Toni is in Light Avenue, yes! on a worknight, and what has she agreed to? Worse, what has she done to herself? Nothing other than invite the barman who was flirting with her to join her for a drink. What he wants from her she can’t even begin to fathom but considering the flirting it must involve man and woman things. What’s she going to do?

And worse, how does she continue her life after that? If she doesn’t drop dead from shame on the spot she’ll have to continue working on the healthcare report from work. She’ll have to continue having actual guys as friends knowing she, well... maybe likes doing things with them. Depending on how her drink with Jackson goes... If it’s not a joke... It’s all in Toni’s future, and all of her own making.

--------------------

My mind is like a washing machine. Just tumbling things around in it. Very heavy things. Wet with ideas and needing a lot of time with hopefully a gale blowing freshness into them. I’ve just asked a boy to join me for a drink. I’ve asked a man to sit down next to me, and, well...

“How long has it been?” Jess says.

“By my count about twelve minutes,” Sally says.

“What?” I ask, not really thinking.

“Yeah, twelve minutes since she last talked,” Sally says, tapping her watch.

“What do you think she was thinking?” Jess asks.

“Oh! You can’t talk that type of stuff in polite company,” Sally says.

“No!!” I say. “I wasn’t...”

“She’ll just have to kiss him,” Sally says.

“Yeah. Pop her cherry. The first time can be hard.”

“And messy,” Sally says.

“So, so messy. I bet they’ll be disgusting.”

“Nothing we’re not used to,” Sally says.

“What to you mean We?” Jess asks. “I’m usually the one watching you go pre-evolution on someone in here.”

“Yeah...” Sally says, and she seems kind of far away. “It’s fun.”

“I’m not some kind of...” I begin, before thinking of what I actually am.

“Just raise your legs in the air, girl. You’ll know pretty quickly if you want seconds,” Sally says.

“Oh Jesus, Sally,” Jess says. “She’s not going like that on her first night with a guy.”

“You do remember Friday, don’t you?” Jess says, a look of condescension on her face.

“This is real now,” Jess says. “Friday night was a teenager discovering they had new and interesting body parts while their parents were away for the weekend.”

“I don’t have those body parts,” I say, with a gasp. “I really don’t! What do—”

“He knows that, don’t be silly,” Sally says.

“Just use your mouth,” Jess says.

“I am not sucking his—”

“On his mouth. My god! You might be right, Sally. I’d say she’s calling into work for the next few days and never leaving the bedroom.”

“Do you think he has the stamina for her?” Sally asks.

“Short, stocky? I imagine he’s built with a little staying power. Some very surprising power...”

“I feel bad enough already,” I say.

“Why?” Sally asks, all bright and perky.

“I mean, this isn’t... It’s not...”

“Oh shut up, just have fun. You don’t even have to kiss him. We’re just joking.”

“Shhh, Sally, he’s coming!”

“Already!!?” I say, searching for my phone to check the time.

Jackson is soon standing to the side of the table. “I bring gifts,” he says. He’s holding a tray with some fresh glasses, a bottle of red wine, a half bottle of white wine, and a small, clear cocktail. “For you,” he says to Jess, putting the half bottle of white in front of her. “And you,” he places the red wine in front of Sally. “But you do have to share that. I’ve seen you demolish one all on your own here and it’s a school night. We don’t have that much security on today.”

“Oh, now you have to kiss him, Toni!” Sally says, pouring herself a big measure into her already third filled glass, and a little less into mine.

“What!?” I yelp. And Jackson seems to have said What, too, at the exact same time.

“Oh, Toni was just saying she wants you to be her first.”

“First what?” Jackson asks, a little suspicious.

“First boy she kisses,” Jess says.

Jackson turns to me and looks at me quite seriously. “Have you never kissed a man?”

“Well no, not really,” I say.

He sits himself down and says, “Not really?”

“No, I’ve never kissed a man,” I say, feeling almost like I could cry.

“Well I’ll have to be careful then,” Jackson says.

“You better it believe it, buddy,” Jess says. “We know where all the scissors are hidden around this bar and if you want to leave here intact you are kind and gentle with our friend, Toni.” I can see him wince when Jess says scissors.

“Duly noted, and always my intention,” Jackson says, taking a drink of his clear spirit.

“So you do intend to kiss her?” Sally asks.

“If she’ll let me,” Jackson says. “If she wants to. Do you want to taste this?” he holds his glass out to me, and it’s the first normal interaction I’ve had since I asked him down for a drink.

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“Alcohol. A lot of it. It is extremely strong,” he says.

“You don’t mind?” I ask, reaching out to take the glass.

“No, not at all. It’s why I offered.”

I lift the glass to my lips and give a sniff, but I can’t get anything from it. I take a little sip, well, just a small bit more than a little and it’s like my throat and chest have an inferno rapidly tear down and across them. “Woah, that’s strong!” I say, eyes wide.

“Can I taste?” Sally asks.

“No,” Jackson says.

“Can I?” Jess asks.

“Sure,” Jackson says, gently taking the glass from me, almost like it was a question if I wanted to hang on to it, but I don’t.

He holds the glass out towards Jess. “I didn’t really want a taste,” Jess says.

“Why not me?” Sally asks, having a little bit of a huff.

“Because you’ll really like it, get one, then get two more, then we’ll all be peeling you off the floor and I won’t have time to talk to Toni,” Jackson says, and as he does I notice he’s put his hand on my leg. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but it’s natural. It belongs there. I want his hand in other places, I think.

“Go on then,” Sally says. “Talk to her.”

“I can’t,” Jackson says. Sally and Jess looking a little angry at that. “I have to meet the approval of the sisters first.” He raises his glass towards both of them.

“He knows how it works!” Jess says.

“My men have never said anything like that,” Sally says.

“No, because you have terrible taste. Toni seems to know how to pick nice guys,” Jess says. I move my hand down to rest it on top of Jackson’s hand on my leg. I cringe looking at them. My hand is almost bigger than his. My big stupid man hands. But he turns his over and intertwines his fingers between mine. I feel like I could melt.

“I am honoured to be thought of like that,” Jackson says, and I feel a finger of his break away from mine and begin to gently rub up and down the inside of my knee. I know, now. I want this to happen. I just don’t know how to make it happen.

I cross my leg over his and my hand, trapping them between my legs, and lean into him. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he lifts his free arm and puts it around my shoulders, holding me into him.

“Oh, they’re so cute,” Jess says.

“They’re disgusting is what they are. I’d prefer to see fluids than this,” Sally says, talking a big drink of wine.

“Are your friends always so lewd?” Jackson asks me.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” I say.

“Did you know Jess made Toni cum?” Sally asks, voice totally straight. “A birthday present from the lesbian to the straight girl Toni.” Jess nods as though she doesn’t care but does have a little pride in it.

“Please no, Sally,” I say, closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Toni, I’m just letting him know he has big boots to fill.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Jackson says, seemingly nonplussed.

“You seem very confident,” I say.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, you’re going to kiss me,” Jackson says.

“Oh no, he’s on some weird pick up artist kick,” Sally says.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Jess says, looking at me.

And he’s right, and Jess’s look is right. I do want to kiss him, but I don’t know how. What’s the right way to do this? I can’t just jump on him. “What if I want you to kiss me?” I ask.

“You haven’t asked me to,” Jackson says.

“Is it that simple?” I say.

“You’ll never know until you try,” he says. I squeeze my legs tighter on our hands trapped between them. I want him inside parts of me I don’t even have.

“No,” I say.

“You want to be the little princess? Getting everything handed to you?” Jackson says.

“She’s so demanding,” Sally says. “Give me this, give me that. She just expects things to be delivered to her.”

“What do you think she’s expecting now?” Jackson asks Sally.

“All of us here know what she wants, she’s just afraid to commit to it,” Sally says.

“Yeah,” Jess says. “Wants it to be perfect, like a romance movie. Or those filthy books she reads. On the bus even, you know? That’s what she does. Reads absolute filth on the bus, always imagining but never doing. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Oh shut up, Jess,” I say, turning to face her, but I can’t. There’s a big Jackson visage coming towards me. I look at his lips, then his eyes. Then I open my mouth just a little and feel him on me. I feel his lips on mine. They’re soft, and smooth. His tongue is pushing past mine and I moan. I actually moan. I can’t believe it. This is unbelievable. This is everything I could have ever wanted from life.

I part my legs a little to release my hand and reach both arms up around neck, feeling into his hair. Pulling him into me.

“Oh this is disgusting,” Sally says.

I reach a hand free and give Sally the finger, I think. I’m not quite sure where the world is let alone where Sally is within the world as my and Jackson’s tongues tangle. It’s like we’re playing games with them, and I smile and I bring my arm back to rest around his neck.

Jackson breaks away from me and I feel a longing, all over. More in some other places. I want his mouth on mine but instead he’s placing gentle kisses on my neck. My god I feel amazing. My whole body is tingling. I look over to see what Jess and Sally think but they’re deep in quiet conversation, seemingly not paying me a second look.

I don’t know why but with Jackson’s head down by my neck I can see his ear. I want it. This is so... Oh this is perfect. I want to lick his earlobe. I don’t know why I just do. And for some reason it’s like I’m purring. Like a kitty cat.

Jackson looks up at me and says, “It’s like that is it?” And comes to my mouth again and all I can think is Oh fuck yes, it is very much like that.

I feel his hand inside my skirt, reach up to my ass. Fingers gripping into me. I wiggle around in my seat and I have to do this. This is very much what I want. I break one hand free from behind his neck and move it down to inside his thigh. I want to feel him. To know him. To hold him. “No,” I hear him whisper.

“Oh, yes,” I say back. I raise my hand higher on his thigh, approaching where I’m very sure he’s waiting for me. Eager.

“No!” he says aloud, pushing off from me. He stands almost knocking our glasses from the table, turns on the spot and is darting away, deeper into the bar.

“Jackson!?” I say. People from nearby are looking towards me.

“What happened!?” Jess asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, just barely. My breathing is rapid and I feel sweat on my face. Cold sweat. “I just... He was...”

“What did he do!?” Sally asks, sternly.

But the bar is flashing colours all around me. It seems like everyone is looking at me and laughing at me. I can barely make out Jess and Sally. “I have to go,” I say. “I have to get some air.”

“We’ll go—”

“No,” I say, but I’m not sure if I said it aloud. “I’m just...”

I stand and begin to walk, people seemingly jumping out of my way. I’m down the corridor by the women’s toilet, past the doors marked private and up the red carpeted stairs to Trevor’s Room.

Jackson is in there.

I stop, deathly still, not breathing.

“I’m trans,” he says.

“I... What?” I say.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t...”

“You want to be... Like me, you mean?” I ask, but really more running on automatic.

“I was a woman. I am a man. A trans man,” he says.

“Oh...” I say, confused.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve been with people before, men and women, but they always knew. You didn’t. And I didn’t want you to find out... While you were... You know...”

I stop and consider things for a moment, then it dawns on me. “You said No.”

“It’s not that—”Jackson begins.

“You said No, and I continued. I’m so sorry. I was awful. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Jackson. Oh my god, you literally said No.”

“I should have been clear with you,” Jackson.

“You were. You were perfectly clear. I went on when you had said No.”

“I wanted you to, I did,” he says.

“No. You didn’t. You were scared,” I say. “And I was only thinking of me.”

“I was coming on pretty strong,” he says. “Please, sit down. If you can. Let me explain.”

I somehow move to a couch opposite him and sit myself down. “You don’t have to explain anything,” I say. “I’ll leave.”

“You’ve just sat down,” he says. “And it was wrong of me. I built things up. I came onto you. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“It was what I wanted,” I say.

“Is it still what you want?” he asks, but he’s not flirting. This is a straight, open question. He’s not asking anything of me he wants to know what I want.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“That’s why it was unfair of me,” he says. “You didn’t know what you were getting.”

“Should I know? I saw you. I liked you. What more business of mine is it?”

“Maybe...” Jackson says. “That’s for everyone who’s trans to figure out, when they’re with someone. And I’m telling myself I was wrong for not letting you know. I feel it was wrong.”

“It wasn’t,” I say.

“What would have done? When you found, well, nothing. Down there.”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“No. Neither do I. Do you even like people with female parts?”

“I don’t know that either,” I say.

“Yeah. You don’t know a lot of things. You’re new at all this. You’re figuring things out, and I used you.”

“You didn’t use me! I wanted you to kiss me! It was consensual. What I did wasn’t. Or almost wasn’t. If you didn’t stop me. I should have stopped. I’m so sorry.”

Jackson takes a hand and rubs it against his forehead, looking tired. “I used you because when I saw you I knew you were new at all this. Like I said, everyone I’ve been with before has known I’m trans. They’ve known what they were getting into. They wanted it. I used you because I knew you didn’t know. And probably wouldn’t figure it out, unless... And I wanted to see what it was like with someone who didn’t know. That was unfair.”

“But we kissed, and it was fun. I enjoyed it,” I say. Somehow I pick up the nerve to continue. “Did you enjoy it?”

He nods. “Sort of. It felt wrong the whole time because I knew I hadn’t been honest with you.”

“Leaving that aside, if you had been honest with me...” I say.

“Probably, yeah. But would you have kissed me?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Probably. I’ve had a lot of firsts these past few days. You’re the first man I’ve kissed.”

“But I’m not a man,” he says.

“Of course you are!” I say. “Look at you!”

“It’s not all about looks,” he says.

“No,” I say. And we go quiet. The moment hanging in the air.

Eventually I say, “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” he says. “Not at all.”

And we hear knocking at the door and Trevor call out his usual, “Anyone home?”

“Come in, Trevor,” Jackson says.

Trevor walks in, look of concern on his face, but for who I’m not sure. “Are we all friends?” he asks.

“I hope so,” Jackson says, looking at me with a question on his face.

“I think we are,” I say.

“Good!” Trevor says. “That’s what this bar is all about. Finding and getting to know new friends. Even if your other friends are worried about you, and if the bar staff are worried about you, Jackson. If you could both make an appearance so I can hold back the search parties?”

“Are you good to go?” I ask Jackson.

“Yeah,” he says.

We stand and follow Trevor down the stairs, and out through the store room, around the corner by the women’s toilet. As we get towards the main room of the bar we’re walking next to each other. I reach down and let my hand come close to Jackson’s, reaching out with my fingers.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, and place my hand into his grip. We’re both holding hands now as we walk up the bar. There’s less people looking at me than the last time I ran through but I still see a couple of people seemingly glance.

We get to where Sally and Jess are sitting. “See, no need for a rescue mission,” Trevor says to them both. “I’ll tell the bartenders who were worried, Jackson.”

“I should go,” Jackson says, pulling away from me a little.

“No. You said you’d join me for a drink and you still have most of it left,” I say, pulling his hand to the front of me.

“Are you sure?” Jackson asks me.

“Are you sure?” Jess asks me.

“I am certain,” I say.

“We were this close to reaching for the scissors,” Sally says, as me and Jackson sit down.

“I think Toni wants me intact, for a little while longer,” Jackson says. I squeeze his hand when he says that and he squeezes back.

“No. I do not want to take his manhood. And I don’t want either of you to, either,” I say. And Jackson laughs aloud.

“OK,” Jess says. “If you’re OK with this, Toni. But Mr. Snippy is never far away.”

“Completely unnecessary,” I say. “We talked, it was a misunderstanding, and now we’re friends.”

“Hrrrmmm,” Sally says, still slightly disapproving.

I ignore her. “You have to give me your phone number, Jackson,” I say.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Of course.” And he takes out his phone, and I take mine from my purse.

We’re exchanging numbers when he says, “Can I get a photo with you? For my contact list?”

“You may,” I say. “Why haven’t you two taken selfies with me yet?” I ask Jess and Sally, but they’re still half scowling at me and Jackson, even if it does seem to be an act. Maybe more confusion? For once they don’t know what’s happening with me.

“Yeah, that’s what we want. More Toni in our lives.”

“You love me really,” I say.

“And we hate that you know it,” Sally says.

“I don’t mind,” Jess says.

I want a snappy comeback for all that but Jackson has placed his arm around me and pulled me in close, hand holding his phone up in the air while I’m resting into him. I stick my tongue out at the camera and as I see the flash in my face I feel him giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“Do we look cute?” I ask.

“You do,” Jackson says. “I look like a buffoon.”

“Send it to me,” I say. And he does. And he looks hot and I kind of look OK, not great, but OK, but only because I have a Jackson attached to me. “I look OK.”

“Shut up,” Jackson says. “You’re stunning.”

“Oh Jesus,” Sally says. “They’re back to being disgusting.”

“You find your own man to be disgusting with,” I say, staying resting in Jackson’s arms. It feels good. Comfortable. Like I belong.

“I might just do that,” Sally says. “See how you like it!”

And soon the conversation is back to normal, almost, and the hours are passing by with Jackson getting himself a few more drinks and Sally drinking most of the bottle of red.

I’m back home changed into my night clothes when I get a message on my phone. It’s a group chat with Sally and Jess in it. Sally’s said, “Come on, spill the beans.”

“No,” I message back.

“We were worried. You have to tell us,” Jess says.

“No. You’re not going to guilt me. This is between me and Jackson and it’s staying that way. And you can both stop asking.”

“Are you really OK?” Sally asks.

“He was a perfect gentleman. Nothing more is being said on this. So leave it be. I’m going to bed now.”

“Will you be thinking of Jackson in bed?” Sally asks.

“Of course,” I respond. Then add a few seconds later. “And in the morning. Maybe at lunch. I mean, wow. That was so fucking good.”

“OK. Tell us about your first kiss with a boy,” Jess says.

“You missed out on this as a teenager so I think we can cast our minds back to being giggly,” Sally says.

And we message back and forth for a while, all with me learning a lot about men. There’s even a few pictures. Stuff I’d never thought when I was man, or seen. If I was ever a man. Not really. Then the messaging stops, and I lie back in bed with the group chat open looking at the photos. Thinking of men. Quickly falling asleep. After, well, thinking of Jackson and me, and what if.

My alarm goes off early the next morning. I’d set it a little before normal to try and simulate a normal work day, which is what it sort of is, I’m just working from home. I want to be me all day today. Proper Toni me on a proper work day.

I shower and fix my hair, then get changed into a heavy, wool, knee length skirt, pantihose, my peach fabric ballet flats and a dressy top that’s not too dressy. Maybe work appropriate. I do my lip gloss, BB cream and mascara and try and size myself up, first via the bathroom mirror and then via my phone’s camera.

I send the photo to last night’s group chat with the simple message, “Work appropriate?”

I’m sitting down with a coffee and some toast when I get a message back. “ARE YOU GOING INTO WORK AS TONI!?!” from Sally.

I message back, “No. Work from home for a few days. I just want to simulate a normal workday, if I can.”

“You’ll get there someday, babe,” from Sally.

Then the fashion expert Jess weighs in. “Maybe just a hint too casual. Simpler top with that skirt would work. Need more business appropriate shoes and you’re good. What you have now for a more casual Friday, I think. Do they demand you wear heels?”

“I don’t know. But thanks, Jess. Near enough and not bad for a first try,” I say.

“Sorry, Toni. I’ve no real spare work clothes. They might be costly if you’re not picking things up in sales, you know?”

“I have time,” I say.

“Yeah, you say that...” Jess says. And my coffee is finished and it’s time to work, but first I figure I need to get one or two household chores out of the way. At least I have a washer/dryer in my apartment, so no need waiting for anything somewhere. I load it with my clothes from the past few days and set it going after reading the instructions on all the labels. There’s nothing too fancy, apart from the Friday dress.

Then I think how long ago was Friday? What day is today? So fucking much has happened. I drop my head and take in what I see, I mean, I guess I’m a woman? I certainly feel like I want to be. It’s who I’m meant to be. Is it really that easy? I just decide and that’s it? I start living my life?

Without really thinking about it too deeply, just doing, I’m back on my work laptop and looking at the healthcare plan, and trans care. There’s provision for a lot of stuff. Psychiatrists, therapists, laser hair removal, endocrinologists, various other therapies. Surgery!!! Surgery? I think. Could I? Should I?

I shove that thought from my mind, although it definitely lurks, and make a list of the psychiatrists and therapists who specialise in gender and sexuality. That seems to be the first step in the work plan, even though I think where I live is also an Informed Consent area. I’ll have to talk to HR about that. Maybe Therese? She was at the LGBTQ work group.

I begin to look at the complaints and suggestions I got from that group and I’m soon filling up a lot of notepaper with their ideas.

My phone goes off later in the morning, after getting a lot of work done. I quickly answer it. “How’s it going, Tony?” Greg says.

“Good, yeah?” I say.

“Just good?”

“Won’t Mr. Mayer judge that at the end?”

“About that...” Greg says, and I feel a little dread. “10am Friday morning, at the latest, I want an email from you. Just a quick outline, bullet points if you can, of what you’ll mostly be addressing in the final report. You can still add more after that but your main findings by that morning. Six hundred words, maximum. I don’t want to be reading Tony’s What I Did With My School Vacation story.”

“Of course, yes. I already have pages and pages of notes.”

“Not pages and pages, Tony. Six hundred words, max, for me. That’s already a lot. Getting your point across succinctly is important, even if some people don’t seem to listen and need things repeated. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Greg,” I say.

“Also, just to keep you in the loop. We’ve got legal looking at what you saw in the health coverage. National legal. They think there might be something to it. And if there is heads will be rolling. It’ll look like a Quentin Tarantino film. So I’ll give you a tentative Well done. And a less tentative, How the fuck did our galaxy brain legal team not spot this before?”

“It’s a complex document,” I say. “I just got lucky.”

“Don’t say that, Toni. Modesty can have its place but when you’ve been as useless as you were you need to take credit when you can. This report is another chance for that. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I say.

“No, Toni. You take credit for this. You get it in writing. Do you understand now?”

“Yes, I do, Greg.”

“Good,” he says. “Do you plan any other emergencies coming up, dog’s funeral, favourite niece’s sweet sixteen, unplanned pregnancies?”

“I was thinking of finishing up a little early on Friday but I’ll be putting in the hours between now and then to make up for it.”

“OK, Tony, that’s fine. It’s not all about hours though. If the report is good it doesn’t matter how many hours you put in and if the report is bad it doesn’t make a difference if you worked your little fingies off while typing.”

“Yes, Greg,” I say.

“OK, I’ll leave you to it. Be sure to get some fresh air too. Go for a walk or something. I don’t want an employee of mine turning into a recluse with disgusting, foot long fingernails and mushrooms growing under them after a week of work-from-home or they’d never get such a privilege again.”

“OK, Greg,” I say.

“Am I boring you?” he asks.

“I have a lot of work to do,” I say.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says and hangs up.

I open up a Word document and begin to write up six hundred words of bullet points from what I’ve found so far in my research. I make sure the first thing I write is about the gap in healthcare coverage, then I put it in bold text, but that seems a little too extreme so I change it back.

After another few hours I feel like I’ve addressed everything from the group, and a few things about trans healthcare, especially the need for electrolysis as well as laser therapy, thinking of my own blonde hair and how laser probably won’t work on it. I do a bit of a double take when I’ve written that one down as it’s another example of how much has come to me, how much I’ve learned, in just a few days.

I then think back to my first meeting with Mr. Mayer and Therese, and what they actually wanted. They said they were looking for things applicable to people in the lowest wage bracket. With my situation and the LGBTQ group I’m not certain that’s what they fully intended for me but they did say it so I begin to think of what would actually apply to people in that wage bracket. And I know it would mostly be young people. Even people new to the city.

I message Jess and Sally again, asking them what the found when the first started working and needed to set up doctors and the like, especially when it came to women’s healthcare. Soon they’re having a conversation back and forth between them, a lot of complaints, and some extremely descriptive, rather disgusting scenarios involving the female body I have never and hope I never have to encounter. But it does give me ideas.

I start to mull over what it was like for me when I first came to the job, but I realise that I’ve not actually paid much attention to my health. Unless something acute came up I mostly ignored it, which was foolish. So I write that down. Maybe something tailored to new adult healthcare, what’s needed, routine check-ups, annual health checks, etc. for someone who’s just started working.

I also think to what the talk in the office is. A lot of the guys there seem to play sports, there’s even a few weightlifters, male and female. Sports injuries must surely be a thing, along with the occasional strapped up wrist or limb that I’ve seen. I dig into the documents looking at things like physios and emergency care for what could be seen as voluntary, or somewhat self-inflicted injuries, maybe. Getting your head caved in in a pick-up game could be seen as self-inflicted, I’d imagine.

Before I know it it’s getting late. I’ve been working almost non-stop, all day long. I didn’t really break for anything apart from a cup of coffee and the few messages between Jess and Sally. I do up my own, separate bullet point list for the final document, and change around some of the main points in the six hundred word document for Greg.

Then I’m sitting, absolutely exhausted, thinking again about how I’ve done no shopping, probably have no food in the apartment, and the dryer is still filled with clothes. I know exactly what I need and it’s a fucking huge burger.

I rescue some of the clothes from the dryer and lay them across the back of the chair in my bedroom. I should really think about putting them away, then I think of what is put away. My dress from last Friday night. The dress! With its stains. I’d better get it cleaned before they become permanent. My permanent shame. And the dress is too fancy to go to waste. To be locked away. I wonder if I’ll ever wear it again? Where I could wear it to? Who I could wear it for?

I take it out of the wardrobe and furl it up, placing it into one of the plastic bags from Sally, now empty. Which is what I’ll do. I’ll bring it to the place that usually does my work clothes, they’ll definitely be able to dry clean it, then I’ll go the fast food place near there for a burger. That’ll be my night filled. Simple, easy, no big dramas. I can work all day again tomorrow and get an early afternoon on Friday. Maybe pick up some sandals Jess suggested for my pedicure. Maybe a few other things.

As I walk down the street I pull my coat in tight. It’s a bit cold today and I can feel a chill on my legs despite the pantihose. Which makes sense, I guess. They’re really thin material. I think of the women I see dressed like this even in the middle of winter. It’s not all fun and games trying to look nice.

I come up to the cleaners and there’s nothing to it, really. They’re going to know it’s me. They’re going to know what I’m up to, but then more and more people will if I keep all this going. I walk in and hear an electronic buzzer go off.

The woman, always the same woman, looks up at me and I smile a little sheepishly. “What can I do for... OH! It’s you!” she says. “No shirts for ironing today I’m guessing?” She laughs. It’s a kind of wild laugh, but there’s nothing malicious in it. “Show me what you have, honey.”

I lay the plastic bag up on the counter and take out the dress, stretching it out on the surface top. “Oh, that’s very nice. Very expensive. You did the right thing bringing it here. We’ll take good care of it.”

“There’s a few stains on it,” I say.

She picks the dress up and turns it around and back a few times. “No stains I can see, but it’ll feel better with a clean.”

“On the inside,” I say, feeling heat coming to my face.

“The inside?” she says. She rolls up the hem and sees where I’ve had fun. “Oh! I hope you’re not pregnant now. Always use protection. I say that to all my kids. Use protection. I’m too young to be a grandmother. Have fun, but no babies!”

“No...” I say, but she’s already making her way to the back.

“GEORGE!” she yells.

“WHAT!?!” I hear yelled back.

“You know the boring boy?”

“There’s so many boring boys,” he roars.

“The boring boy! Three weeks of boring shirts and pants. Well she’s a fun girl now. And pretty.”

“Let me see!” he says.

As they both walk out I hear the woman say, “We’re going to make so much money from her.”

“Stand back, young girl,” he says to me. And I feel an involuntary force somehow move me back to be inspected. “You’ll be fine. You know women’s clothes need to be dry cleaned a lot more than men’s clothes.”

“No they don’t. Not really,” I say.

“Not really? You know clothes?” the woman says.

Then the man says, “They’ll last longer and hold their shape better. I’m telling you, dry clean by preference, even if they say they don’t need it. Much better for the clothes. A lot cheaper in the long run not replacing them. Do we have your email address?”

I think about how I don’t have an email address with my Toni with an i name. “I need a new one."

He writes out a docket and pins a label to the dress, before handing the docket to me. “Email is on there, get on to us when you have your email ready. Include that number. We’ll email you when the dress is done. Shouldn’t be too long. You know the rules?”

“The rules?” I ask, not sure what he’s referring to.

“We hold your pretty, expensive dress for a week, here, once we contact you. After that it goes to a warehouse and there’s a charge to get it out. Three months later it’s ours. And we sell it. If you don’t pick it up. I don’t understand some of these women. A fortune on clothes, a fortune on cleaning and they leave things behind. What are they thinking?” the woman says.

“They got fat,” the man says.

“Or pregnant. Like this girl in that pretty dress.”

“Are you pregnant now?” the man asks me.

“What?” I stammer.

“I told her, use protection. Us parents raised kids already. We don’t want to be raising grandbabies too. It’s our time now.”

“I can’t get...” I begin, but they know this. They know I can’t have babies.

“God can do many things,” the woman says. “We’ll pray for you to have babies some day like all good Christian women want. And if you keep trying then someday you’ll be in here with huge maternity leggings, a giant baby belly and fancy baby clothes. So much money from you.” The man seems to have his hands clutched together and his eyes raised in prayer, for me to get pregnant or for me to make them rich I don’t know. Probably both. These people are crazy. “Now go. Find your husband to make an honest woman of you. Never work again. Stay at home and be a Mother and drink wine all day.”

“And bring your clothes to get cleaned. We have never destroyed anything, unlike some places,” he says.

“You look pretty,” the woman says to me. “Natural.”

“Thanks,” I say, backing out the door and hearing the buzzer go off again, and as it closes I hear them again say, “So much money...” They are genuinely insane.

I walk down the street, in almost complete confusion. The burger place is nearby but so is the bar Steve wants to meet at on Saturday morning, for the early English soccer game. I still haven’t decided on whether I’m going to meet Steve but if I am to go I want to make sure they’ll be OK with me. They’re probably quiet right now so I guess I can check them out and I suppose they can check me out. We can check each other out.

I come to the bar and there’s a few seats and tables laid out outside, with a notice board on the pavement advertising live sports, and soccer, on tens of TVs. This is a real dude bar, I guess. I never really thought of it but it actually is. I have no clue how they’ll take me.

I walk in taking small steps and stand at the top of the long, partioned room, a little reluctantly, and extremely aware of myself. What I’m wearing, my newness at all this, how much I look like a man in my skirt and with my legs sticking down. I hear something being called out, in my general direction and realise the words, “Give me a minute, Toni, I’ll be right with you,” were said. I think the man’s name is Peter, he’s the manager? Or owner? I’m not quite sure.

I watch him serving a few beers to people and then he’s standing in front of me. “Well?” he says.

“Well what?” I ask.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I just have a few questions, really,” I say.

“OK. We have a few questions for you. Sit yourself down and get a drink.”

“OK...” I say, not quite sure what’s happening. I sit myself up on the seat, still highly aware I have legs in here. I’m a guy wearing a skirt, with legs. And these are all dudes and bros around me. And Peter is kind of a dude and a bro.

“Right, drink?” he says.

“Do you have something low alcohol?” I ask.

“No, the low alcohol beer gathered dust. Gimme a second though. AARON!” he yells. "Do we have that zero alcohol beer?”

“Sold out... Who for?”

“Toni says she wants something low alcohol.”

“I was just going nearby for a burger,” I say.

“Beer?” Aaron shouts back.

“Beer?” Peter asks me.

“Yeah, a low alcohol beer, but a Coke would be fine, really.”

“A low alcohol beer, Aaron. Do we have anything?”

Aaron walks up to Peter and as he does he gives me a quick look but doesn’t seem to let anything on. “Will you drink something with sugar?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“A Sprite?”

“Yeah, a Sprite is fine, really,” I say.

“Shandy,” Aaron says.

“Shandy?” Peter questions.

“It’s also known as a Radler, in some places. I know it as a Shandy from when I worked in England. People would drink it on hot days. Half Sprite, half beer. You’d get a lot of older guys drinking it during the afternoon if they weren’t ones to start early. Or were going for a quiet Sunday.”

“She’ll have one of those,” Peter says. “And will you make me one up too?”

Aaron turns around and begins to prepare the drinks.

“I really just wanted a burger,” I say.

Peter pulls a menu from a holder and hands it me saying, “Burgers galore.” So I guess my question of whether it’d be weird for them to have me in here is kind of answered. They’re acting like nothing is different about anything, in any way at all. They’re almost bossing me around.

Aaron places the shandy in front of me, and one in front of Peter. I take a taste, a big gulp. It’s sweet and refreshing and goes down easily. “What do you think?” Peter asks.

“It’s great!” I say, almost too excitedly.

“You’d drink another one?” he asks, and takes a drink himself, before wiping his mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

“Definitely!” I say.

“What beer did you use, Aaron?” Aaron tells him the beer and Peter says to use a different one next time, the cheap one I usually go for. “What price do you think?”

“The cost of a Sprite, the cost of a beer, I think you’d get away with $6.50.”

“OK, make it a special for the next few weeks. On one of the boards out front. Shandy Special $5. You know the usual marketing stuff. Refreshing...” Peter looks at me and I nod. “Easy to drink. Low in alcohol for when you have to work or it’s early in the day. English...”

“Right now?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. You coming in Saturday morning, Toni?” Peter asks me.

“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “Toilets?”

“We have them,” Peter says. “No need to worry about that. I think there’s laws about having to have them.”

“I mean which ones should I use?”

“Use whichever you want,” Peter says.

“The women’s?” I ask.

“I think you’d look a little strange standing at a urinal with a dress up around your ass. It might draw some attention, too.”

“I just—”

“No-one cares what toilets people use, Toni. No-one working here at least. And if anyone does care they find another place to drink. And it’ll be a shittier place if they care about something like that. The knuckle draggers can all pretend they’re football hooligans while never going to a game in their lives.”

“OK...”

“Yeah, OK. Have you decided what burger you want?” I point to one on the menu. “Fries, sweet potato fries, curly fries, English style chunky chips?”

“Just regular fries,” I say. “Please.”

“No problem,” he says and taps something into the till. Then he fiddles around with the remotes and the TVs and brings up a recording of a soccer game. “Champion’s League. We already had it on but we won’t tell anyone the scores. It was a pretty good game.” He points towards a TV in a corner. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen it?”

“I haven’t seen a game in a few weeks,” I say.

“You’ll be in on Saturday won’t you, now we’ve answered all your questions?”

“I’m still worried about Steve, you know my—”

“Yeah! Steve. Your burger will be ready soon. Eat that, watch the match, enjoy your drink, then I’ll talk to you about Steve. And don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says, seeing the look on my face. “Just enjoy your burger.”

It’s a good burger. A really good burger. I’ve only ever had fries or wings in here before. I never realised how good their food could be. The meat is juicy, but the bun doesn’t get soggy. All the ingredients work well together and the sauce cuts through the savoury richness, and oiliness, of the meat and melted cheese.

“That was really good,” I say, as Peter clears away my plate. “Like, really fucking good.”

“Those who know, know. Now you know. You can try a proper breakfast for the Saturday game.” Then he yells for Aaron again, who rests down a noticeboard he’s writing on with chalk and moves a few steps towards Peter. “For the weekend games, one free shandy with every Full English Breakfast, or tea or coffee, you know the usual. Let’s see if we can get this going with a bit of a push.”

“On the noticeboards as well?”

“Yeah, maybe a drawing or something.” And he’s pulling a bottle out from beneath the counter along with two shot glasses. He places one in front of me and one in front of himself. He pours himself a shot, knocks it back, then looks at me. “You’ve eaten enough you can manage one shot, right?”

“Yeah, I think so...” I say.

He pours a shot for me and for him and holds the glass in the air. “Cheers,” he says. I raise my glass and say cheers as well and we knock both back. It is decidedly not smooth at all.

“OK, Steve...” Peter says.

“This can’t be good if you’re giving me a shot of that before bringing him up.”

“It’s not bad,” Peter says. “You’re fine, I mean. When he first started talking about you I didn’t really know who he was talking about.”

“Talking about me?” I ask.

“Yeah, well, the new you. You were just a shy dude drinking in the bar. I couldn’t really place you for a while. But I remembered. Quiet guy, never caused trouble, never got messy. Drank slowly and kept the peace. Standard good customer so no real reason to remember you.”

“No reason to notice me,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s a good thing,” Peter says. “We know Steve. He’s in here often enough. He’s been in more than usual the past few days. Talking about you.”

“Talking about me?” I say again.

“You look great, by the way. I didn’t quite believe what Steve was saying. He’s too panicked to notice anything much but you? Yeah, you look happy, and normal. If this was your first time in here I’d remember you for good reasons.”

“Steve’s panicked about me?” I ask.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Steve is a little upset.”

“Steve’s upset? About me? Why the fuck would he be upset about me?” I ask, finally trying to put my own mark on this conversation.

“Because he’s an idiot who’s been drinking too much and working himself up over nothing. He thinks he’s ruined your life.”

“How has he ruined my life!?” I ask, my voice getting louder.

“That’s what we’ve been telling him. You’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do. The guy is acting like an idiot, so don’t take it personally. He thinks he’s fucked your brain up in some way with whatever bet you had and now your life is going to be more difficult and people are going to judge you, and it’s all his fault.”

“It sounds like he thinks I’m his little brother,” I say, waving one hand up in the air.

“We’ve told him to think of you as his little sister. I think you’d be OK with that. It’s fine to look out for the people in your life but you’re not broken, you’ve not been forced into anything. Looking at you it’s obvious you’re happy.”

“I am happy!”

“Yeah, just let him see that. He’s worried about some other stuff as well. We’ve told him not to be but the guy’s not thinking.”

“What other stuff?” I ask, wondering if I need to call Steve now and tell him to stop being the biggest baby on the planet.

“Oh, whether you’re going to change, if you’ll stop watching football with him, if you don’t want him for a friend?”

I pick up the bottle and pour myself a shot and place it back down. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think,” I say, realising what I’ve done.

“No you didn’t think, because you didn’t pour me one too,” Peter says, filling his glass. We hold both our shot glasses in the air, say cheers again and throw them back.

Gulping, I say, “He won’t be my friend much longer if he keeps acting like a moron.”

“That’s what we’ve told him. And it’s why we would really like you to see him on Saturday morning, if you don’t see him sooner. As you, the new you. The happy looking woman I see before me. If he sees you’re OK then maybe he’ll stop crying in his beer.”

I cringe a little, not from embarrassment but worry. “He wasn’t really crying?” I ask.

“Very, very nearly,” Peter says. “But he was pretty drunk. And he refuses to talk to you.”

“I just got some shitty texts from him,” I say.

“He showed us... How old are you two?”

“I’m twenty six, he’s about a year older than me. Give or take.”

“Steve’s never had a serious relationship with a woman?”

“A few months,” I say. “Nothing serious-serious.”

“Yeah, he’s a child. He has absolutely no fucking clue how to handle this.”

“I’m getting that now,” I say.

“I know it’s tough to ask you to bear the burden of this while you’re going through so much but just try and tolerate him for a bit longer. Show him you’re happier. He’ll come around.”

I try not to think of that, or at least the fullness of what I’m going through, and turn to look at the game on TV. It goes quiet for a bit with Peter seemingly watching the match too.

“Good goal in a few minutes,” he says. Then continues, “Making new friends with all this?”

“A few I say. Is that one of Steve’s worries?”

“A little, yeah. Really I was just hoping you could bring some more women in here. Any of them into football?”

“Not that I know of,” I say. “Me?”

“And you don’t seem to mind the smell of dude B.O.”

“Some guys smell good,” I admit, without thinking. I’ve admitted that a few times these past few days. Have I always liked how guys smelled? Have I been going around sniffing men without thinking?

“They really don’t,” he says. “But if you think so I’m not going to argue.”

I stand. “OK, I’ll use your facilities,” I say. He nods and I make my way to the back of the bar to where the women’s is. I’ve been in this bar loads of time but never the women’s, obviously. Peter is right, it is a lot less stinky. I pee and go to wash my hands and the soap isn’t on a giant dispenser on the wall. It’s a little bottle of what appears to be fancy stuff sitting next to the sink. Strawberry smelling. I bring my hands to my face as I walk out and it’s nice.

“What’s your number?” Peter asks.

“My number?”

“If you don’t mind. I’ll add you to a group chat of some of the more mature football fans from in here. Then you can message Steve.”

“Steve’s in the group chat?” I ask, a little hesitant.

“Oh god no. Mature football fans is what I said, well... More mature. Steve’s yet to prove himself. I was just saying message him so you can pull the band-aid off. Get it done with and actually enjoy the football Saturday morning. You will have a breakfast, won’t you? You know our food is good now.”

I nod. “What should I say to Steve?”

“Tell him you’re here and to just walk in.” So I do, then exchange numbers with Peter. “The goal’s coming up,” he says.

And it’s a great goal. Not a fancy shot or anything, no thumping it in with a curler from thirty yards out. It’s a quick counter-attack, fast moving from the back, with some great passing.

“Tony...” I hear someone say. It’s Steve.

“Good goal, watch,” I say.

“Yeah?” he asks, hovering over me.

“Just sit down and watch it,” I say.

“Fine,” he says, while making a lot of noise sitting himself up on a stool.

“How did you get here so fast?” I ask.

“I... Well...”

“Oh fuck off, Steve! You saw me in here earlier and turned around. Fucking hell, dude, you’re supposed to be my friend.”

He looks like a puppy that’s been whacked on the nose with a newspaper when he says, “Sorry. I am your friend? Still..?”

“Oh, come on Steve. Of course you’re my friend. You’re my oldest friend.” I turn around in my chair, fully intending to ask him how I look but I can’t. “Jesus Christ, man, you look like shit!”

“I’ve had a few late nights,” he says.

“Yeah, obviously. When did you last eat?”

“I didn’t really—”

I look up at Peter who’s standing a little way back, leaning against the fridges but he’s quick on noticing me. Almost instantly. “Would you get Steve a burger, the same as I had. No onion?”

“I will,” Peter says.

“I don’t need a burger,” Steve says.

“You need a burger, and you’re getting an early night tonight. You can walk me home after you’ve eaten and then we’ll call a taxi to take you home. Have you been sleeping?”

“A bit...” Steve says.

I nod, not believing him. “Fucking hell, Steve. I’m fine. You didn’t do anything to me. This is who I am. Who I want to be. I’m still your friend, I just look a little different. Let’s get that out of the way.”

“Yeah, you’re wearing a skirt,” he says. “And growing boobs.”

“I am not growing boobs. I wish I was but I’m not. Not yet. It doesn’t happen that quickly,” I say, pushing my arms together to make my fake boobs stick out a little more with me looking down at them.

“You want to grow boobs?” Steve asks.

“Yes. I think so. I’m trans, Steve. That’s all it is. Lots of people are.”

“You were always..?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “I don’t know. This is new to me but it’s not bad. I’m happy. It feels good. I’ve made new friends, but I still have my old friends. I met with Alan Sunday evening and we just chatted.”

Steve nods. “I was talking to him.”

“And what did he say?” I ask.

“That you were glowing. He said that, Glowing. Like you were pregnant.”

“A couple today said they’d pray for me to get pregnant...”

Steve almost recoils at that, but not in horror, more shock. “Is that possible?” he asks.

“No, it’s not possible you dummy.”

“Even if a man...”

“No matter what I do with a man, it’s not possible. How much have you been drinking?”

“Have you? You know..? With a guy?” Steve asks.

“I kissed a guy last night. It was nice. I’ll do it again. And more if I get the chance.”

“Jesus, dude,” Steve says.

Peter places another shandy in front of me, a knife, fork, napkin and some condiments in front of Steve, and most importantly a big glass of water in front of him too. “I like guys, Steve. You have fun and interesting parts.”

“But you’re so innocent,” Steve says.

Peter shakes his head. “She’s basically your mother now, man.”

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, sorry dude. She’s been asking after your health, she’s finally getting you to eat something, we’ve been trying for days. You’ve been told you have an early bedtime tonight. You haven’t asked for a beer. And you look a toddler who’s been caught misbehaving.”

I laugh at Peter’s summary of all this. “Am I a Mom now?”

“Sorry, Toni. You had your whole life ahead of you.”

“Do you want me to tuck a napkin into your collar, Stevie?”

“Just watch the game,” he says.

So we do. And soon the food arrives. Steve’s a little hesitant at first, but after a few bites he really digs into it. Taking huge chunks out of the burger and stuffing fries into his face. He was obviously famished. Eventually he sits back, stuffed, and rests his hands at either side of his plate, curled up into little fists. I reach my hand out and rest it over his and ask him, “Are we OK now?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“And you’re OK with me?”

“I guess, it’ll take some getting used to.”

“Well get used to it, bub, I’m here to stay.” He looks at me, finally with a small smile on his face. “And I’m sticking around you, too.” He closes his eyes in a long, slow blink. “Come on, you need sleep. Let’s get you into a taxi.”

“No, I need to walk you home,” he says.

“I’ve walked home from here loads of times.”

“Not looking hot, you haven’t.”

“I’m hot?” I ask.

“A little, yeah,” Steve says. “If I didn’t know you all my life...”

“Come on, try your best chat up line on me.”

“Fuck off!” Steve says, blushing a little, but also laughing.

“No, that’s not going to work... Can I settle up, Peter?”

“Sure,” Peter says. And I do, and he’s soon saying, “Good night, Steve. Good night, Mom. Be sure to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story.” And it’s obvious Steve really is exhausted because he’s not objecting to any of that.

We walk back to my apartment block, mostly talking about football. When we arrive I make sure he gets in a taxi before I see myself up to my place. I take off my shoes and wiggle out my toes before sitting back on my couch, sighing a big sigh.

I take out my phone as I told Steve to message me when he arrived to his place and I notice I’m in a new group chat. There’s a message from Peter welcoming me to it. And a few people saying hello to me, so I say Hi back. Then someone asks if anyone is watching a game at the moment and there’s a link to a stream, probably from pirates in Russia or something, to some South American soccer.

I grab my laptop, and the last beer from the ones Steph brought on Saturday night, and tune into the dodgy link. There’s a bit of back and forth in the group chat about the game, and I say one or two comments about players I thought were doing well, and it all feels normal.