catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

Jason's prank on his roommate goes terribly wrong... or terribly right.

---

I love to prank people. Well, not that so much as trolling people. On the internet.

I'm still technically a teenager, but I'm currently going to college. I'm living in the dorms the first year. My roommate, Mark, seems pretty cool, though he's gone most of the time. He's more into frat stuff and partying. Don't get me wrong, I'm not super into studying. I spend most of my time hanging out with friends, playing video games, and looking at Reddit and 4chan. Also, porn, but I usually leave that out of self-introductions.

Anyway, we have a three day weekend—long enough to get bored, not long enough to fly home. I mean, I'm not complaining. I like getting time off. It's just that I get bored. And most of my friends have gone home for the long weekend.

I'm really bored. I'm looking for something to do and I think it would be funny to make a fake dating profile. Like make up a really hot girl, edit a picture or something and then see what kind of idiots responded. So I look up some girls on Google, edit a picture a little so no one realize where I got it, and voila. Alicia Black is born. Yes, I know the name is cheesy. I'm trying to attract idiots.

After waiting a while and not getting any responses I exit and forget about it. Until Monday, when I remember it and check. I have like twenty messages! I don't know where they were before.

Anyway, I message about ten of them back—dumb stuff like how “hot” their pictures look—and I'm starting to get bored until I see something that catches my eye.

It's a profile with the same name as my roommate Mark and a pic that looks like it could be him. I click on it and it is him! I can't pass up this great opportunity.

I message him, telling him that I “think he's hot ; )”. Pfft. I can't take this seriously. I'm surprised when he messages me back almost immediately.

“hey you go to same college?” Yeah, he's not exactly Shakespeare.

Sh*t, I put in my actual college without thinking about. I wasn't expecting to find someone who goes here. At least I didn't put an address.

Actually, this is probably a really good opportunity to mess with him. “yeah, same college.”

“must be fate” I add.

Not capitalizing things is really frustrating me but it fits my persona. Alicia is not supposed to be brilliant. Just hot.

We exchange several more meaningless messages about local landmarks we both recognize. It's not a real connection or anything. I don't actually know where he is right now. He must be using his phone or something. Honestly, I didn't really peg him for the dating site kind. He seems like the type who'd get plenty of… you know, at frat parties and stuff..

Not that he's ever invited me to one of them. Honestly, for roommates I don't know very much about him.

Then I get a different kind of message. “were so close think we could meet IRL?” That's “in real life”, for those not conversant with modern internet slang. Wow, that was surprisingly fast. But I got 'im!

Now the question is what to do with the fish I've got on this line. I consider just claiming I'll meet him somewhere and then — obviously — not showing up. It lacks the sting, though. There's no punchline. “Alicia” will just keep failing to meet him until he figures out she's not real.

Now I'm thinking that maybe I can have “Alicia” meet him. Obviously she's not real but maybe I can get some girl to fill in. Then I can get them to pull off a wig or something and reveal it was a prank. Although I have to admit I historically have not had great luck with girls.

If I said that to my sister she'd say “Luck has nothing to do with it,” and I'd say “Shut up.”

I start thinking about girls I know. Obviously they have to look at least a little like the pictures—although I know, I know, nobody looks like their photos.

So I can rule a bunch of people out right away. Really, the problem is that they have to be a hot girl to pull this off and I don't know any hot girls who talk to me.

I'm looking more closely at the photo. I realized it reminds me of someone I know and I'm trying to figure out who. Then I realize. It kind of looks like a girl version of me.

That's kind of offputting.

But then I realize my plan. And it's great. It's perfect. Just as long as I don't die of embarrassment first.

So in case you didn't figure it out, my plan is to dress like a girl. The girl in the pictures, more or less. Aaaand I don't know if I can go through with this. It's super embarrassing and honestly it could backfire on me. I don't want a reputation as some crossdressing perv who goes on dates with my roommates.

I don't think anyone wants that reputation.

But I don't really have anything to lose. I'll wait till Mark's gone and see how I look. If it's not working I can pull out. If “Alicia” doesn't show up it's not like he can do anything about it. Besides messaging me angrily. Oh dread.

I made plans to meet him at a pretty nice restaurant on Friday. At least I'll get something out of this. Can't really bring the leftovers home though.

Anyway I ordered makeup on Amazon—I have free Prime because I'm a student and I get one-day shipping. I want to make sure I have enough time, and buying makeup in a store would be super awkward. The cashier would be like “What are you going to do with this, huh, pervert?” Well, I doubt they would actually say that but I bet they'd be thinking that.

To be honest I didn't really know what do get so I tried to colorwise match the makeup in the photo. I also looked up reviews of different makeup to see which brands were recommended. I got some clothing, too. I really wasn't sure about the sizes. I tried to look at conversion chart from men's to women's sizes but I just ended up getting really confused. The whole thing ended up being kind of expensive for a prank, especially with the one-day shipping. I was committed though.

Well, I wait all day Tuesday, kind of nervously, and the dorm mailroom gets nothing. Then it closes for the day. So much for one-day shipping.

The box of makeup finally arrives in the morning before I had class. I only have one class on Wednesdays and it was a big lecture so I could skip it. Not like anyone would notice.

I start trying to apply the makeup. The first few tries were really bad—I used to much and got stuff in all the wrong places. After a little practice it looked somewhat better. I step back and perused myself in the mirror.

I looked pretty good, if I say so myself. It's a pretty good resemblance to the photo. I actually get a little turned on looking at myself in the mirror. Way to be a pervert, self.

I get a text that the clothing has arrived. I go pick it up and like an idiot forget to take the makeup off. The person behind the counter doesn't seem to notice anything weird, even though I have to show my id to pick up the package. Let's be honest; if I had that job I wouldn't really care.

I try on the clothing and after a little difficulty figuring out how to put on a bra I'm solid. I check the mirror and the clothing seems to help. I'm pretty sure anyone looking at me would think I was a girl. The padded bra probably helps with that.

You know, boobs. Girls have them. Yeah.

It's a good enough resemblance to the picture too I think.

…then Mark barges in.

Sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t my mind screams. What the hell am I gonna do?

Mark doesn't instantly recoil like I expect him to. Instead he holds out his hand. Oh god is he going to punch me.

“Hey, I'm Mark. You must be Jason's friend?” That's me, by the way. I guess I didn't mention my name.

Wait, does he not recognize me? I mean, that was the goal, but it's hard to believe it's actually happening. This is a bad time, though.

“…um, yeah, I'm Alicia.” What? I couldn't think of another name. I'm not good under pressure.

On the other hand, if he “recognizes” me as Alicia he's probably going to wonder why the girl from the dating site is here. Probably think I'm a stalker or something.

“You're kinda shy, huh?” What the f*ck is he talking about? I'm perfectly good with people; I'm just freaking out because of this situation. On the plus side my voice came out as a whisper, so hopefully he won't be able to tell it's not really female.

“You look kinda… familiar? Let me think.” Oh sh*t he's going to figure it out.

I start edging towards the door to avoid his inevitable freakout when a metaphorical lightbulb pops above his head.

“Hey, you're that girl from the dating site! We were gonna meet! Wow, you were Jason's friend? Small world, man. Small world.” Weird that he would call a girl “man.” Well, someone he thinks is a girl. You know what I mean.

“Uh… yeah, I know Jason. I… didn't realize you were his roommate?” I let out a horribly fake giggle.

“Yeah, since we're both here and,” he checks his watch, “I'm free for a few hours, how bout we go to dinner now.” He looks around. “I don't know where Jason is but I'm sure he won't mind if I steal you for a little bit, right? If I explain the situation.”

I stammer affirmative. This is my chance to pull off the scheme but I'm still kind of shellshocked. I'm not ready.

But I'm not going to get a better chance. Let's just hope this prank ends up being on him.

We don't go to the nice place planned for Friday because you need a reservation. I hope he doesn't take that to mean we already have a second date scheduled. Not that he's going to want to go on it after the big reveal.

Instead we go to a place that we both like. They have really good deep dish even though everyone else thinks I'm weird for liking it. Well, Mark and Jason both like the place. Mark doesn't know anything about what “Alicia” likes. Kind of selfish of him really to take me to a place that just he likes. But I guess he did ask me if it was okay.

He looks at me kind of funny when I order the deep dish. Dammnit, I hope that error doesn't cost me.

“You know, Jason is the only other person I know who likes that stuff.”

I laugh, trying to make it high pitched. God, this is awkward. I remember I'm supposed to be Jason's friend “Yeah, I know. He's the only person I know too.”

Mark snorts. “He's the only person you know? Wow, you must be lonely.” What a scintillating conversation. This guy is an idiot.

“Anyway,” Mark segues, “You seem different in person. Shyer. I guess that's normal.” I just nod. If he thinks I'm shy that's fine. It makes things easier for me. I get an excuse for not talking.

“I think it's cute,” he adds.

Suddenly, against all reason, I find myself blushing. I'm also kind of turned on. I really hope he can't see my erection. I skillfully scoot forward so I'm partly under the table. The red-and-white checkered table cloth is at least partly covering me. Smooth, idiot. Self.

I don't know what my problem is but he takes my move as getting closer to him. He starts to lean forward before asking me a question.

“Can I kiss you?”

Part of my brain is freaking out while another part is thinking do it! The part that wins out is the one that claims it'll be more embarrassing for him if he kisses a guy too. Right, another part of my brain snarks, keep telling yourself that.

So we kiss and…even though it's not great, it's also not super gross. I realize people are looking at us—an older woman is smiling at us, kind of creepy—and pull away blushing.

Eventually he pays the bill and we leave the restaurant. I go through the rigamarole of saying goodbye to him and then waiting until he falls asleep—he goes to bed early, it's kind of annoying—and sneaking back in.

I couldn't bring myself to do the big reveal. I don't know what my problem is. Maybe I have some weird kink for wearing women's clothing. Great, this is just what I need in my life.

I change, wash off the makeup.

I lie down in bed but my mind races and swirls. Eventually I fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, just as confused as ever.

catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

Jason's prank doesn't go as planned, and he finds himself dragged deeper into things than expected.

---

I try to go to my Thursday classes and not freak out. I keep my head down, focus on the schoolwork. It's a good distraction. But sometime classes and homework have to end and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

Incredibly nervous, I check the site. There's a message from Mark asking if we were still on for Friday and giving me his phone number. Which I already have, ironically. Wait, is that ironic? Eh, it's not worth thinking about.

I confirm for Friday. After all I never pulled off the actual point of this whole thing… this prank. I don't give him a number because he already has my cell and it'd be a dead giveaway if Jason and “Alicia” had the same phone number.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to distract myself. I try watching some porn but I'm not feeling it. Eventually I just go to bed feeling worn out and hopeless.

Friday morning I wake up anxious, or to be positive, excited. Today is the big day. I'm finally going to get the payoff for all this work!

I suddenly realize that I probably shouldn't go in the exact same outfit. Not only would that be suspicious but it's not nice enough for the place we're going. There's not time to order online.

So I steel myself, change into my “Alicia” clothes and makeup, and go to buy women's clothing.

I go to several clothing stores, looking for something cheap and appropriate and moving quickly so no salesperson will ask if I need help. I end up buying a black dress that I think seems like Alicia's style. I don't try it on because I feel weird about using the changing rooms. Like even more of a pervert. I rush home and try it on.

It looks surprisingly good.

I'm skipping class that I really should be going to but I don't want to have to change just to redo everything later. Besides, I get a sick day or three.

Meanwhile I have to wait and I'm freaking out. I end up going to the Internet and looking up things about men who like to wear women's clothing. I guess it is a fetish, yeah. Weirder to me is that some people seem to do it not for a sexual reason. It reassures them or something? I don't really get it.

Finally it's approaching our reservation time. After thinking about it I decide I can wait in the room. Less people will see me and he'll just assume Jason let me in. Well, I am Jason, but he doesn't know that.

He finally gets back from wherever he was with only ten minutes until we're supposed to be at the restaurant.

“Jeez, you're super late! I've been waiting for like hours! Get changed quick or we'll miss the reservation!” I swat his back and feel weirdly comfortable, and a little turned on.

In about a minute he's changed into a suit. He looks good, actually. I'm bothered he could do that so fast. I'm kind of jealous.

I feel weird looking at him.

He calls us an Uber to the place, then holds the door for me and ushers me in. “Nothing but the best for milady.” It's super cheesy but I think he knows that. I actually laugh a little even though it was lame. Probably because it was so lame, to be honest.

Because we drove we get there with time to spare. Honestly, we could have walked but it would have looked kind of weird, us looking fancy and running to make it.

At least I'm not wearing heels. I doubt I could handle them and I kind of forgot I needed shoes until the last minute. I'm just the… flats, I think?… that I bought online earlier. They're actually a little big but it's not major.

Anyway we get there and we have to wait like half an hour to be seated. I guess this place is popular. I get more and more fidgety. Maybe Mark had the right idea being late.

At least a waiter comes quickly and we order. I wait until after my pasta comes and I've eaten most of it. Don't want to waste free food! Free for me, anyway. I don't eat that much though because I'm nervous. We make meaningless small talk in between bites. He asks me the standard college-age questions: What major are you? What grade are you in? Where are you rooming? I make up a major—I claim I'm studying education, that sounds both noble and girly—and tell my real grade. It's not like that narrows things down much. The third question I just avoid. He tells me a bunch of stuff that I already know. Not really his fault though. I could tell him “Jason” had already filled me in on him but then I don't know what we'd talk about. And I find out some new stuff anyway. He's in a pre-med frat. I guess his parents want him to be a doctor. Mostly his dad. I feel bad for him. My parents don't really care what I do. Not in a bad way. They give me a lot of freedom.

I tell him he should do what he wants, not follow someone else's plans for him. He says he knows but it's easier said than done.

Even though this guy is my roommate I really don't know him.

Finally it's dessert time and I figure this is my last chance. I actually feel kind of bad doing this now but it's not like I could realistically keep up this charade much longer. To be honest, I kind of forgot that the “Alicia” persona was supposed to be pretty but dumb and just started acting like my regular self. Who knows what other ways I'd slip.

“I have something important to tell you,” I pronounce. I've been building myself up for this all evening.

“What is it?” He leans forward.

“…I'm a guy.” I kind of whisper.

“What?” I'm not sure if he didn't hear or if he's in denial.

“I'm a guy!” I say considerably more loudly—someone at an adjacent table looks over. Unfortunately I don't have a wig to pull off. My own hair was long enough to put into a female-ish ponytail and I figured that was good enough.

Mark frowns and his brow wrinkles. I have an inexplicable urge to rub that wrinkle, feel the ridges of his forehead smooth out under my fingers. “What do you mean? Are you transgender or something?”

Or something I automatically think. From what I could tell from my research, transgender/transsexuals were clearly different from crossdressers because they knew they were different from a young age and hated their bodies.

“No, I'm, um…” my voice became small, “playing a prank on you?”

“Wait, so you're not a guy?” he says impatiently. “That was the prank?”

“No, uh, the prank is that I'm a guy… dressed like a girl… and I went on a date with you.'

He squints at me. “I'm having trouble understanding how that's supposed to be funny and I also have a hard time believing you're a guy. Are you gay? I seriously thought I was getting signs you were into me.” He looks dejected.

“No, I'm not!–actually I'm just confused about my sexual orient—whatever! The point is that it was supposed to be a big reveal and then you would be embarrassed.”

“I don't see why I'm supposed to be embarrassed about going on a date—a very nice one, too, until now— with someone who still seems to me like a pretty cool girl.”

I don't know how to explain this to him. I bury my face in the palm of my hand. This is incredibly awkward, and not at all in the way I was expecting.

“You know what,” I finally announce, “Forget about it. The whole thing bombed. It stunk. Let's just pretend this date never happened.”

“These two dates, you mean,” Mark prodded.

“Fine, these two dates! Both dates! Just… erase them from your mind!”

“I had fun though. What if I don't want to forget about them?” He smiles at me and I feel my stomach twist weirdly.

“Besides,” he adds, “I'm still not convinced what you're saying is true.”

“I'm a guy! It's pretty fricking obvious! See this?” I point to my adam's apple, “Girls don't have those!”
I slump in my seat and sigh. “Why won't you believe me?”

Mark's brow wrinkles again. “I get that you're a guy physically, okay? I wish you would stop pointing that out. I'm just not convinced this was all a prank.”

I just give up on convincing him about that part. Take a different tack. “You actually know me. Like pretty well. As a guy.”

He squints at me. I see comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Jason?”

“See, I lied to you! I concealed who I was! Just to mess with you. You should be angrier. You should be furious!”

He continues to stare at me. “You're… really pretty. I never would have guessed.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“You know, honestly,” he says contemplatively, “even if this was a prank it was one of the better dates I've been on. I mean, if you want to, I'd be up for doing this again. It can just be as friends and you can dress however you want, but… I like hanging out with you.”

My jaw is agape. I can't believe this guy. How understanding and just… nice! he's being about the whole thing.

And I can't believe myself when I say, “Okay.”

catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

So apparently things could get more awkward between Mark and Jason.

---

So now it's Saturday and things are kind of awkward between us. For once he doesn't seem to have anywhere to go, just when I'm wishing he would leave. I'm back to my normal clothes but he still keeps on looking at me weirdly.

I'm trying to use my computer and he keeps looking at me weirdly and finally I get fed up and snap, “What is it?! Why do you keep staring at me? It's weirding me out.”

Mark shakes his head and looks hangdog. “I don't know, I just…”

“Just what?”

'I keep thinking about, you know… Alicia.”

“But I'm not even dressed like h—that,” I complain.

“Yeah, I know,” he awkwardly scratches his neck, “but I keep looking at you and seeing her.”

“Are you saying I look like a girl? Because I resent that.”

“No, it's not… well, I guess that kind of is it. I hadn't thought about it before but you don't look that different from when you were dressed up. I… keep flashing to seeing you as a girl, even though you're dressed like you normally do. Just for a moment, my perception flips or something.”

“That's weird. That's a super weird thing to say. I don't know why you'd say that.” I feel my face start turning red. “You've known me for a while and only seen me as… a girl, once. Okay, twice, whatever.”

“I'm sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. You just… I guess you made a big impression on me. As Alicia.”

“You know,” he adds, “I don't know exactly what's up with you but if you want to dress like that around the room it's fine with me.”

I death-glare at him. “Why would I want to dress like that?! I told you, it was a prank.”

He looks apologetic again. “Sorry, I guess I keep forgetting that. Well, not forgetting, but it just doesn't… feel that way, you know?”

I don't know.

I'm out of there.

I'm sitting in the library working on homework—I know, what a nerd, but I needed something to do that was away from the dorms—and I'm still feeling super weird, when a guy approaches me.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks cautiously. “You seem upset. Is there anything I could do to help?”

I don't know why this random guy is bothering me—it's not like it's any of his business if I'm upset, is it?–but I tell him to bug off. He does but looks kind of mad. And he says one more thing before leaving.

“I'm sorry, but I just don't like to see such a pretty girl unhappy.”

WHAT THE F******CK?

Okay, I'm not even dressed anything like a girl so I don't know what that guy's problem is. I guess I might have still been speaking in a slightly higher voice but that doesn't seem like it would mean much.

I'm just generally annoyed. But for some reason I also feel kind of happy. And turned on. I don't know what my problem is. I don't think I'm gay. I'm not really that into anyone but I was never into guys.

I guess I can't escape my problems in the library. I pack up my stuff and go to a nearby restaurant that I like. I like that they don't really care how long you sit at a table. Very hands-off approach.

I'm sitting there and I start worrying about my problems again. I start thinking about the date—sorry, “date”–but I'm sick of wondering what things mean and I kind of zone off. The date was weirdly fun and honestly Mark was really… attractive (gulp), something I'd never noticed before and I start feeling warm and fuzzy and drifting off thinking about his eyes and his pecs and—suddenly I snap awake. What the hell am I doing?

Sh*t, it looks like these problems are going to follow me wherever I go. I better just deal with it at the source.

I head back to the room.

Maybe actually seeing what the real Mark looks like will dispel these weird fantasies.

So I get back to the room and of course Mark's not there anymore.

The clothes I wore on the “date” are still on the floor. I look at them and have a weird urge to put them on again. Wait for Mark to come back. Tell me how pretty I am.

I stuff them in the trash.

I can't do this anymore. If I did, Mark would be right… it wouldn't be a prank anymore. I'd have to excuse. Except that I wanted to.

That's not good enough.

If this got out it would destroy my reputation. Girls would cross to the other side of the street just to avoid me. My family would be embarrassed and angry.

I'm just going to try to forget about this. I think it's for the best.

The next day I log in to do some browsing and I see that the dating site is still open. I go to exit it but see that I have a new message and pause. It's from Mark. Why wouldn't he say it in person?

I guess I embarrassed you and I'm sorry. I enjoyed the time we spent together but I guess it's over. Say hi to Jason for me.

Huh, he actually capitalized stuff. Weird.

It's also weird how he's acting like “Alicia” and “Jason” are two separate people that happen to know each other. He's in denial, I guess.

I actually feel kind of bad reading the message. What happened really wasn't his fault. If anything it was mine.

I message him back. Somehow the removal of communicating through text makes it easier to say things. Less awkward than face-to-face, I guess. Especially if just looking at me is going to remind him of what I pulled on him.

You don't need to apologize. For what it's worth I enjoyed it too.

I linger for a long moment before deleting the second part and hitting send.

He doesn't reply.

Life goes back to normal. I don't see much of him and he doesn't see much of me. We're back to our awkward male-roommates minimal necessary conversation.

I keep thinking about what happened though. I enjoyed people thinking I was a girl, treating me like one. I must be some kind of pervert, but does it really matter? Lots of people have weird fetishes. As long as I don't let anyone know about it it's not going to do any harm, right?

I'm not sure I trust my own logic but I'm alone so much and eventually I give in to temptation.

I go through the rigamarole of ordering more clothes online. I still have the makeup from before. I never got rid of it. I thought maybe I could use it for a Halloween costume at some point.

I start dressing as a girl a lot of the time Mark is gone. I don't go outside. Just because I pulled it off last time doesn't mean I will this time. I don't want anyone in the dorms to see me doing this and recognize me.

I also masturbate while dressed up. I feel like a huge pervert but it's really effective. At first, anyway. I guess like anything after a while I get used to it and it doesn't work so well any more. Like building up a drug tolerance or something.

Actually, that metaphor kind of worries me. I don't want to get more and more extreme doing this.

I keep doing it anyway.

I have to talk to Mark more to figure out what his schedule is. So I can avoid him. When I'm like this. I'm relieved when he doesn't ask why I want to know.

A few times he offers going out to dinner together, as friends. No mention is made of “Alicia.”

I turn him down. I feel way too awkward about it. The shadow of the past hovers over all our interactions, but neither of us ever brings it up. For all I can tell maybe he really has forgotten about it. I know I can't forget but he acts like the whole thing never happened.

It kind of annoys me, actually.

Then one day I'm dressed up but just sitting on the bed using my laptop—but trying to sit in a girly position, mind you. Mark's not supposed to be back for another hour.

Then he comes bursting in.

This is eerily familiar.

“Sorry, I forgot my--” he pauses. “Alicia?”

I'm staring at him wide-eyed in fear.

“Wow, I haven't seen you for a while.” He's taking this really weirdly and calmly. I think he's pretending I'm not his male roommate.

“Um, yeah,” I stutter. If he wants to pretend I'm not doing anything weird than by all means I'll let him. “I haven't seen you either.”

“Hey, I'm free if you want to go out,” he offers.

I can't let him keep doing this. “Hey, you remember that I'm your roommate, right? Your male roommate?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said casually. “Sorry, I was assuming you wanted me to call you that when you were presenting as female. What do you want me to call you, actually?”

I ignored his random question. “How are you so calm about this? Your roommate is a pervert; you should be mad.”

Mark looks confused. “I don't care what you do with your time. Why would I be mad?”

“Because it's—it's disgusting! Like, have you never watched any comedy? It's the funniest thing to most—to people.”

“I don't think it's disgusting,” Mark says, earnestly plodding onward as if my tirade hadn't just happened. “I think people should be able to wear whatever clothes they want.”

Now there was liberal bullshit. Not that I was conservative, what kind of college student would I be? But obviously that just isn't what the world is like.

“No, seriously,” he asks. “Can you explain to why a person, wearing clothes, is a bad thing?”

I sputter, “Because they're the WRONG clothes, mor—dude.”

“The wrong clothes?”

“Yeah!” I was finally on firmer ground. Not that he was much of a debater. Or this was much of a debate. “Certain people are supposed to wear certain clothes. Clothes are either for men or for women, and if you wear the wrong ones people... do stuff.”

“Do stuff?” The asshat was smirking. Yeah, you're so smart dude. I bet your smile would be way uglier without any teeth.

“Come on, work with me here. They make fun of you, or you're disgusting, or they'll like beat you up.” I vaguely remembered something in the news about a tranny getting murdered. Or probably more than one.

“You know, I'm honestly disappointed in you Al—Jason. I didn't think you were the kind of person to just go along with society wants.” He's still smiling infuriatingly. “Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go to class.”

Ha. THIS guy going to class. That was a laugh. He clearly just wants to get out of an argument he knows he'll lose.

catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

Jason's day somehow gets even worse.

---


Even though I know the guy is an idiot, I can't help but think about the last thing he said. I mean, as shocking as it is, he's right. I think of myself as a rebel. Not one of the sheep. I'm too smart to just be herded along.

So why does it feel like that's what's happening?

I sit on my bed and really think about this.

On one hand, as embarrassing as it is, I do like this kind of... stuff. Girly stuff. And it's not hurting anyone, right?

On the other hand everything I've ever known tells me that this behavior is perverted and horrifying.

But I do things society disapproves of all the time, so is this really different? I mean, everyone hates internet trolls. It's just a matter of scale, right?

But on the other other hand I don't want to feel like a moron is manipulating me. And he has a motivation—a fucking creepy motivation—to want me to this. I shiver a little. What kind of freak would want to hang out while I'm wearing girly clothing? A real pervert, is who.

I ignore that when I shivered my penis also perked up a little.

Right, fuck. This is really for sexual reasons, isn't it? Mark framed it as some kind of weird freedom of choice thing. But it's really just a fetish in my case.

But I guess people are free to do all kinds of weird sex things—well, not EVERY weird sex thing. So that's not really helpful.

No, but the illegal things like bestiality (gross) are because it's hurting someone. You're having sex with someone. I'm not gonna do that.

So really, it boils down to that everyone hates it, but it doesn't actually hurt anyone except for grossing them out. Much like hoverboards. No, wait, bad example. Much like manbuns.

So I guess it's okay? Usually I trust my mind to use logical reasoning to arrive at whatever the right answer is, but even though I've done that I still feel uneasy.

But I know I'm gonna do it anyway.

Over the next few weeks I'm less and less worried about Mark barging in. I mean, that seal has already been broken, so to speak. Great, now I have a mental image of someone clubbing seals.

So there's multiple times when he walks in on me doing...well, you know. NOT masturbating. That's not what I meant. I'm classy and take that to the bathroom.

Not that I've done that in these clothes because then I'd have to go out in the hall, where someone might see me. Stupid shared bathroom. Only reason I miss home.

One day Mark walks in and as I said, I don't exactly freak out... until I notice that there's someone else with him. A girl.

She sees me and gives an awkward wave. Shit, this is like a nightmare. Maybe I'll wake up...

“Oh, hey,” Mark says to me. “I didn't realize you'd be here.” Where the fuck did he think I would be? It's not like I exactly go out much. “This is Audrey.” He leans over and whispers to me, “What name do you want me to say for you? Sorry, I should asked you before now.”

Well, he's really put me in a bind. I guess I don't really have a choice here. I mean, I feel like even a blind person could tell I'm not actually a girl, but if I give my real name it'll definitely give the game away.

“Alicia,” I announce louder than his whisper, and shake—Audrey's?—hand. Wait was that weird? Do girls do handshakes? At least I gave a wimpy one, that's a thing girls do right?

“So what brings a nice girl like you to a dump like this?” she says in a wacky voice. I think she's going for like an impression of a 1920s dude but it's not working.

Wait, shit. What am I doing here? This building doesn't allow girls and guys to share a room. Well, officially. Sometimes a boyfriend/girlfriend will crash for a while and they don't seem to care. Shit, shit, I hope that's not gonna have to be my excuse.

I glance at Mark to save me. He just stands there with a dumb look on his face. For all I know he's already told her all about his weird crossdressing roommate. I don't know if she's his girlfriend or what. I can't really use claim to be his girlfriend if that's the case, not that I want to do that. Gross. No, shut up brain, it's gross.

What am I, in elementary school? Boys have cooties? Wait, never mind, that would imply I'm a girl. Never mind. Ignore that.

Mark FINALLY responds. Why did I have to be stuck with the dumbest of all roommates? “Um, we met online and hung out at one point. She's just staying here to visit some friends.” He glances at me and I nod subtly. It could be worse. At least he didn't claim...well, you know.

“That's a good way to get yourself murdered. Hanging out with internet weirdos,” she jokes, I hope. “Nah, I'm just kidding. You seem cool.”

She glances at Mark. “Your roommate's out?” I freeze. Shit, he better not fuck this up.

“I haven't seen him since this morning,” he says carefully, slightly emphasizing the him. I want to facepalm. Is he TRYING to give this away?

She doesn't seem to pick up on it, thank god. Not that I believe in him. It's just a phrase.

“That's too bad. I wanted to meet him. From what you've said he seems cool.”

Now I'm really confused. Why would he even talk about me enough for her to think that? It's certainly not like I go around advertising him. For roommates we hardly know each other.

Mark leans forward towards me again. “Sorry, but could you leave?” he asks. “I need the room.” His eyes flicker to the side.

Oh god. Gross. I guess that makes sense with him thinking I'd be gone. I'm out of here.

He quirks his eyebrows and jerks his head toward the door. Yeah, I get it, I get. I'm pissed. Does he really expect me to go out dressed like this?

Wait, shit. I can't really change while Audrey's here either. Not without her realizing that both “Alicia” and Mark's roommate are weirdos—or a weirdo, anyway. I'm trapped. There's no good option here.

Mark's eyes are flickering between me and the door. GOD. I grab my backpack, which already has my keys and phone in it in, and slam the door as I leave.

catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

Jason is pissed off.

---

Fortunately there's only two people total in the hall. Thank god, they don't react. This isn't the most social floor. The guys above us are way louder. Not that I really go to the stupid floor events anyway. The only thing I'm really missing is free pizza. I really hope they weren't paying too much attention but I doubt it. No one pays much attention here. At least not to me. At least this time it's kind of a good thing.

It sucks, though. I had friends in high school that I had known pretty much all my life. Now I move here to college and suddenly I'm alone.

Well, whatever. People are stupid. They don't know a good thing when they see it.

Winning today's prize for stupidest idiot: Mark. What the FUCK was he thinking. Does he not realize the position he's put me in.

I mean, maybe he's thinking I went out in public before, for our “date.” But that was completely different. That was a prank. If someone laughed at me in public it would be fine, because it was supposed to be funny.

This time I didn't have that excuse.

I take the stairs because I do NOT want to be stuck in the elevator with someone for several minutes. The elevators here are excruciatingly slow. It's like waiting for a loading screen.

I'm trying to think where I could go that nobody knows me. Sadly, the answer is everywhere. No one really knows me in this town. I mean, there's a few people who I recognize from classes, but the classes are so huge anyway and I'm pretty sure that as an average attractiveness white guy I just blend in.

However, people from my floor would probably recognize me. I think I better leave the dorm building or there's the chance of someone who's actually paying attention recognizing me.

I don't want to have to interact with any overeager employees, so a restaurant is out. I guess I'll just go to the library like I always do. There's lots of space to hide among the shelves and study rooms, and it's not like there's ever very many people in there except during exam season.

As I walk down the sidewalk I mentally flinch every time I pass another person. After several people have gone by I start to relax slightly and the ball of tension in my stomach starts to unwind. Even if people can tell I'm a freakish crossdresser no one reacts. Good thing this is a liberal university town haha. I swear no one would care if someone ran by naked.

I FINALLY reach the library and feel a sense of safety as I pass through its large wooden doors. I steer clear of the help desk and finally reach the glorious main stacks, books piled high and far as the eye can see...

Where I promptly pull out my phone. Hey, I never said I came to the library to READ.

I fiddle around with my phone for a few hours until it's really low on power, and I don't have a charger on me. Fortunately, unlike a few weeks ago, no one tries to talk to me. Well, Mark and... her are probably done by now. Eugh. I guess I'll head back. I can change before I get dinner.

Wait, shit, I could have just brought clothes with me and then changed anywhere. Should've done—actually, I don't know where I would do that. Can't really use either bathroom. I think I've seen a unisex handicap one? but I can't remember which building it was in.

Well, whatever. It doesn't really matter now. Fortunately there's fewer people about now because it's that awkward period between classes ending and parties starting. The sun is setting but it's not actually dark. Just long shadows and a kind of orange light. A more positive person would probably call it golden.

I look back and see my shadow stretching behind me. This time of day everything always seems kind of frozen in time. In a few minutes it'll be dark though.

My stomach grumbles, bringing me back to the here and now. I continue walking back to the dorms. At least the weird lighting now should make it hard to see my face.

I'm almost back when I remember they make you scan your id. Keeps homeless people out. I freak for a moment before remembering that no one actually looks at your id. They just care if the green light goes on.

I'm finally back at the room. I hesitate before knocking on the door. Thank god there's no tie on the doorknob or anything. Do people actually do that? I feel like it's just a movie thing.

There's no responsible. I hope that means it's safe. I use my key and go on in.

The room is dark. I wince and flip on the light. Please don't be naked on his bed, please don't be naked on his bed. Though I guess being naked on my bed would be worse.

The room is empty. The blankets on his bed are in disarray. I carefully don't look for stains on them. Don't even want to think about that.

With the sun almost down and the shutters closed only the harsh fluorescent bulb lights the room. I think they use that kind because it's more energy efficient, but right now it just makes things feel even more lonely. I flop down on my bed without even taking my shoes off.

Early I was pissed off, but now I'm just tired. I feel like—I don't know, there's a massive weight pressing down on me, making hard to move. Like I can't get out of this bed.

I don't even want to get up to turn the light off. My eyes flash over to where—they were. Suddenly I'm pissed again.

I feel like the only friend I had in this place is gone.

catfish, noun: a person who sets up a false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes
—Merriam-Webster.com

Jason and Mark make up.

---

I lie there vaguely trying to sleep for what feels like forever. Finally I hear Mark come in at probably around 12. I just lie there pretending to sleep. I really don’t feel like interacting with him right now.

I hear him making the soft noises of a bedtime ritual, probably taking his clothes off and whatever else he does before bed. Suddenly he mutters, “Oh, I guess she got back before me.” I have to wonder where he was but it’s not like I’m gonna ask him. It’s none of my fucking business anyway.

I’m thinking about him doing… whatever the fuck he was doing earlier, and kicking ME out of OUR room to do it, and I’m starting to get angrier and angrier. For some reason I guess it takes him fucking FOREVER to take his fucking clothes off, and I finally just get too pissed off and turn over.

“Can you STOP making that fucking NOISE?! I’m TRYING to SLEEP.” He looks all apologetic, as if he actually regrets what he’s done. Yeah right. If you really regretted it you wouldn’t’ve done it in the first place.

“Oh I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says softly. “I was trying to be quiet.” He peers more closely at my face, which if emotions are anything to go by is probably bright red and covered in throbbing veins. “Are you okay?”

The dam finally bursts. “NO, I’m NOT fucking ‘okay’, moron. Who the fuck WAS that slut earlier, and why did you have to make me leave?! I thought we HAD something?” Shit shit shit SHIT that’s not what I meant to say. I’m mad at him for making me leave, not for anything else. Not for anything else. He’s just an inconsiderate roommate. Just a roommate.

At this point my anger is starting to turn into sadness. The steam I let off is condensing into water.

His stupid dumb face wrinkles in confusion. “I was studying earlier. What did you think was going on? I asked you to leave because you… kind of distract me. I have a big midterm on Monday.”

Oh god, goddammit, why am I so dumb, why did I say so much, why did I leap to conclusions.

“You know,” his big broad stupid, handsome face continues, “I didn’t realize—you know, I’m really sorry if I didn’t make it clear, but I’m open to the idea of dating. We can be exclusive if you want. I just thought after you said that was a prank you wouldn’t be—“

I finally shut up his stupid, dumb, horrible, wonderful face by kissing him. He blinks at me with his beautiful eyes for a moment under the fluorescent lights.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”