A group of friends streams their gaming on Wednesday nights. But not all the action is on the dining room table.

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Chapter 11 -- B-Minus

On any normal day, someone walking into my bedroom would be greeted by a whole lot of boring. Plain white walls, in deference to not wanting to re-paint when we eventually move out. Twin bed with no headboard, a burnt orange comforter and matching checked pillowcases (or an equally earthy red on off weeks,) discount store rug so my feet don't freeze on the faux wood slat linoleum when I get up. A couple statuettes from special editions of games, and my little bookshelf, stuffed full of tabletop game manuals and the few board games I kept at home instead of in the communal collection at the studio.

Normally that would be it. No clothes lying about, no dishes. A clean place that I mostly only stayed in long enough to sleep and get dressed. Most of my personal belongings that really conveyed personality were kept in the spare room we'd turned into an office and used to give it the proper "gamer" feel for streams.

I say all this to emphasize that the piles and piles of clothes on my bed, floor, and the spare kitchen chair I kept around were not normal, nor was my agitation as I moved things back and forth and searched my wardrobe for something, anything, that felt right.

Brian had been cagey for the last two days about what we would be doing today. All he'd told me was to be prepared to be outside most of the day, which in itself set some hard limitations on wardrobe given that temps were supposed to be in the high nineties with lots of sun.

My first inclination was a pair of shorts and a tank, but thanks to preparations for the upcoming convention, that meant putting my legs, arms, and everything else on full display. I knew it was silly to worry about, but still.

That was what I was dealing with as I stared at myself in the mirror on the back of my closet door and frowned.

I'd showered the night before, and yes, I'd re-upped the shaving routine, because I wasn't gonna deal with scratchy stubble until after the convention if I could help it, embarrassment be damned: shiny legs were preferable to grasshopper legs any day of the week, so I'd only go through that when I had to.

Then there were my tank tops. My collection came in two flavors: tight, or loose. The tight ones were what I would normally wear as an undershirt and had been doing more so than usual for the last few days, but they were, well, tight. That wouldn't be a problem if I didn't feel like the result was an emphasis on not-boobage that I absolutely wouldn't have been concerned with only a few days ago, but now I couldn't seem to keep from noticing every time I dressed.

The loose ones more or less had an opposite but similar problem. I had a few old-style basketball jerseys and other tanks that would hang loose and not emphasize my body shape, but that looseness included broad necks and open arms. In other words, the clothes didn't hug me, but I showed enough bare skin it didn't make a difference.

I could wear a regular tee, or a loose button-down, over one of the regular tanks, but that was extra layers. If they were light enough, extra layers were fine, but in the southern Louisiana humidity, extra layers didn't tend to stay light for long, and once you were soaked in sweat, you'd stay soaked until you changed.

There was the third option, and that was two tanks: a tight one, with one of the looser sports jersey types over top. It solved the problems of both, but it introduced an obvious problem of its own: the bottom tank inevitably wound up looking like I was wearing a bra under the outer tank.

Even going without a tank and *just* wearing a loose tee or button-down wasn't a perfect solution either. Not only had I firmly gotten used to the lower layer as part of my normal attire, but there was still the humidity to consider: if I wore a tee without a tank beneath, the heat and humidity would mean I'd look like I'd entered a wet tee shirt contest, and I'd be just as exposed as in just the tight tank. Heck, that was part of the reason I had the tight tanks in the first place. As for button-downs, all of them I owned were too heavy for the weather or in dark colors, another killer in the heat.

I growled in frustration. Why was it that even without the baby bump on, it was still messing with my head this bad?

If we'd done this last Monday, I wouldn't have thought twice about just wearing one of my tanks, but between the body suit and Brian's comments about my shape with or without it, my self-consciousness was through the roof, and all I could see when I looked at myself in the mirror was the looming threat of perceived boobage.

Maybe if I asked him nicely, he'd change our plans to something where I could wear a hoodie or something else to cover up more, like a tour of a meat packing plant or something?

Then I thought of the sparkle in Brian's eyes each time I'd seen him sneaking around and planning yesterday. Whatever he was planning, he was excited for it, and for us to be doing it together.

I huffed again and went back to picking through what I had.

Finally, I decided to say screw it. If I was going to be self-conscious no matter what I wore, then I may as well be cool. I grabbed an old Pelicans jersey I'd stolen from my dad, and on impulse, paired it with one of my tighter tanks that came as close to matching the navy blue in the logo as I could. It was going to be obvious I had another shirt or something on underneath no matter what color I chose, so it might as well be something that would both match and not show any moisture stains from the day as badly.

With that decided, I dove into my shorts. I could go with board shorts, athletic shorts, or just about anything, but settled on a pair of khaki shorts I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn.

Strip, strip, don, don, bam. Once again, I was standing in front of the mirror and looking at myself.

The two tanks did, indeed, look less like two tanks than a tank over a sports bra, but I was resigned to the fact that was going to be the case already. I had forgotten how long the Pelicans jersey was, though, and was surprised to see it almost completely covered my shorts, leaving only a couple of inches of khaki material poking out underneath.

"This is a stupid idea," I told myself, even as I lifted the jersey and cuffed the legs of my shorts up a couple of times on each side, then dropped the jersey again.

Yep, that did it. No more shorts showing at all, just six inches of bare leg above my knees, then the jersey.

Committed now, I finger-brushed my hair back into the same loose style I'd put it in on Thursday and grabbed the oversized prescription sunglasses Maria had talked me into getting, but I never wore, off my chest of drawers, sliding them on, then up onto my forehead.

I looked back at my image and did my best to view it objectively.

Slim arms. Slim legs, long for my height but with no real definition, and smooth from shaving the night before. My torso was mostly shapeless thanks to how the jersey hung, but the tank underneath hinted at an attempt to cover something of greater importance than was actually there and combined with my bony but not particularly wide shoulders, there could be a shape there or not, who knew.

And my face was my face.

I turned from side to side, studying myself, then slumped a bit and sat on my bed, suddenly exhausted.

"Maybe I'm the one who's wrong," I mumbled, flopping back and kicking my feet into the air. I stared at my toes and wriggled them a bit, trying to decide if whatever Brian had planned would be a shoes or sandals deal.

As if I'd summoned him, I heard a rap-rap-rap on my door, followed by Brian's voice. "You decent?"

"As I ever am," I called back, then sighed. "Come on in."

From my angle, I couldn't see Brian enter, but I heard the door open and heard him laugh. "Trying to walk on the ceiling?" He asked, moving into my line of sight and giving my legs and feet an amused glance. "Or decide on a toenail polish color?"

I frowned at him. "Well, I wasn't, but since you bring it up." I dropped my legs and grunted in annoyance. "This is all your fault."

"All what?" He asked, still grinning.

"This," I said, waving down at myself.

Brian gave me a once over, and his grin, if anything, grew wider. "Cute?"

"That's what I'm saying!" I groaned, throwing my hands in the air and then letting them fall straight out across my bed. "If your stupid penis hadn't gotten me knocked up--"

"Hey!" He said but shut his mouth when I glared at him.

I sat up and braced my hands on the bed, scrunching my shoulders. Looking down, I saw what I expected to see, and flopped back again. "Brian? Be honest with me. Do I have boobs?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitation.

"I do not!"

I felt the bed creak as Brian dropped onto it. His back was to me, but I could see him looking down at my legs. "Then why ask?"

"Because for the last five days or so, I haven't been able to stop thinking about them."

Brian whistled. "Only five days? I'm going on probably fourteen years."

"Ha. Ha." I said, in as sarcastic a voice as I could manage. "I meant on me." I sat up again, but this time avoided scrunching my shoulders, choosing to bump Brian's shoulder with mine instead.

"You look good with boobs," Brian commented, followed by a muffled grunt of pain when I poked him in the ribs.

"I'm a twenty-five-year-old guy," I said. Not sure where to go with that, I stood up and started putting away some of the clothes I'd strewn about. Brian watched me for a few seconds, then stood and started helping, focusing on things that went in my closet while I folded and put away the stuff that went in my chest of drawers.

I was checking to make sure nothing had gotten kicked under the bed or mysteriously made its way into the living room when Brian grabbed me by the elbow.

"Text Carmen and ask."

"What?"

"Text Carmen and ask her about your boobs."

"I don't..." I started, then stopped. "I don' wanna," I finally finished, sounding whiney even to myself.

Brian shrugged. "All right, I will," he said, pulling out his phone.

"Don't you dare!" I gasped, reaching for his phone, but he easily kept it away from me.

"Well?"

I stomped my foot and jumped, trying to reach his phone, to no avail. "Ugh, alright! But I'm not asking her that. I'll, I dunno."

Brian smirked but lowered his phone. "Just ask her your cup size."

"... I can do that," I conceded, then walked over to my bedside table and grabbed my own phone.

**Hey Carmen, fight W Brian. What’s my cup size**

"She's not gonna answer this early," I said once I'd fired the text off. She would either be at work or--

DING

Or I could be wrong.

**34 B- :)**

I blinked. No way could that be right.

Without thinking, I hit the button to call her, and in less than two rings got an answer.

"Hey mija! Is everything--"

"What do you mean B minus?"

Carmen laughed on the other end of the line, the sound of machines behind her telling me she was probably already at work in her shop. "It's nothing to worry about, the right bra and--"

"Aunt Ceecee!" I snapped. Brian, who had been standing nearby and listening, jumped. I sighed and took a calming breath. "Sorry, Aunt Ceecee. I meant I can't be that big, can I? I thought you'd said I barely could qualify as an AA cup."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. "Sweetie, that was eight years ago. You've grown up a bit since then."

"And out, apparently," I grumbled, looking down at myself again. "That still sounds awfully big."

Carmen giggled on the other end of the line. "First time I've heard that! Oh, sweetie, it's nothing. It's not uncommon for young men to have some breast development. You may be a bit beyond average, but it's nothing to be..." She stopped. "Did Brian do something to you?" she asked, in a much darker tone.

Blink. "Ah, no, we were just--"

"Because I like that boy, but if he hurts you--"

"Nonono! It's." I sighed. "I'm okay, Aunt Ceecee. Just surprised, is all."

"Well," she said, then huffed into the line. "If he does, you just let me know, and I'll sew a pair of E cups into his next costume."

I glanced over at Brian, and, just for a moment, imagined what that would look like, and couldn't help but dissolve into laughter. "I'll tell him you said that!" I said, getting a nervous glance from him that I waved off.

"You do!" She said, laughing herself. "Are you sure you’re okay?"

"Yeah, I think... yeah," I said again, smiling. "Thanks."

"Any time, mija. I love you."

"Love you too, Aunt Ceecee. Goodbye."

"Hasta luego, sweetie."

*click*

I dropped my arms to my sides and gave Brian a long, cold look as things sank in for me.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, moving closer and reaching to touch my shoulder, but stopping short.

I just stood there and silently thought.

I have boobs.

How many free shows had I given my stream followers, pulling my tee shirt tight to show I didn't? How many times had I flashed folks bending over wearing tanks in the past?

How many times had I flashed BRIAN, I wondered, giving him another long look. As if sensing what I was thinking, he took a step back and blushed.

I knew Carmen wasn't wrong, and that it probably wasn't as big a deal as it felt like. But it was one thing to think about someone like Aaron or Brian with a bit of extra chest, and another thing to think about it on me. On Brian or Aaron, it would just look like extra padding on the pecs, maybe a bit of baby fat.

"Ah, Leigh?" Brian said, working up the nerve to finally come toward me and touch me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and giving me a small hug.

I closed my eyes and took yet another deep breath, centering myself. "Sorry. I'll be fine. Just a paradigm shift, nothing to worry about, heh," I said, trying for humor, but even I could hear the note of desperation in my voice.

Brian gave me another little squeeze. "Hey, if things are too much, we can stay home."

I considered it, I really did, but shook my head. "No."

"You sure?"

"No," I said again. "But it doesn't sound like this is anything new. People have been telling me for years what I look like." I reached up and gave Brian's hand a quick squeeze before lifting it off my shoulder, pretending not to notice as his fingers brushed my ass on the swing down. I forced a smile and stepped away, looking up at him. "So, if I can't do anything about it, just deal with it, right?"

"Leigh...."

"Shoes or sandals?" I asked him.

"Hmm?"

"Do I wear shoes or sandals today? I don't know what we're doing. Do I need the foot protection?"

Brian studied my expression, then smiled himself and seemed to relax a bit, which helped mine to grow more genuine. "Sandals are fine. Don't forget sunscreen."

"I'll prep a bag," I said, walking back to my closet and reaching first for a pair of flip-flops before changing my mind and going for the leather strap sandals. "Sunscreen, a couple of towels, some water. A couple extra shirts?" I asked, looking over my shoulder to find him still watching me.

"Ah, yeah, good idea. I'll go grab a shirt and the towels and be right back."

"Sounds good," I agreed, strapping my sandals on and pulling my spare messenger bag out of the closet so I wouldn't have to unpack my normal one. "Oh, and Brian?"

"Yeah?" He said, stopping in the doorway and turning back to face me.

"Let's have fun today," I said, grinning.

"We will," he said, giving me a dazzling grin back. "Promise."

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NOTES:

Comments and kudos appreciated. *hugs*