as my hands flirted with scrambling more eggs for myself. “I'm so, so happy for you that you're finally out, babe.”

  Michael's words confused me, but I let my neck save his kiss before I asked, “What do you mean, Mikey? I've been out forever now!”

  Michael’s hands grew adventures, sliding up to my breasts as his cock toyed with pressing itself against the ce of between my cheeks, “Yeah, as gay, but now you're—”

  Oh.

  Turning to Michael, I pce my right index finger on his lips again, “Mikey, I'm not—Michael, st night was just a kink thing, okay?”

  Michael looked incredulous.

  Ugh.

  “Mikey, I can't just—I'm a boy, Michael! I'm not like Ashley or Megumi.”

  God, not this shit again.

  Michael backed away and leaned his bare ass against my kitchen countertop while he buried his face into his palms to scream.

  “I'm…” deep breath, “...I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Michael. It's just—the idea of having sex as a girl just made me s-so horny, I couldn’t help myself.”

  Pulling his face out of his palms, Michael asked with the most strained voice I had ever heard, “You bought sexy lingerie to pretend to be a girl during sex with your boyfriend?”

  “Well, yeah?”

  Michael said nothing, walked straight into my bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

  “Your breakfast will grow cold…” my whisper was a half-hearted one, filtered through a choking lump in my throat.

  As I heard the shower turning on in the distance, I lifted my frying pan off of my stove and dumped my eggs into the trash.

  Instead of joining Michael in the shower, I walked slowly to my room, id on my bed, and silently wept into my pillow.

  TO BE CONTINUED…