ALEX

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020

Warning: If you don't like reading transgender-related fiction, then stop reading now.

Author's Note: None.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

RT

TEMPTATION

The suburbs. Summer. Friday afternoon, 12:20 p.m. to be precise. A hot day. Quiet streets. Air conditioners.

Alice felt free. There would be no one else in the house this weekend. Her parents were away at her grandmother's for two weeks. Her two older brothers (twins, 18 years old) had just left on a camping trip with their friends; they'd be gone until Sunday night.

To everyone on the planet, Alice was a darling girly-girl. Pretty. Smart. Dresses. Straight A student. Ponytails. Chaste. Heels. Loves kittens. Her life was sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, especially unicorns. Perfect.

But she had a deep, dark secret fantasy: she wanted to be a boy!

Alice was 16 years old, and the prospect of womanhood was less appealing to her than that of manhood. She had never spoken of her fantasy to anyone. She had been looking forward to this weekend ever since her brothers had first told her five days ago that they might sneak off for a party when their parents were away. Alice had instantly perceived the possibility of exploring their wardrobes at a leisurely pace all weekend. No more darting in while they were at football or rugby or martial arts for two or three hours.

She had fondly waved her brothers farewell not more than 20 minutes ago.

-----000-----

She skipped into their room.

She trembled as her fingers slowly moved from one flannel shirt to another, plaid to plaid, from Carhartts to Levis to Wranglers, from one sweaty baseball cap to another. Her nostrils flared as she smelt the Old Spice and Irish Spring on the several shirts that her brothers had worn but had re-hung without washing. The old socks by the side of the bed and not in the hamper: how wonderful it would be to wear the same clothes day after day without washing them, how cool that would be.

She couldn't resist any longer. She stripped off her boyfriend jeans and her Steelers jersey. Jewelry: off. Cotton boy-shorts: off. Drab sports bra: off. She opened Simon's dresser. Sports Performance Boxer Briefs: on. A pair of thin, wool, work-boot socks: on. Her elasto bandage: on. She rolled on his Irish Spring deodorant.

Then she got into the serious stuff.

In David's closet, she found her favourite pair of his old, now far too small work pants; thankfully, he had never thrown them out. They were heavy-duty, thick, tough, and denim. She slid them on. The tough trousers scratched her soft, pale skin. They were a bit too long on her legs, a bit too tight at her hips, and a bit too loose at her waist. Curl the cuffs, live with the tightness, and tighten the belt. Problems solved.

There it was --- again: that loose, empty, glaring void, that spare clothing, between her legs. Damn: she had again forgotten 'Awesome Alex'. She was forever grateful to her older cousin Janet for that secret gift last Christmas. So, she took off the pants and underwear, picked up and strapped on her six-inch silicone Nasty Toy (the smallest size sold), and put the underwear and pants back on.

She took her Sharpies and wrote on the inside of her left forearm, "Stay Strong & Fight Tough" (she drew the ampersand very nicely). On the inside of the right, she drew an axe and a knife dripping blood. She succeeded with barbed wire around most of her biceps but miserably failed at the Celtic Cross above her left breast. She sprayed herself with Steel Hammer, the latest uber-macho body spray for men that all the guys wore now.

She put on Simon's medium-sized, black, cotton/poly t-shirt that said, 'Arsenic is Both Natural and Organic'. He hadn't worn it in years but hadn't thrown it out even though it was way too small for him; the same could be said of his old "FML" hoodie which she put on and flicked the hood forward over her head. Flicking the hoodie back, she slicked her long hair back and up, and placed the tired, worn-out Ravens baseball cap on her head.

She turned on Simon's sound box, hit some Finnish death metal tunes, and shrugged her shoulders aggressively, looking at herself in the mirror.

"Hey, you TALKING to me?" She didn't like it that way. Shrug the shoulders again. "HEY, you talking TO me?" Awful. Deeper voice. Shoulder shrug. "Hey, YOU talking to me?" Just wrong. She paused and thought, then tried again.

Shoulder shrug. Slowly, disinterestedly, subtly, and perfectly:

"Hey, you talking to Me?"

CAUGHT

The lights in the room were suddenly on!

"Yeah, we're talking to You, 'Alex'."

Shocked, she turned and froze. Simon and David were standing in the doorway. David whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and took some pictures of Alex dressed.

"Look at little Alex," Simon continued and then laughed. "Our little brother has been going through our closets again when we're out." Simon slowly moved toward Alex as he spoke. He began to circle her. Alex looked like a picture of fear.

David circled her in the other direction. "Yep, Alex is in shit now. He doesn't know how to respect his older brothers' property. How many years have you been doing this?" He glanced up and down at Alex and snorted. "Fucking little dude doesn't know shit about clothes either." He lightly smacked the back of Alex's head. "Fucking tool."

Alex sniffled.

"Boo-hoo-hoo, is our little baby brother a crying sissy?" Simon mocked her. "Mom and dad are gone for the weekend. Your ass is ours. Time to man up."

"Did you two see me naked?" Alex nervously asked.

Simon accurately jabbed a finger precisely in the centre of Alex's chest and answered that Alex should consider three points. First, all of them (Simon, David, and Alex) were guys, so there was nothing to hide.

Second, assuming without accepting that Alex was a girl, then she should know that they (David and Simon) were healthy, hetero, horny, sexually active 18-year old teenage boys who had already seen more "tits and ass" then their little sister could ever imagine (if they had a little sister, which was not accepted but merely assumed).

Third, "So what, dumbass? We saw you naked. What the fuck are you going to do about it?" Alex had no answer to that.

David asked her what the name of her dick was. Alex shook her head, not understanding the question. David explained: "Every guy gives his dick a name because, for his entire life, a guy's dick will always be there for him as a best friend. In good times and bad. The rollercoaster of life. Wanna feel really good? Your best friend is there for you. Can't get laid that night? Your best friend is there for you. Face it, logically, as a matter of respect, you would want your best friend to have a name, wouldn't you?"

Alex conceded that David's logic was impeccable.

David urged her to name her dick: "Mine is 'Bushmaster' and Simon's is 'Womb Raider' and yours is ...?"

"Awesome Alex," she murmured. She began to wonder what she had gotten herself into.

BARBERSHOP

"You're speeding," Alex said sternly as David's Camaro raced through the suburban streets. "I'll tell mommy and daddy." Simon looked at his little brother and laughed: she really had no idea what she was getting into. He grinned. She slunk further back into her seat.

They arrived at a barbershop. "Get out," Simon said. Alex had long fantasized about getting a man's haircut. Now, however, the prospect of actually getting one started to unsettle her. That said, she knew that her brothers had no time to make an appointment for her, so she should be safe.

The barber greeted Simon by name and told David there was a free chair. "Sit down," Simon told Alex. She was astonished: how could one just walk in and get a haircut without an appointment? David turned and asked, "Alex, what sort of haircut have you long dreamed about?"

She immediately answered, "A number two, high and tight, please."

Truly surprised, David moved closer to his little brother and pointed to a haircut poster: "Alex, do you know what that is? That's a high and tight, a four or five. See how short that is? Millimetres. Marines get these. Do you understand that you'll have almost no hair on your head for about six months? And it will take you years to grow your hair back to as long as it is now? Are you sure you want this? Have you thought this through?" His voice was slow, clear, and honest, his eyes penetrating.

Alex definitely somewhat knew she probably thought she could be sufficiently confident enough to in some way consider concluding she might possibly be able to perhaps do it. Maybe. She gulped and answered with brazen bravado:

"Yes, I want it."

"No, you don't," David replied. Firmly. Instantly.

He was plainly irritated; Simon stood next to him and looked equally irritated. Alex looked confused. David quietly snapped at her: "Get an SMH, a Standard Male Haircut. Do you understand me? An SMH. Ask him for it. Now." His tone was uncompromising and commanding.

Alex bit her bottom lip and said to the barber, "A Standard Male Haircut please, sir."

The barber gave Alex an issue of 'Chicks Over 40' to read: "You look old enough for it, young man." She took it and started to read an article about Norwegian wombats. Simon took it, turned the pages to the MILF centerfold, and gave it back to her to look at.

The carnage was over in 15 minutes. At least a decade of Alice's hair fell to the floor. Her brothers captured the event on their smart phones.

The result was, at best, a token SMH (it was hardly one at all actually). From a man's perspective, Alex had a nice tomboy haircut. From a woman's perspective, Alex now sported a professional-looking, edgy, messy, shaggy, long bangs pixie cut.

Alex did not see Simon nod his thanks to the barber and slip him a twenty.

Alex looked in the mirror and was happily stunned: she had man-hair! Hundreds of thousands of brush strokes: gone. Many of her hair tools, pins, bands, sprays, guck, etc.: useless. She could see her ears and the back of her neck. Her head felt lighter and immediately cooler; long hair was hot and heavy. Her skin around her hairline was now two-tone: the fish-belly-white contrast against her otherwise light tan was shocking. She ran her hand over her head. She thought how easy this would be to wash and dry, an hour each morning freed. Although Alex felt a part of her had died, she also felt someone new had been born. Cool!

Simon took pictures. "For Instagram," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Alex, move it along," David snapped at her.

Alex got up and went to pay. She realized that she had no purse nor wallet, no money. Simon moved up to her, rolled his eyes, and gave her a twenty (another twenty!). "Fucking cheapskate," he said. Alex paid the barber the eighteen dollars owing and kept the two dollars change. David smirked at that. Simon shook his head in dismay.

Simon told Alex to put her "fucking lid" on. The baseball cap went on. She took it off to re-adjust and shorten the band size. Then it went back on. She snuck a lollipop into her pocket on the way out.

AT THE BIG BOX STORE

"You need clothes that fit you, little dude," Simon roared at her, as the car raced through the streets with all the windows down. David deftly navigated the Camaro through the parking lot filled with campers and trailers. Simon led them to the store's blue front doors and then to the tiny men's clothing section.

Alex surveyed the selections in men's clothing. Drab colours. Black. Grey. Blue. Grey-blue. Blue-black. Forest green. Oxygenated blood red. Mustard yellow. More black. More grey. An exciting mix of forest green and grey-black. There were no pinks, fuchsias, mauves, lilacs, ecrus, pastels, nor florals. Just bland colours. And harsh materials. Everything was denim, cotton, heavy nylon, or dense, heavy poly. Everything had the texture of the underside of a rug. There was not a speck of satin or other soft material to be seen.

She was astonished: "I never knew this section was so small and so dull. This explains so much."

"You need a complete outfit, shithead," Simon said. He threw Alex some jeans, some T-shirts, a cheap jacket, two grey hoodies, and green baseball hat with a skull on it. Alex took the clothes and headed to the change room. "Whoa!" said Simon. He told her that she, Alex, had no need to use the change room. Guys just pick out their sizes and buy stuff. Changes rooms are for girls. Alex stared at her brothers with disbelief.

A few minutes later, Alex also had in the cart some brown steel-toed men's work boots and some dark brown, chunky sandals with ginormous Velcro straps. With her new haircut and carrying some brown footwear, she felt a wee bit empowered and tough. She pushed the cart with a slight sneer on her face and a bit of a swagger in her step.

-----000-----

Her brothers directed her to the health and pharmacy section.

Simon took Alex to the family planning aisle. "Awesome Alex, eh? That's a small Nasty Toy you got. Size matters, you wimp," he said. "Anyway, get this box of midget condoms," he said, passing her a box of Super Statues (Average). "Here's your lube. Chicks love slurping this strawberry stuff," passing her another box. Alex did not know what to say about that.

David came back with some jars in hand. "Here's your creatine monohydrate, caffeine, and BCAAs. Once we get the Red Bull, you're gonna be so jacked up to squat and press more than you ever have, bro." He slapped Alex on the back then instantly looked concerned.

"You need better lats and traps. Pump more, bud," he said worriedly, "or shoot some juice."

-----000-----

In the rod and gun section, they asked her whether she wanted a Remington 770 or a Sig 226. Alex asked what the difference was. David said, "The Remington is an okay intro hunting rifle. A starter definitely." Simon said, "The Sig is great for home defence and standing your ground." Alex's mouth was wide open and sort of conveyed a 'what-the-fuck-have-Idone -to-myself-now' look. Simon added: "If you get the Sig, then you get 1000 rounds of 9 mil free."

David pretended to whip out a pistol from a pretend hip holster and pointed it at Alex. "That's a good deal on ammo. Wanna shoot some steel?" Alex didn't know what to say.

Alex gruffly asked if she could purchase a pocketknife generally, a Swiss Army Signature Lite specifically. Her brothers howled with laughter. Loud, roaring, reverberating laughter.

A clerk hurriedly approached with an AED and asked who was in distress and needed CPR. David and Simon explained that Alex wanted a Swiss Army Signature Lite pocketknife. The clerk joined in their laughter.

Other staff hurriedly came with more AEDs to treat the apparent mass casualty incident. They were told what was occurring. They too then laughed and pointed at Alex.

One of the clerks took the public address system microphone and made a public announcement. "A young man in the rod and gun section is looking for a Swiss Army Signature Lite. If anyone can help him, then please meet him soonest in the ... in the ... women's panty section!" The clerk rolled on the floor in laughter.

His manager stormed over to him and berated him. The clerk, chastened, took the microphone again and humbly made a corrective, second announcement in accordance with his manager's instructions:

"Sorry shoppers. The previous announcement was wrong, and I deeply apologize for it. Here is the correct message. There is a young man named Alex in the rod and gun section and he wants to buy a Swiss Army Signature Lite knife. If you think he should not, if you think like I do that he should buy a more manly knife, then please, on the count of three, please yell out 'Manly' in the store. One. Two. Three!"

The building rocked with cries of 'Manly! Manly! Manly!'.

A little baby boy being pushed in a shopping cart yelled out, "Sissy!" and, with a look of disgust on his babyface, threw a box of Graham animal crackers at Alex. Alex sullenly looked at the floor.

She felt ashamed that everyone in the store was staring at her and sneering at her unmanly desire to have the Signature Lite, whose best features were the ball point pen, small flashlight, and nail file. Oh, and it had a tiny, teeny-weenie, small blade too. Couldn't they understand?

Simon was astounded: "A Signature Lite? What are you going to attack with it? A wounded teddy bear? A kitten trapped in a bathtub? A customs form at the border? Your nails?" David joined him, and they laughed and laughed and laughed. Alex cringed under the jeering taunts; she knew she had made another mistake. David roared, "That's not a man knife." Simon said, "You're a complete sissy if you get that one."

They pointed to the Ka-Bar Becker BK22: "Now that's a good knife," they said reverently. Alex put a BK22 in her cart and proceeded to the checkout.

-----000-----

The checkout girl was in fact a huge, muscular guy who could never, ever, ever (not even in the worst, third-rate, flea-ridden online fiction story ever written, (like this one)) be confused for a female no matter how much women's clothing, makeup, etc. he wore. And so, all 7 feet and 289 pounds of Max Steel stared down at all 5 feet and 110 pounds of Alex and asked in his deep voice, "What are you doing, little girl? Why aren't you buying nice dresses and pretty stuff?"

Maybe it was Alex's new haircut. Maybe it was her new brown footwear. Maybe it was the intoxicating feel of the heavy-duty cotton denim rubbing against her thighs. Maybe it was the sense of raw power she got walking around the store with all six inches of Awesome Alex strapped on and ready to launch.

Alex replied. Slowly, disinterestedly, subtly, and perfectly:

"Hey, you talking to Me?"

Max Steel was surprised. He then bent down toward her, gave her an evil eye, and murmured, "Don't give me any lip, kid. I can fuck up your checkout in a heartbeat and keep you here for price checks up the ying-yang. What if I think you've been shoplifting, eh? I can fuck up your day. Call the cops. Say I saw you putting those condoms in your pocket. How embarrassed you gonna be when they pat you down, eh, and check out your junk? Is that a cucumber down your pants? You get my drift? Are you gonna be a good little princess now?"

Alex paused and looked up, way up, at Max. She then reverted to her timetested, proven ways, and flashed Max her 'everyday-is-just-wonderful!' girlie smile and batted her eyelashes. With her chip-cheery BFF voice, she said, "I would like to purchase these items, sir. No bags please, I brought a shopping bag with me so we can save the oceans from plastics." Max briefly looked at her with astonishment, and then laughed and asked for $74.66.

Alex gasped for two reasons: 1) she had again forgotten that she had no money on her; and 2) so little money got so much men's clothing and stuff: there was no tampon tax here! Simon moved up to her, stared at her, and gave her some bills. "You fucking skinflint," he said. "You owe me." He gently slapped the back of her head. "Time to get ready to party, bro!" Alex had no idea what he meant.

FRIDAY EVENING DRINKS

The Camaro roared into the bar's parking lot. David and Simon got out as quickly as possible and raced into the dive. It was a greasy spoon of a kitchen, a sorry excuse for a bar, a lousy place to hang out in, but it drew the chicks from afar.

And it had great chicken wings.

The two older brothers strolled in, looked at the waitress who gave them a quick look over and a knowing nod, and headed to a large table. It could seat 12; no one else was there. David and Simon sat down.

"Where's Alex?" the two brothers asked each other. They looked around. They saw her.

Alex was standing before the washroom doors, wondering which one to enter. She had to go pee and change her tampon; these needs pulled her heart toward the woman's door. But then a matronly woman exited that washroom, briskly walked past her, and looked at her suspiciously. Perhaps she thought Alex was some sort of pervert. Alex was wearing men's clothing.

A man exited the men's can and briefly held the door for her. "I can do this," she thought to herself. She decided. She acted. She went into the men's washroom. A man brushed by her to get into a stall. Two men brushed past her to leave. Three men in line waited patiently for a free urinal. After 20 seconds, there was a free one. Ten seconds later, another. No standing in a lineup; this was worth it, she thought.

She walked into one of several empty stalls. The lid and seat were up. The white ring was speckled with spots of yellow piss. There were no brown streaks in the bowl. There were hardly any scraps of toilet paper on the floor. There was a small puddle of some clear'ish looking liquid near the base of the toilet. A toilet brush lay on its side on the floor. The stall's walls were grey metal, dented here and there, and had some graffiti on them. "School sucks," said one. "So does your wife," said another below it. Yet another said, "Arsenic is all natural and all organic." Just below that was scrawled, "So are blowjobs."

She had thought a men's washroom would be filthier; but this one was immaculate compared to most women's washrooms, in her experience.

-----000-----

She returned to the table. David and Simon had ordered two pitchers of beer. Each had a large glass. A small glass had been surreptitiously poured for her. Did they expect her to drink this? They grinned at her and raised their glasses. She hesitated and raised hers.

"Cheers," Simon shouted, "to haircuts and new work boots!" David added, "No, to properly sized condoms," Simon said. "Fuck, I almost had a heart attack when that guy made that announcement." David laughed. "No worries! You had all the AEDs in the store next to you!" They laughed and drank.

Alex only drank. She sat quietly. She put her right hand on her hip; the BK22 was still in its sheath on her belt. She wanted to brush her hair and check her makeup. She stopped herself. Short hair today. No makeup today. She adjusted Awesome Alex. Stay calm. The weekend wasn't unfolding like she had thought it might. The beer tasted kinda okay. She burped. She poured herself another one.

-----000-----

A few minutes later, a casual acquaintance from high school, Edmund, showed up, said "hi", and went to hit the can. Alex's brothers' friends Steve and Gerry also showed up, poured themselves a beer each, and sat down, Steve next to Alex and Gerry at the end of the table.

Steve looked at Alex curiously; after a pause, he blandly asked "Who are you?" She looked at him; smart, lean, and athletic Steve; deep sigh. Before she could answer, Simon said, "Steve, that's my little brother, Alex."

Steve looked slyly and more closely at Alex. "Sports?" Steve asked Alex, who shook her head 'no'. "Madden?" No. "Shoot steel?" Alex dropped her jaw and looked at David, who laughed. "Girlfriend?" Alex vigorously shook her head 'no'. "Boyfriend?" Steve mischievously asked Alex, who blushed, slowly shook her head 'no', and looked away.

Gerry interrupted: "Awesome! We're gonna get you a babe and get you laid tonight, brother!" He reached for his phone, stood up, walked away, and started talking to someone on the phone. Alex was taken aback.

Steve punched Alex in the arm: "It'll be cool, little dude. Tap whatever you can while you can, eh?" Alex winced at the punch but smiled at him, nodded with him, put her hand on his bicep, and briefly rubbed it. Steve brushed her hand away and said, "That's kinda gay, buddy." He glanced at Alex and sipped his beer. Edmund returned and grabbed a beer.

"Is that a BK22?" Steve asked her. Alex replied that it was and recounted her shopping experience. She omitted all of the embarrassing parts. Steve laughed and accused Alex of being too economical. Alex asked him what that meant. Steve replied that Simon and David had live-streamed much of their adventures with their little brother for their private social media circle. Alex wilted under Steve's smirk.

Gerry came back elated: "Stephanie's gonna come over and she's bringing a date for Alex!" Simon, David, Edmund, and Steve laughed. Alex's face was blank.

-----000-----

Oh, my fucking God, Alex thought: they've set me up with Zara Linscol; that bitch is profoundly stupid and immensely dumb.

Stephanie, Sara, Grace, Wanda, Suzy, and Mary had come to the flea-ridden dive and joined the guys. The beer flowed.

Stephanie never strayed far from her boyfriend Gerry. Zara sat next to Alex. Grace and Suzy flung themselves onto Simon and David. Wanda and Edmund seemed to be getting along fine at one end of the table. And Mary was checking out her iPhone, not wanting to bother with Steve whom she had once dated but now had no interest in and who was sitting at the other end of the table.

Zara sipped some of Alex's beer. She slowly crawled her fingers up Alex's arm and encircled Alex's neck. She moved in and whispered in Alex's ear: "I really go for the silent, broodingly freakish, compassionate, poet type. Can you be that for me? Can you my Byron, my Shelley, my Wilmot, or my Swinburne?" She kissed Alex's ear.

Some of the others drifted toward a pool table.

Alex was paralyzed. Zara's other hand crept up Alex's leg, from her knee to her mid-thigh toward her Awesome Alex. A knee squeeze. A thigh squeeze. A groin squeeze. Zara's other hand softly caressed Alex's far cheek. Nibble kisses in her ear. Gentle warm breaths on her face. A hint of perfume.

"I know you like me. I can feel that you like me," she cooed in Alex's ear as she began to caress Awesome Alex through Alex's pants. "Aren't you a little priapic today, honey!"

Alex started to sweat. She couldn't breathe. She felt herself becoming aroused by ... by this woman ... by this profoundly stupid and immensely dumb woman ... by Zara Linscol! Alex started to hate herself and felt cheap.

"Buzz off," she shakily said to Zara. "I've got a girl back home and I don't cheat on her. Now please go away." She pushed Zara's hand away from Awesome Alex and shrugged her shoulders to make Zara retract her other hand.

More of the others drifted toward a pool table.

Zara, slightly drunk, laughed and swore at her: "Aren't you a little sissy virgin, afraid of a real woman. You're a bottom if I ever met one." She got up and walked over to where Suzy and Grace were; the three young women exchanged some words, glanced over at Alex, and laughed. Alex stewed, not comprehending exactly what had just happened (nor what 'bottom' meant).

Steve came out from nowhere, gave Alex another small glass of beer, and disappeared back into nowhere.

Alex saw her brothers and most of the girls at a couple of the pool tables. Only Edmund and Wanda remained at the table.

-----000-----

Alex sipped her beer, her third beer. She decided that it might be best to sit back, watch, and absorb the sights and sounds. Be cool. Chill.

Edmund was talking to Wanda. He laughed. She chuckled. He talked some more. She looked at her beer. He put his hands to his chest as though defending himself. He laughed; she laughed.

Alex could not hear them. The classic oldies from the 2000s played in the background. Shouts of victories and triumphs echoed from the pool tables and dart boards. The clang of glasses and tableware rang out from the bar and kitchen. People talked.

Wanda said something to Edmund. He straightened up and glared at her. He said something. She responded by wagging a finger in his face. He turned his head away from her. She tilted her head toward his face, as though telling him to look at her. He turned his head again; they were face to face.

She said something to him and smiled. He winced and said something to her. Her nostrils flared. Then he said something, and she got teary-eyed. He wagged his finger in her face. He leaned forward toward her and put his other hand on her shoulder. His finger moved emphatically back-andforth in her face.

She leaned back, away from him. Her mouth was closed. Her eyes betrayed her fear. Her hands gripped the sides of her chair. Her knuckles were white. He kept talking and talking, louder and louder.

Alex could now hear snippets. From him: "...what were you fucking thinking...", "...your own fault again...", and so on. And from her: "...I'm so sorry...", "...I won't, I promise...", "...I didn't mean to...", and so on. Snippets. And this went on in that vein for several minutes.

And Alex just sipped her beer, just heard the odd wisp of conversation, and just watched the Edmund and Wanda show.

Wanda started to cry. Edmund spoke faster and faster. His finger morphed into a fist that was waved in Wanda's face. His other hand started to rock Wanda's shoulder. Her head looked down at the floor. Tears spotted the floor. Her hands clasped her cheeks and the sobbing began in earnest.

"...don't argue..." Edmund said with venom. Wanda, sobbing, nodded her agreement. "What do you say?" he asked her. Her sobs muffled her answer.

Alex was fascinated with the genuine human drama unfolding before her eyes. This beat television and movies. She sipped her beer, adjusted Awesome Alex, grabbed some chips out of the common bowl, and continued to watch the live entertainment at the end of the table.

Edmund grabbed both of Wanda's shoulders. His face was inches from hers. He was whispering something to her. She just kept nodding and nodding in response. Her face showed defeat. Her tears glistened in the bar's bad light. Her body was shaking.

Alex was rivetted.

Edmund's mouth was moving at light speed. The words spewed forth relentlessly: "...I'll show you...", "...never in a million years...", and so on. His head tilted back and forth, always imposing upon her space, always leaning in, always staring, gloating. And Wanda's head merely rocked back and forth, as though under the constant splash of bullets. Edmund's voice got sporadically louder: "...is no other way! Now you're gonna! And don't you ever...", and so on.

Alex wondered how this would end. She had never seen anything like it. She leaned back in her chair, sipped her beer, ate a couple of peanuts, and just watched and just watched and just watched.

She was mesmerized by the spectacle of emotions right in front of her.

TERMINATED

Suddenly and unexpectedly, her two older brothers strolled over to where she was, easily picked her up under her arms, lazily carried her out to their car, and gently dumped her in the backseat.

As they picked her up, she saw Gerry and Steve hustle Edmund away from Wanda and toward a bouncer; she also saw the other young women (except Zara Linscol) surround and start to comfort Wanda.

As she put her seat belt on, Alex said, "What the fuck, assholes?"

Simon flicked her nose with his middle finger and snarled, "Shut the fuck up." Alex shut up. She sat silently as they drove home. She watched the familiar streets pass by. The silence was awkward. Her brothers looked rather grim. She wondered why they were going home so suddenly.

At home, David and Simon sat her down, alone, on the love seat in the living room. They sat side-by-side opposite her on the larger couch. She looked at them. Neither Simon nor David seemed overly wrought or stressed; they just sat there staring at her severely.

"Alice," David started flatly, and she noted his use of her actual name, "we are not playing this game with you anymore. You're gonna have to go back to your room and get changed. Dress-up time is over. You can give it a try some other weekend."

"Fuck that," Alex replied. "What gives, bro?" Her tone was snarky, arrogant, dismissive. The haircut and steel-toed workboats had that effect on her. And the knife too; don't forget the knife. Maybe the three little beers did as well; Alex was, after all, only 16.

The twins simultaneously hammered their fists on the oak coffee table and shouted in unison:

"ALICE! SHUT UP!"

-----000-----

Alice flinched in actual fear! The sound of the fists hitting the table blasted through her and sobered her! Never had she seen them so mad so close to her! Their voices scared her! Their rage was focused, primal, and directed toward her! She tried to shrink into nothingness in the love seat! How to get away? How to escape? Don't breathe!

Long ago, Alice had known --- on a theoretical level --- that her brothers could hurt her if they wanted to. They never had nor had they ever threatened her; indeed, they had often protected her. She had been, in this respect, globally speaking, a very fortunate young woman. As she had grown up, because the theoretical had seemed so remote, Alice had attached scant attention to it and, what should not have been forgotten, became forgotten.

Now, Alice instantly remembered it. Her brothers could physically destroy her --- obliterate her, annihilate her, kill her --- in seconds. This irreducible truth raced through her. And it terrified her.

She stilled herself to prevent an assault.

She steeled herself to suffer an assault.

-----000-----

Both Simon and David saw her tense and flinch, and, not wanting that, they quickly sat back on the couch and visibly relaxed.

Simon nodded toward David who began caringly: "Alice, relax. We love you. We always have and we always will. Today was for you. It would have been all weekend, but you made a mistake, it was a big one, and we think you need to reset your idea about being a boy. Give it another go after some more research and reflection, okay?"

Cautiously, quietly, Alice started to breathe again. Do not, she thought, make any sudden moves. Not yet.

"Alice," Simon said patiently, "you were there. You saw Edmund pick on Wanda. You saw someone getting bullied. You wouldn't want to be treated the way Edmund treated Wanda, correct?"

Alice slowly nodded her agreement.

"Alice," David said gently, "let's be clear then. You were in a position to shout out; you did nothing. You could have stepped in between them, granted, at some physical risk to yourself; but you did nothing. You could have even gotten someone else to come and intervene, us for instance, Gerry and Steve, the bouncers. All of we were nearby; but you did nothing."

Simon spoke: caring was etched across his sympathetic face. "Doing nothing was your big mistake. Huge mistake." He ran his fingers through his hair. That everyday action by him, one that she had witnessed him do so many times, reassured Alice that Simon would not harm her.

David's eyes shone lovingly at her: "It doesn't matter whether you wear a dress or a pair of pants or whatever. What matters is what you do when others who need help --- the weak, the poor, the vulnerable --- are within your reach and your ability to assist. That's why Simon and I did not go camping this weekend. We figured Alex would show up and would need some friendly, fun mentoring. We wanted to be here for you this weekend." He grinned, reached across the table, and affectionately petted her knee; that one familiar act reassured her that David would not harm her.

Alice deeply loved, respected, and admired both of her older brothers, today more than most. They always had this uncanny ability to pierce through everything she pretended to be and to strike her true essence, her soul. And to get her to listen. She sniffled.

-----000-----

David glanced at Simon, who nodded his endorsement of the devastation they were about unleash upon their beloved younger sister.

Simon said seriously, "You've had some silly man fun today, like buying a knife."

David said seriously, "But to be a good man, a real man, or even a good woman, you know, you first have to be a good person."

Simon said seriously, "You did nothing when a weak person needed help today. Nothing."

David said seriously, "So, you didn't just fail as a man today; no, much worse, you failed as a person."

Alice's lips quivered. David and Simon looked at each other and then at Alice and then in unison sadly said, with complete sincerity:

"You really disappointed us."

That single sentence slayed her. Alice started to cry, sob, and wail. Her brothers came over to hug her.

SATURDAY MORNING

Ten o'clock. Alice was still in bed, still in her satin top and shorts pajama set, and still reflecting on Friday's events.

Her fantasy weekend lay in tatters.

Yes, she had been too superficial in her secret desires. There was more to being a man than carpenter pants and chewing tobacco. There were certainly far more subtle rules and protocols than she had ever first imagined. Her ignorance had led to her public humiliation.

Yes, she should have done something to stop Edmund. She had made a big mistake of omission. Yes, she had let down Wanda. Wanda had needed help and Alice had failed to provide it. Alice could have easily been in Wanda's position. One day, she might be and might need someone to help her. But she had failed here. Above all, her brothers were disappointed in her: that really hurt. She had let them down, in front of their friends too.

Alice kicked herself hard. She recognized her biggest mistake and realized its enormity. She could have --- should have --- done better and had not. She felt wretchedly miserable.

-----000-----

Alice's phone rang: unknown name, unknown number. She picked up anyway.

"Hi, is Alex there?" She didn't immediately recognize the man's voice.

"Hello, I'm sorry but you have the wrong number. There's no Alex here." She sniffled a bit. There was a pause on the phone.

"Is that Alice? It's Steve." Alice's heart skipped a beat. "I went out with your brothers yesterday and, uh, met their, uh, little brother, Alex. I just got off the phone with Simon a few minutes ago. He told me that I could, uh, definitely reach Alex at this number. Sorry, but I don't want to talk to you. I want to talk to Alex."

Alice sniffled a bit more. She was embarrassed. "I'm sorry but Alex isn't here anymore. He didn't fit in around here." There was another pause on the phone.

"Well, Alice, that's too bad. You see, I found Alex to be kinda fun and interesting, for a sissy kinda guy, you know. I'm not, uh, gay or like that, but, if I were, then Alex just might be the, uh, cute guy that I'd like to hang with. That tomboy haircut of his, that attractive elfish face, the kinda-effeminate way he carried himself. And that spunky personality trying to be manly. And he made me laugh! I had a great time with him. Honestly, I've had adorable little sissy Alex on my mind ever since I met him."

Alice stopped breathing.

"So, I had been wondering whether he would have wanted to come over --- anytime today --- to hang by the pool or watch a game on TV or play Madden. Or maybe catch a movie and stuff. You know, chill together, spend quality time together. I thought he was pretty...awesome."

Alice stared at the phone: Super Steve was asking Alex to "spend quality time together".

"But. If. You're. Saying. He's. Gone..." Steve's slow, teasing voice faded into a soft chuckle.

Alice held her phone in a death grip.

"Steve, if I hurry, I can still catch Alex before he's goes. I'll pass on your message and tell him to get to your place in 30 minutes. He'll be there! I promise!" She hung up. She started stripping off her clothes to change into Alex's. Half-dressed, half naked, Alice raced through the house to beg her older brothers to "please, please, pretty please" give Alex a ride to Steve's house.

And they did.

Because they loved their little brother just as much as they loved their little sister.

END

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020