This is a true story. It doesn't matter if you believe me.

When I was small I met an angel.

I was standing in a field with tall grass, sunflowers and dandelions. I don’t know how I got there, and didn’t care. The sun warmed my chubby arms, and a gentle breeze blew the grass so that it tickled under my dress.

There’s another thing that was strange but wasn’t; I was wearing a dress - canary yellow, with thin straps over the shoulder. Not the kind of thing I could wear at home; not the kind of thing I was allowed.

And my hair was long with ringlets hanging over my cheeks, just like I always wanted!

The how of it didn’t matter in the slightest. There was only the simple joy of girlhood in the open, and I could giggle, and I could dance, and be free for the first time in my short life.

Then I saw her, wings half furled, with the same spattering of freckles on her feathers as on her nose. From the moment she smiled I was in love, and, by some miracle, I knew she loved me back. That something so warm and gentle could appear from nothingness and fill our hearts was supernatural.

I ran to her, faster than I’d ever run before, into those wide, welcoming arms. I all but crashed into her, and she laughed. My little hands gripped the sides of her tunic, pulling me to the softness of her chest. The angel’s heartbeat boomed inside her, as if to pronounce how real and alive she was.

When she spoke it was with a voice of a mother, gentle and melodious. “My name is Beth,” she said. “Hello, little one. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Beth…

I’d known her for all my days, from the moment I was born, but only realised her then. A pang of guilt rang in my heart, but she was quick with a brush of my cheek. Her touch was as soft as anything you can imagine, and more. No words could encapsulate the closeness of us.

We played for hours, maybe days, before the sun started to set. We walked, held hands, sometimes ran; sometimes found a place where we could sit - or Beth sat, and I climbed over her. She laughed, and brought me down with a rain of tickles.

My real mum never did that…

When the moment came to say goodbye she kneeled in front of me and brushed my arms with both hands. Her emerald eyes sparkled like actual stones, not like the eyes of an ordinary person. Then she kissed my brow, and exhaled into my third eye. The breath of life filled me so deeply that my body could not contain it.

“You are so loved,” she said. “Others might tell you different, but you are, now and always. Please remember that.”

In the next moment the field was gone, and no time had passed. Was it a dream, a delusion? I stopped to wonder, are dreams ever so beautiful?

I returned that night to the coldness of home, and to the rest of my life - but through it all I carried a piece of her, and a vision of what could be.

My Mum never used to cry, but now she does it all the time. She cries for the big things, and the little things. She cries during movies and TV shows, including the commercials, and even cries when she can’t open a jar of pickles. Personally, I blame the hormones. They’re a shock to the system, and she’s still new to puberty.

This morning I found her in the kitchen, literally crying over spilled milk. I bent down with a handful of paper towel, and helped her to soak it up. She looked up, chuckled, and gave me a knowing smile.

“I dropped the bottle,” she said. “It caught me by surprise.”

Don’t let the waterworks fool you; despite being a crybaby there was nobody more together than my Mum. At seven am, just as I was dragging my carcass out of bed, she had already bathed, dressed, and set breakfast ingredients on the counter. I cooked my own meals, but she managed to set the way without treating me like a child.

After salvaging as much milk as possible she returned to her coffee, and sighed into it. Tears were always cathartic, just as much as they were a bother. How dare her own emotional state stand in the way of ritual.

“Am I seeing you after school?” she asked.

My thoughts sat with the hot plate in front of me, and the cheese melting into the vegetables. “Um, yeah. I don’t think I have any plans. Why?”

“Just planning dinner,” she said. “I’m thinking stir fry, and if you feel up to it maybe some Mario Kart?” A coy grin curled her lips, challenging my resolve against the peril of Rainbow Road.

I couldn’t tell you how many kids played video games with their parents, but most hadn’t lived through the things we had. Much of our family fell by the wayside when Mum came out as transgender, on both sides; all of this while Mama, my other parent, fought against cervical cancer. Losing her isn’t something a person ever recovers from; maybe that’s why Mum and I need each other so much, because we’re all that’s left.

One breakfast quesadilla later and I had the mental space to answer. “That Star Cup is mine,” I grinned, prompting an exchange of mock gestures across the counter top.

Thought it had been less than two years since Mum greeted the world it was hard to imagine anything different. Like the saying goes, the more things change the more they stay the same. The comic book t-shirt and denim capris belonged to the same awkward dork I’d grown up with.

She opened the refrigerator to do inventory. “Vi, do you need a lift?” she asked absently. Not only did we need milk, but we were low on juice and eggs.

I murmured an answer through my food to the effect of ‘nah.’ She ignored the bad manners, but only because of the morning rush. It was seven twenty-five, and I still hadn’t showered.

As soon as I took the last bite she scooped up my plate and fed it to the dishwasher. We were like a well oiled machine, or at least she was. I was more the little engine that could.

“Move,” she said with a smirk. It was a school day, and as always I was working against the clock. Far be it from me to stall Mum’s impeccable sense of time.

* * * *

Perhaps you’d like to know a bit about the one telling this story.

My name is Violet. I’m fourteen, a gemini, and have one of those ‘modern families’ they panic about in the news. Having two biological mothers is tricky enough to explain without people making a big, stupid deal out of it.

Like most people my age I spend thirty-something hours at school over five days, and drag home a mountain of homework after. I’ve chosen electives in drama, home ec, and Chinese, and share classes with my three best friends, Steph, Beck, and Michelle. (More on them later.)

As you can tell it’s a life of scandal in service to the gay agenda, completely different to everyone else.

Anyway, back to the story.

Life at school wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty chill. Everybody likes each other, mostly, and the cliques aren’t super anal about who talks to who, or hangs out where. Maybe you get a relationship drama once in a while, or some weird gossip going around, but when you do it’s not that big.

It was during our lunch break that an idea came to me. Beck, Steph, Michelle and I made our home under the far end of the art building, and across from a group of year eights playing handball in a square. A beam of sun arched through the pillars, and was gentle enough to be comfortable.

Steph peeled the lid off a small yogurt tub, and dipped a strawberry into it. “So I need a place to stay on Friday night,” she said, and slurped on the sweet dairy.

“What’s on Friday?” Michelle asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s my parent’s eighteenth wedding anniversary, and I figured they could use the house to themselves.”

Beck kicked her feet, and bit off a mouthful of muesli bar. “So they can have sex, right?”

Steph inhaled, and boomed like an awkward robot. “Yes, Rebecca. I would like to evacuate my home so that I do not hear my parents having sexual intercourse, which is something we agreed to never talk about!”

The grade eights giggled to themselves. Any mention of sex was the height of comedy.

“Parents have sex,” Beck said. “It’s just a fact of life. You would not exist if your parents did not have sex.” Her smirk widened with the visible tensing of Steph’s shoulders.

Michelle cleared her throat and sat upright. “You can stay over at mine. I’ve got hockey on in the morning, though.”

“I can clear out early,” Steph said.

It was a beautiful thing, really, that two people should stay in love for decades at a time. My Mum would be the first to say it required a lot of work, but it didn’t diminish the fact Steph’s parents were meant for each other. Mum and Mama had the same thing before their story was cut short, but I tried not to think about it.

“Meanwhile, I get to see Sebastian this weekend,” Beck practically chirped. Before you get any ideas, Sebastian is the name of her horse whom she has loved and tended since elementary. Despite being wedged firmly in the middle class her parents loved her so much to make a little girl’s dream come true; and she’s been ranting about it ever since.

I picked at my sandwich, lost in my own thoughts. Steph’s parents reminded me of my own, which led to thinking how much I missed my Mama, and to how much Mum did as well. She didn’t always cry about the little things. Sometimes I heard her in the middle of the night, sobbing into the empty half of the bed.

Michelle clicked her fingers. “Earth to Vi. Everything okay out there?”

“My mum’s so lonely,” I said. “Someone should take her out.”

Beck smirked. “What, and make it look like an accident?”

I rolled my eyes at her. “All she’s got is me, her temp job across town, and a few friends from her support group. It’s not bad or anything, but I’m not sure that’s enough. Does that make sense?”

“So you want to find your old lady a date,” Michelle said.

I shrugged. “Gross as it is to think about, I would be so happy if my Mum could get laid again.”

Steph threw up her arms in defeat. “You all have it in for me, I swear!”

We changed the subject, but the thought stayed with me through the day. As much as I missed my Mama, I also missed the way Mum smiled when she was around her. Maybe she could have that again.

* * * *

The rest of the school day was spent idling the time, and scribbling the names of single parents, divorcees, and other potential candidates in the back of a notebook. Most of them weren’t even in her league, but adding them created the illusion of progress. Even then, how did I know which ones were her type?

When three-fifteen came her car was already there, waiting across the road. It was an old two seater, only a few steps up from being a lawnmower, but it was cost efficient and helped us to get around. Mum was sitting in the driver’s seat, tapping the wheel to a tune on the alternative youth station.

She leaned in to kiss my cheek as I climbed in the passenger side. “How was school?”

“Yeah, it was okay.”

“Just okay?” she pressed. “What homework have you got?”

Like I said, she was together, enough for the both of us. She always preferred to be in the loop, not because she was a helicopter parent, but because she was interested. It could be stifling sometimes, but I made good grades, and she gave me room enough to breathe. Most kids didn’t seem to have that luxury.

We followed the block to the main road through town, and talked about the day, skipping the part where I wanted to set her up on a date. Ours was a wide community, with more urban sprawl than development, and enough chain outlets to pass as modern. It had only taken two decades, but we were slowly becoming a part of the twenty-first century.

A random slice of pop came on the radio, prompting Mum to gyrate her shoulders and sing along. “Oh-wah-ah-oh-oh-oooooh! Oh-wah-ah-oh-oh-oooooh-oh-oooooooooh!” At thirty-six she claimed to be too old for embarrassment, and it was only by mercy that she held back in front of my friends.

I surreptitiously opened my notebook, and scrolled the list of names. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine her with any of these people, but I had to try.

“Hey, Mum…”

She bopped in her chair and sang. “Yes, honey?”

“Do you like guys?”

She paused, but only for a moment. “I like them well enough most of the time. Why do you ask?”

I ignored the question. “Ever had a boyfriend?”

Mum contorted in an effort to stifle laughter. “Oh, sweetie. I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she said. “There were a couple of girlfriends before your Mama, and without going into too much detail, one boy in high school who was… let’s call him ‘curious’, but other than that, no.”

It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. I turned back to the notepad. To cross out names, or not; that was the question.

As we pulled to the light, Mum reached across the console and placed a hand on my knee. She gave a squeeze, and a comforting smile. When I met her gaze it was to find one of those looks only a mother could wield; the one that said she was concerned.

“Violet, I just want you to know that if you have any questions about your sexuality-”

I beamed at her, and squeezed her hand. “I know, Mum. Thanks.”

“And it’s okay to not know things, or to change your mind,” she said. “Just look at me. I’m almost forty and I’m still working things out.”

It was hard to imagine her as being unsure of anything. This was my Mum; she who was as sure-footed as a mountain goat, who was always prepared, and always had a plan. That there were things she had yet to make sense of seemed unlikely at least.

Back in the note pad a series of names met with a question mark. One by one I would narrow them down, just to see my Mum happy again.

* * * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, friends! I hope you enjoyed this installment. It's a fun little distraction I came up with after playing 'Dream Daddy' on my PC. There's no set plot for this, so I'm soliciting suggestions from commenters. Where would you like this to go? Keep in mind the aim is to keep it sweet and wholesome. Thanks for reading, and I hope to hear from you!

Thirteen is an awkward age, stranded somewhere between ‘just a kid’ and ‘old enough to know better’. At thirteen Halloween costumes are the peak of uncool; trick or treating is something for babies, and high school parties are a long way away. But that wouldn’t stop Grayson from making the most of the holiday.

He was six years old when he asked to be a fairy princess. His Mom reeled. Grayson could remember the look on her face. She blinked and asked him questions, not in a mean way, but very confused. His choice in costume was ‘different’, she told him, but eventually she agreed.

Since then it became tradition. For one night of every year Grayson left his boyhood behind. On the morning of October thirty-first time would stop, his smile shone, and he danced through the halls of the school. In the evening he walked his brother around the block, ate candy, and joked about the swishiness of his gown.

Parents and teachers thought he was weird. Kids thought he was funny. At thirteen a lot of boys thought he was less funny, but whatever. They left him alone, just like every other day, and the world kept turning.

That morning Grayson didn’t wait for his Mom to wake him. He flew out of bed, out of his PJs, and to the corner of the closet where his new persona hung. It was a preppy school girl outfit; pale blue blouse and a three-quarter sleeve knit sweater, coupled with a green tartan skirt that came to his knees. Some might call it ‘ordinary’, but Nancy Drew never had a set look.

He tried to be careful as he dressed. On his first attempt Grayson failed to line up the buttons. He fixed them soon after, and slowed his breath. Even if it was just a costume, it meant the world to him. If he had his way it would be Halloween every day.

“Kids! Breakfast!”

Grayson paused before entering the hallway. The outfit was fine, mostly, but he still looked like a boy in a dress. Was he too old? He shook his head and smiled. Dressing up as a girl was Halloween tradition - it was too much fun to give up! And even if he didn’t feel like laughing, he’d do it anyway.

Sans wig and footwear he trudged down the stairs and rounded into the kitchen. A bowl of Fruit Loops and a plate of toast sat in front of his usual chair. Mom smirked and tapped on the seat.

“Remember to smooth your skirt,” she said. Every year she reminded him, and every year he forgot.

Grayson blushed. His Mom was pretty great… most of the time. She didn’t even flinch when he asked for a training bra ‘to complete the outfit’. He expected her to laugh or to call him silly, but she didn’t. Halloween was serious business in their house, and she knew it.

Deacon barreled out of the downstairs bedroom, larger than his pint sized life in a Mr. Incredible costume. He climbed the seat opposite his brother, and before saying a word tore into his cereal. Like all six year olds he was a garbage chute who talked back. In the pause between bites, and with milk dribbling down his chin, he finally noticed Grayson.

“Are you going out with boy hair?” he asked.

The older sibling forced a smile and combed his short fringe back. He tried to laugh it off, but the words caught in his throat.

Mom came to the rescue. “We’re going to put on a wig before leaving for school, aren’t we.”

Grayson nodded and took refuge in his food.

Deacon smiled. “And then he’ll look like a normal girl?”

The words gave him pause. Up to that point Grayson could look like a normal girl with a costume and a few bits, but then thirteen happened. Every day saw a new change from which he made a tactical retreat. Soon not even Halloween could save him.

Mom cupped his shoulder and gave a squeeze. “Nancy Drew is a normal girl,” she said, “just as you’re incredible, Mr. Incredible!”

As much as Deacon loved the attention, Grayson retreated into his shoulders. His Mom was pretty great, except when she said embarrassing things. Maybe the costume was a bad idea, and thirteen was too old.

After the meal were the final touches. Grayson was old enough that he could do it himself, but Mom helping was tradition. They always laughed, and most of the time he meant it. This year…

He bent over for her to roll the wig over his scalp. Then he threw the hair back and waited for her to fix the loose strands. With the straight auburn hair, eyeliner and lip gloss he looked every part the teen detective cover girl, and couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“How’s that?” Mom asked.

Grayson caught his breath. “Perfect,” he said, trying to sound bouncy. The girl in the mirror really was perfect. He clutched one hand to his shoulder, and the other across his stomach. His smile flinched, but he continued to stare. His eyes couldn’t be anywhere else.

Mom stopped existing for a moment. Her hand brought him back. “Sweetheart…”

“Yeah?”

She brought herself behind him, and stared into the mirror over his shoulder. “Is this what you want?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She smiled with no judgement, no anger, only curiosity.

Grayson closed his eyes and pushed himself to smile. “Yeah. Why not? I mean, it’s tradition.”

She wrapped her arms around him. They burned. His Mom was pretty great, except when she saw him for who he was. Grayson shrugged her away and held tighter to his body. There were tears. Where were tears coming from?

“You know you don’t have to stop being Nancy,” she said. “Or if you like we can pick you out another name. Whichever you like best.”

Grayson froze. Did she know? He pried his eyes open and turned to face her.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“It means,” she said, “that I know why you love Halloween so much. It doesn’t have to be the only time of year where you get to be happy.”

Of all the years he tried to hide, it was only on Halloween he let the walls down. It was the perfect excuse; the perfect escape. People did the unexpected, and laughed. Costumes were a special kind of game, except when they weren’t.

Grayson stared at his feet. “I… I thought you’d be angry…”

She held him to keep him from falling apart. Her voice was warm as honey. “You know, I think I’ve always known. I didn’t think you were serious until you asked for a training bra. Either you were crazy serious about your costume, or there was something else behind it.”

This time Grayson’s laugh was real. The walls came down, and he fell into sobs. All the while his Mom stood there and held for dear life. His Mom was pretty great, period - or maybe ‘her’ Mom.

Thirteen is an awkward age where who we are comes into view. Grayson was glad he wasn’t the only one to see.

For a while things were looking up; I was on my way to college, had the love of a great guy, and thanks to the help of my folks had GRS scheduled for Spring of the following year.

Then the end of the world happened.

Nobody knows how it started. Some say it’s a curse, others say it’s a virus that came from terrorists, or bad dog food, or something. Nobody knows, and nobody cares. All that matters is that a bunch of corpses jumped out of the ground and started biting people.

Circle of life, or death, or undeath, whatever.

I was kissing my boyfriend goodnight when they hit. It was our second anniversary, and he’d given me a promise ring.

Quaint, isn’t it?

Then one of those freaks jumped out of nowhere and sunk its rotten teeth into his neck. I’d never seen so much blood in my life, though I’ve seen a lot more since.

Somewhere in the panic I climbed into my car, ran the monster down, and reversed to make sure its brains were splattered across the pavement. That taught the zombie to mess with a girl in love, and on the night I was going to lose my virginity!

I know, I know. I sound cold. You have to be if you want to survive in this brave new world. Nobody has time for sympathy anymore. Resources are scarce. Safety in numbers doesn’t work so well when the pack is starving.

You want to know the worst thing about the apocalypse? Actually, it’s watching your family and friends die, but the second worst thing; no chemists.

For a trans girl that’s the same as death.

Think about it. No workers, no factories, no chemists, no hormone supplements, which means those of us with a legitimate need can no longer maintain a girlish figure. The end of a blister pack means that the testosterone starts flowing again, and years of hard work are as gone as the old world.

Yeah, I know. Priorities, right?

You might laugh, but I remember what it was like trying to be a boy. It was an even greater hell than the squalid ghost towns we found ourselves living in. There’s no way I was going back to that.

I drove for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles, syphoning gas or even stealing cars whenever needed. There was nobody to stop me, and nobody to remind me I only had a learner’s permit.

Most stores had been raided for food and supplies. Sometimes you’d get lucky and find jerky or stale crackers. Most sporting goods stores had leftover ammunition looters had no room for, and pharmacies had only been ransacked for medicine and bandages.

One day I came across a drug store in a backwater burb, Waltonville. It was a small town, probably only a few thousand people, all of whom had fled. I stepped out of the stolen police cruiser that practically flew down the highway, and walked the gravel drive to the wooden door.

There was a neon sign that read ‘open’, though it hadn’t shone in god knows how long. The wood on the door had started to rot, so kicking it in was a breeze. Inside was dust, shadow and upturned shelves toppled across the floor.

I held out my double barrel and scanned the darkness.

“Hello! Any dead-ites? Why don’t you come out now so I can shoot you? Save me having to search for you later!”

No response, but that didn’t mean I was alone. The thing about the undead is that they’ll get you when you least expect.

I pressed inside. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. The corners were clear as far as I could see, unless there was something behind the counter waiting to jump out.

Suddenly, a shotgun cocked.

The woman holding it growled. “Put the gun down, little girl.”

I raised my arms and faced the wall. When someone points a gun at you, you do as they say.

“You won’t get any trouble from me,” I said. “Take whatever medicine you need. I’m not interested in that.”

“Up against the wall,” she ordered.

I obeyed.

Behind me I could hear her sifting through the shelves, tossing boxes aside by the dozen. I turned slightly to see an older woman, old enough to be my mother, haggard with experience, thinned by starvation, searching out something specific.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

She huffed. “Estradiol, premarin, cenestin… female hormones.”

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Why?”

“Not for you to understand, little girl. Not many people understand the kind of life I’ve had to live.”

Did she really think she was going to take my estrogen? What did she need it for? Maybe she was like me, or maybe it was menopause; whatever it was I didn’t care. I’d come too far to let someone else take the treasure I’d been searching for.

It wasn’t until she reached the last row that I made my move; I pounced, wresting the shotgun from her, and jostling it out of the way before it went off. BANG! The shell tore through the wall like it was tissue paper, casting daylight on what was to be our battleground.

I was screaming in her face, “those hormones are mine!”

She threw a hard right across my jaw, hard enough to send me flying off. She might have thrown a second if it weren’t for the chorus of moans encircling the building.

The woman growled. “You little bitch. You’ve lead them right to us!”

I was still on the floor as she fled, and was still counting stars. Maybe it was just as well, because just as my vision cleared I spotted six boxes of progynova piled on the floor. As fast as I could manage I threw them into my backpack and sprinted through the front.

As I piled back into the cruiser I caught the face of a monster shuffling from the trees behind the store, and god help me, he was wearing a chemist’s gown. The irony, huh?

The engine turned and my foot hit the gas. The sooner I was out of there the better.

To think, all that trouble for six boxes. At least they would last a few months… I hoped.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Earlier today I read a clickbait piece in which a mother claimed that a flu vaccine turned her son gay. Though I am firmly pro-vaxx (vaccinate your kids, folks) the idea of a child turning gay or trans as a vaccine side effect tickled me. Maybe I'll expand on this more in a future story, but this fake news article touches on it. Enjoy!

* * * *

4 October, 2016

In the early hours of the morning Campbelltown resident Jacqueline Short, an ironic name for a young woman standing at 183 centimetres, prepares for a ten kilometre run. Dressed in a sports bra and running shorts with only a tank top to cover her, she pulls her hair into a high ponytail, and throws herself into ritual stretching. To the outside observer Jacqueline might not appear much different from other aspiring female athletes, but for those who’ve known her from before May of last year the changes have been drastic.

Her mother, Suzanne, is on the verge of tears as she tells the story, despite the number of times it’s been repeated. “It was flu season,” she explains, “and you know the smart thing you do is to get your shots… but after, the change was almost instant. You could see it in his eyes. There was something behind them that just died, and he’s never been the same since.”

Before that fateful visit Jacqueline was Daniel, the first born son from Suzanne’s second marriage. In a visit to the family home Suzanne is quick to pull out album after another featuring her boy, a tall and domineering athlete with aspirations to play in the NRL. She beams with pride as she shows off the rows of sporting trophies housed in a glass cabinet in her living room, beside a framed New South Wales jersey signed by the 2005 State of Origin championship team.

She’s fast to reject the notion that Jacqueline is transgender. “I always tell him I love him no matter what; he’s stuck with me, but all this business, it’s not him. No, Daniel was a man’s man, with a man’s dreams. There was nothing different about him. NRL and footy, they were his life. Something changed in him.”

When pressed on the subject Jacqueline appears reluctant to speak. “One day I was just an average bloke, and the next I wake up, and I’m crying. Everything is wrong. Who I was was somebody else. I don’t know how else I can explain it.”

The transition into Jacqueline has been anything but swift, with experts weighing in on her condition. Neuroscientists, endocrinologists, biochemists, and psychiatrists the world over have been summoned to investigate her case. In march of this year Jacqueline was approved for the use of feminizing hormones, and permitted to live in a gender role that better matches her identity.

Suzanne goes on to say she’s scared of what might happen if Jacqueline changes her mind again, which becomes a point of contention in the household. With every word Jacqueline struggles to maintain her composure, and goes on to assure her mother that her condition is just the way of things.

* * * *

Approximately one thousand kilometres to the north and a short drive west from the central Sunshine Coast, Dr. David Khurmi files through the dozens of subpoenas issued to his facility, the optimistically named Institute for Future Science. It is here that scientists boast the creation of the Fluvetone Quadrivalent, a new strain of influenza vaccine purposed for low-cost production in Australia and abroad.

“In laymen terms, the Fluvetone Quadrivalent vaccine has the ability to mimic the influenza virus as it mutates,” Dr. Khurmi explains. “Many outside of the scientific community regard it as something that only exists in the realm of science fiction, or as a scapegoat for many social ills. Few seem to understand the degree of testing and screening a new medicine must endure before it is even put to trial.”

He lays out the pile on his desk of the letters directed to the institute by lawyers and concerned citizens enquiring about potential side effects to Fluvetone Quadrivalent, most notably of which feature stories similar to that of Jacqueline and Suzanne. Some letters claim that children as young as four years old have developed sudden bouts of gender dysphoria, a psychological condition describing the anxiety of existing in an unwanted gender role, after being inoculated with Fluvetone Quadrivalent.

Dr. Khurmi chuckles wearily at assertions that the institute’s vaccine and gender dysphoria are linked. “The current neurological models cannot pinpoint specific differences between a transgender brain, and a brain belonging to a member of the general population, let alone offer definitive proof that our vaccine alters brain chemistry in such a way.”

Exact numbers of the transgender population have been difficult to ascertain, with some sources saying as many of one in a thousand members of the general population are gender variant. Others report those numbers as being much higher, and growing exponentially each year.

Dr. Khurmi goes on to say, “those whose loved ones are displaying transgender tendencies must learn to accept such things as a part of life. Perhaps, instead of trying to root out the causes of transgender people, and laying blame upon a favourite scapegoat, their efforts would be better devoted to giving them the care they deserve.”

The legal team representing Suzanne Short in her case against the institute, Spurlock and Miller, were approached for this article, but declined to comment.

* * * *

Back in New South Wales, Jacqueline prepares herself for the Queer Prom, a formal event for Sydney-based LGBTQI youth under the age of eighteen. She feeds strands of hair around a curling iron and wishes she had someone experienced nearby to help her. Behind her door a strapless emerald ballgown with diamantes along the bust sits ready to adorn her.

She admits to feeling anxious. “I have a date with another girl. She’s trans as well. We met on an internet bulletin board, and then she asked me for coffee. Well, not coffee so much as air hockey and a movie. It was good. I really like her. Maybe we’ll make something of it.”

Hearing about the Institute puts her on edge. According to her, the Fluvetone Quadrivalent vaccine is all she ever hears about. Her mother, Suzanne, has made friends in the anti-vaccination activist community, who frequently hail their discoveries as progress.

“I keep telling her that I am who I am, and sueing some doctor isn’t going to change that. I wish she’d stop talking about my life like it was a mistake.”

At first I thought he was another handsome customer. You know the kind - a cocktail of rugged and kempt in skinny jeans and a loose knit sweater. His eyes twinkled, and he smiled a shy smile. A girl could fall hard if she wasn’t careful.

“Emily, right?”

Realisation landed with a proverbial slap. I knew him. More than that, he was a remnant of a life gone by. Different names, different faces, among other things.

“Drew?”

Of all the coffee shops, on all the west coast, he stepped into mine.

He looked down to hide the width of his smile. “You look good,” he said, daring to sneak a peek. He hesitated when scrolling down my chest. No points for guessing why.

I tried not to blush. It’s not like he called me ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’ or other words that make women swoon. Besides, this was the kid who once got his bike stuck in a tree. Don’t ask me how, but the legend lives on.

“What brings you here?” I asked.

Silly question. Person plus coffee shop means one of two things; they need a java hit, or they’ve come to hit on the barista. Drew would never. I’d yet to meet a man who fell for a girl they remember being a boy.

“Your Mom told me you work here now, and I was in town, so..."

My chest thumped like a bass drum. I’d moved away to leave my old life behind, and now a piece of it appeared from the blue. That should have bothered me, but it wasn’t panic or shame that swam in my belly.

The customer behind tilted his head, thirsty for a mid-morning fix. Anything standing in the way of his order was intolerable.

My shoulders stiffened. “Can I, uh, get you anything?”

“Just a double espresso,” he said. “And you can tell me what time you get off work. I mean, if you’d like to catch up, hang out. That’s not awkward, is it?”

Every instinct told me it was a come on. No, it couldn’t be. This was Drew! Sure, he’d gone from frog to prince in under a decade - I’d gone through changes of my own - but that didn’t change the kids we were.

Another customer grinned like she was watching a real life fairy tale unfold. If only.

***

If you asked me at fourteen if I had feelings for Drew, the answer would have been ‘no’. That would have been gay, and, by virtue of the unspoken boy code, wrong. Except that I wasn’t a boy - at least on the inside - and Drew, skinny dork that he was, was as funny, as sweet and smart as anyone could be. The other girls didn’t see it, but I did; and even though we’d never be together, I got to be his best friend. That was enough.

I don’t know how many weekends we sank into Mario Kart. He played Yoshi, and I played Peach for reasons which were less obvious in those days. Then my Mom would kick us out of the house, and we’d explore the backstreets on our bikes. We’d have movie nights, and laugh for hours when we made up new lines.

He never left me, but the day after graduation I left him. I had to be a girl, and I had to do it somewhere that history didn’t drag at my heels. It was for the best, I think. Any feelings I had would never be realised. How could they? Pretty sure a guy like him would never go for a girl like me. Girls like me are... complicated.

Anyway!

There was the time I told him about my Dad’s porn stash. I wasn’t all that interested, but Drew was overcome with curiosity. We’d seen naked girls in magazines, but sex on tape was new. Who cares if they were actors, grunting, squealing, and pretending to cum? Not even the well hung apes or the artificial blondes would sway him.

We waited until we were home alone. I don’t know why I went along with it. Maybe, I think, I wanted to impress him. Maybe it was another desire, hidden beneath the surface.

Drew and I sat on opposite ends of the room, always staring ahead. We agreed in silence; what happened in that room stayed in that room. ‘Bro code’ or something like that. I knew well enough to play along.

The movie started. We fast forwarded whatever passed for a plot. Something about a pizza delivery guy and ‘extra sausage’. How that passed as sexy was a mystery to me, but Drew seemed to like it. Tits and ass was more than enough, along with an eager woman on her knees.

Little gasps betrayed him. It took all I had not to look, but the soft slapping of skin made it all the more difficult. It didn’t stop the flash of images in my mind of Drew working himself into a tizzy, racing toward climax.

Suddenly, the awkward appendage between my legs stood. This thing that had always been so alien screamed for attention - not like the boners in class that were just there, but a hardness aching with want.

What I wouldn’t give to be the woman on her knees, sat in front of this gorgeous young man, pleasing him any way I could. Who cared if it was gay? Words can never carry the weight of the lust that pressed onto me.

I came, and he came, and then it was done. We cleaned up, tucked ourselves away, and never spoke about it. Just two guys stroking it to a porno, right?

Yeah, right.

***

I hung up my apron and Drew was there, waiting. If it were anyone else it might have been creepy, but despite myself I was glad to see him. How could I resist that puppy dog smile hiding behind a veneer of cool? As kids it made him seem like a dork, but now he had the confidence of a man. I wonder how many girls that charm had taken.

He plucked the jacket from my hands and fed my arms into the sleeves. Ever the gentleman. Did he do this for other guys as well? Then again, I wasn’t a guy. Maybe he knew that, or maybe he was throwing me a bone.

Either way...

“You want to get something to eat?”

***

There was nothing romantic about the Soda Spot diner, but romance was the last thing on my mind. An eight hour shift after skipping breakfast begged for french fries and a garden salad, and nothing - not even a long lost bestie - would keep us apart.

Drew stole glances as we ate. All things considered, I guess there was plenty to stare at. But his shy grin said that there was more to it, try as he might to cover it up.

“What?” I asked.

He nodded toward my fries. “The way you eat,” he said.

“What about it?”

Funny the things that slip under your notice. Once upon a time I would have stuffed fries by the handful down my gullet. Now, years later, I picked them up, one at a time, and tore them into petite chunks.

I blushed. God, I really had changed! More than even I knew. Somewhere in the pool of new womanhood I’d gained more than a voice; but habits, mannerisms - so much that the boy of once upon a time had vanished utterly.

“You look good,” he said.

I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. Stop smiling! “Thanks.”

“You’re like a whole different person,” he said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were your own hot cousin.”

My heart stopped. “You... think I’m hot?”

Drew beamed. “Come on. Like you didn’t know. Being a girl suits you. You were born for it.”

He had to be flirting. No, he couldn’t be. Drew was like a brother - or he was, a long time ago in a town far away. That didn’t change the fact he was a handsome man pulling the right moves. Like I said, a girl could fall hard.

“I clean up nicely,” I said, “but this is just my work uniform.”

Oh, how I wanted to swap the polo shirt and slacks for a little black dress, wearing more than my everyday make-up. If only he could see me at my best, when I really wanted to impress a date. And how good he would look in a suit! My god!

Drew bit his lip, and summoned the courage to reach across the table. He took my hand and stroked it with his thumb. His skin was soft but firm, and glided along the underside of my palm. One small touch and I was like putty.

“Emily,” he said, “you’re beautiful.”

This couldn’t be real. Was this a dream? He was definitely a dream, and I found him in a place least likely.

***

We walked through the park, like couples do. No bikes, no skateboards, no rollerblades; just two adults enjoying the company, watching the sun set over skyscrapers. The early autumn gave the air a bite, and something to do with my hands by burying them in my pockets.

Drew told me his life story so far; about his urban design degree, and lofty goals of building tiny houses for people without homes. One of his mentors called it ‘quixotic’, which he didn’t understand either at first. Not that it mattered. People should want to make the world better.

Somewhere in our wandering I relaxed, letting my arms fall to the side. His sudden gasp said he was as shocked when our fingers brushed. Sparks jumped, and a surge of excitement poised in our chests.

It was my turn to be brave. My hand leapt the ravine between us. Fingers danced the length of the other, and weaved together in intimate embrace.

Drew’s breath was still with anticipation. I don’t know if he planned the evening to go this way, but here we were, entangled in a moment our teenage selves never dreamed of.

“I’m really glad to see you,” I said.

‘I don’t want this night to end,’ I didn’t say.

***

A taxi ride later and we were standing outside my apartment. The driver idled, knowing better than to interrupt a goodbye. Most dates don’t get my address on a first encounter, but these were unique circumstances.

Drew stepped out of the cab and kept a respectful distance. Even after flirting and holding hands he didn’t want to presume too much. Maybe, like me, he didn’t know what to do. Every girl is different, and a lot of men don’t know the signals.

“I fly out in a couple of days,” he said. “If you’re not busy tomorrow night, maybe we could..."

Suddenly we were back in junior year, where Drew floundered before a crush whose name I don’t remember. Each word hesitated, dreading rejection, humiliation, and worse. High school was no place for feelings to enter the open.

But we weren’t in high school. Not anymore.

“You could always come up,” I said, almost like a question.

Drew paused, caught between a smile and uncertainty. I don’t know what I was doing, inviting him beyond the threshold, but the weight bore down on him the same. What happened next might change things forever.

“Are... are you sure?”

“Just go with her! You’re clearly gaga for each other,” the cabbie said. “Tell you what. I’ll make the decision for you. Have a nice night, lovebirds!”

And with that he drove off, leaving us alone on the stoop. Of all the nerve! He deserved a piece of my mind. Yet neither of us chose to dwell. Something lingered, something unspoken, more important than anything else.

Drew inched closer. “You know you’re a very dear friend,” he said.

Gravity beckoned me to him, and I answered. “So are you.”

Our lips crashed, and my head swam. His warmth filled my mouth, and I pawed at him for more. First kisses are magic at the best of times, but this? And because it was him. For this moment and probably the rest of the night I did fall for him, just as hard as I feared.

***

Somewhere in the tidal wave we found my apartment, crashed through the hall, and tumbled over the arm of the sofa. We giggled and we laughed like a couple of kids; but being a kid was never this fun, never this hot.

I wrapped my legs around him, claiming him as my own, feeling his hardness press into my thigh. High school locker rooms were a personal hell, but I remembered Drew and how impressive he was. Oh, how he’s grown since then!

His sweater and undershirt came off in a flash, revealing a soft mat of hair trailing down his belly. The smell of him was intoxicating, mingled with crisp, woody cologne. Were he not on top of me, I could have fallen to my knees and worshipped him all over.

Drew attacked my neck with the gentlest of bites, careful not to leave any marks. His hands ran up my sides, kneading corners overlooked by most lovers. Soon they found my breasts and his fingers sank into them. His lips followed, greedily tasting the fruits of my womanhood.

He slowed, then pulled back. I whined, wanting more, but the look on his face...

“Sorry,” he panted. “Look, I think we should talk before we... you know.”

Disappointment stood at the ready. It wasn’t my first ‘cold feet’ speech. A guy thinks he wants something, but as soon as clothes go flying it’s a whole different story.

Maybe he couldn’t get past the awkward boy who followed him like a lost puppy. I should have known better than to get my hopes up.

“You want to know what I’ve got down there,” I said, clinically.

Drew looked away, but nodded, too shy to say the words out loud. Figures.

I sat up, and held his hand. This was the moment of truth. Could he be with a girl with an unconventional body?

“I haven’t had surgery,” I said.

Drew nodded. “So you have a-”

“Clit,” I said. “It’s an extra large clitoris. That’s all.”

He sidled closer to me, pulled my legs across his lap, and fed his arm down the small of my back. God, he felt good. A part of me dared to hope, dangerous as that was. It’d been a long time since a man touched me like that, and that it should be him...

“I understand if that makes you uncomfortable,” I lied.

Drew shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... different, is all.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Then he looked up, and smiled that puppy dog smile. “I want to make you feel good,” he said, “but I’m worried that I don’t know how.” Drew winced like he’d just torn off a band aid.

My heart leapt. I threw myself at him. Just when I thought he couldn’t get cuter!

“Don’t worry,” I gasped between kisses. “I’ll show you.”

***

We slowed our pace and moved to the bedroom. I led him by the hand and sat him on the mattress. Piece by piece I stripped out of my work clothes down to my underwear. His eyes lingered at the subtle bulge of my tuck, though he tried to hide it. Even in this intimate space he struggled to be polite.

My bra fell to the floor, and I captivated him with my breasts. They weren’t large, per se - still growing after three years - but they were mine, and I was proud. No man had ever complained, and Drew was no different. He was drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

I straddled his lap, closing the space between us. He dived into my chest, hungry for my skin. In the grip of lust I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and craved him all the more for it. Drew was ravenous! Sinking his teeth into this part and that, marking an aimless path along me.

My fingers raked through his hair and twisted. I pulled his head back and forced him into a kiss. His stubble tickled my lips, making them numb in the most delicious way.

I stood and backed away from the bed. Now was the moment of truth.

“Are you ready?”

Drew nodded. His skinny jeans betrayed at least one eager part of him.

My thumbs slipped under the band of my panties, and with little hesitation ran them down my legs. Drew was mesmerised by the half-hard length that dangled between my legs; with lust or horror, it was too soon to tell.

I braced. “Well?”

He blinked. “It’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something different. Nothing so...”

“So..."

“Pretty,” he said.

A shiver ran through my body. My clit had been called a lot of things - ‘sexy’, ‘hot’, ‘fucking gorgeous’ - but never ‘pretty’. Even after all this time, feminine words were a thrill. Any lingering doubts evaporated on the spot. For tonight, I was his girl.

Drew slid off the bed and to his knees, hypnotised.

“Can I touch it?”

I bit my lip and nodded. He could do anything he wanted, so long as he looked at me like that. My clit strained under his attention, and jumped to meet his hand. It wasn’t hard like guys get hard, but the glide of his fingers along the underside was no less incredible.

Drew looked up to study the undercurrent of my gasps. He didn’t dare to stroke me like he would himself. After all, a clitoris and a penis are only alike in so many ways. He understood, I think - this did not belong to a man.

“You can kiss it if you like,” I said.

He lifted the tip and considered it. That act carried meaning for men, and changed the way they saw themselves; but it didn’t stop Drew for long. His lips parted to accept me into his mouth. He was warm and wet, and with the swirling of his tongue sparked a need. He parted wider, but I held him back.

“Don’t treat it like a dick,” I gasped. “Just the tip, please.”

Drew did as instructed, and with more confidence than before. A clit he knew what to do with, and though mine was more swollen others, he made sense of it in no time.

Fuck. Why couldn’t we have done this sooner?

He stopped for breath and searched for approval. “How's that?”

I leaned down to kiss him. There’s something so incredibly erotic about kissing after oral sex. If you ask me, it’s only polite. How rare it was to indulge. Drew, it seemed, truly was a gentleman, through and through.

“You’re a natural,” I giggled.

He blushed. What a cutie.

“This is what you like?” he asked.

Oh, how beautiful he was on his knees. It was almost painful to move on.

“I like it okay,” I said.

“But what do you love?” he asked, almost like a dare. His determination stoked a fire hotter than most. This was a night to remember, and then some.

***

I lay on the bed, exposed, wearing only a thirsty grin. Drew was fixated as I parted my legs, piecing together what I was asking. The picture was clear when I reached into the drawer for condoms and lube.

“You came prepared,” he said.

“One must be in the event of a handsome gentleman caller.”

Drew narrowed his gaze as he undid the clasp of his belt. This was not how he expected this meeting to go, but he wasn’t about to shirk the chance. He drew a sharp breath, watching as I squeezed the lube onto my fingers, guiding them below my clit, and sliding them with ease inside.

The cold lube tickled my ring in anticipation for what was to come. God, I was desperate to be filled! And to lay my hands on the thing to fill me.

He dropped his jeans and jockey shorts in one movement, revealing a cock more beautiful than any I’d ever laid eyes on. Maybe it was his girth, or because he’d bothered to groom it; or maybe it was by virtue of belonging to Drew. All that mattered was the need yawning inside me.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said.

Drew reached for the condom, opened the packet and rolled it down his length. His breathing was heavy, heated by arousal coursing through him. There’s that look a man gets when his primal side springs to life, and Drew’s was on the verge. He lubed his cock and strangled the base, aiming it like a spear.

I met him halfway, throwing my ankles over his shoulders, lifting myself and rolling back. He plunged into me with all his weight behind him, ramming his tip into the swollen button inside me. From the very first moment I convulsed around him, crying with sensual pain and delight, begging without words for him to thrust.

His hands claimed my hips with a vice grip, and my legs wrapped his waist just as tight. I’d never been a pillow princess before, and I wasn’t about to start. Top or bottom, when someone comes to fuck you, you meet them halfway.

He drove into me, pressing my button again and again, building the sensation behind my clit, inching toward an explosion. I squeezed, holding onto him for dear life, pulling him deeper.

“I need you so fucking bad!” I cried.

Drew pistoned like a man possessed. Sweat flew from his brow and sizzled on my flesh. All the while he drank in the sight of me, wanting him, grabbing my tits and twisting my nipples. We were mad with lust, and so given to it that time lost all meaning.

Soon he slowed. Drew grunted and pulsed, filling the condom inside me. I didn’t have to cum to adore the sight. Being taken was more than enough. The weight of his body on top was a dream come true.

I held for as long as I could before his cock turned soft. How long had I waited for this moment? And now we’d connected as only lovers can.

***

Drew collapsed onto his back and pulled me into his arms. We kissed lazily, delighting in the afterglow. My fingers ran through the hairs on his chest, probing the muscles beneath. His arm scooped the small of my back, drawing me into him, where I belonged.

He murmured and grinned. “Was it good for you?”

I curled into a ball and inhaled him. Not everybody appreciates a rugged, masculine scent, but a girl like me can’t help but indulge. Who’d have thought the scrawny kid I knew in high school would grow into a man like this?

“Fucking. Perfect,” I told him, and it was.

Drew raked his fingers down my back and sighed. “I had a great time,” he said, “but I didn’t hear you cum.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” I said. “It’s hard to cum from anal, but I don’t have to cum to have an amazing time.”

He turned, lifting himself from the post-orgasmic haze and pressed into me with a kiss. There was that glint again, tempting me with a second round. If anyone would find my ever-elusive orgasm, it was him.

“Once I start something, I don’t stop ‘til I finish,” he said.

How can anybody say no to that?

“Well, there is something you can do,” I told him, and reached into a drawer by the bedside. In it was a large purple toy with what some might call an impressive array of settings. By the look on Drew’s face, he’d never seen anything like it.

“And that’ll get you there?”

I nodded.

Drew considered the toy, and stared it down the same way he would a wild bull. Any other man might have been scared off, but Drew was special; of this I’m sure.

“Hand me the lube,” he said.

***

I woke alone to the fear of last night being a dream, or worse, Drew having left without saying goodbye. That fear was dispelled by the scent of eggs, fried mushrooms and spinach from the kitchen.

First I found my robe, then found Drew in his jockey shorts and an apron, nursing a frypan and singing under his breath. Don’t ask me how anyone can be that chirpy first thing in the morning, but he was the ray of sunshine that made climbing out of bed worth it.

“Hope you worked up an appetite,” he said.

***

“Can I see you again tonight?”

My kiss was answer enough. It took all I had to pry away.

Drew chuckled. “I had a lot of fun,” he said. “More than fun, actually. Last night was really special, and... okay, I’ll shut up now.”

I cupped his cheek. “It was special for me, too.”

He grimaced and furrowed his brow. “I’m worried that I’m getting attached,” he said. “I know it’s only been a night, but you’re a really great friend, and... you’ve always been special, and if you wanted us to be a thing we can... I don’t know.”

“We’ll talk about it next time you’re in town,” I said. “Please, please tell me there’ll be a next time.”

“There will absolutely be a next time,” he said.

We fell into another long, sweet kiss, challenging the patience of the waiting cabbie. Someone once said ‘parting is such sweet sorrow’. Boy, is it ever.

Long after Drew had left, I thought about him and sighed. Happy tingles ran down my skin, almost like he was touching me again. His next visit couldn’t come soon enough.

We started as friends, and stood at the threshold of something new. Strange that two awkward high school boys should grow into something beautiful.

END

On Tuesday morning I was sweating bullets.

“It’s only natural,” my Mom told me. After all, it was the first day of senior year, and many of us had gone through some big changes over Summer vacation, and I mean Big, capital B, changes; for some more than others.

The horn beeped, but I still hadn’t decided. Was a skirt too much, or should I have gone with jeans? Maybe shorts and leggings would be best; if I wore a dress would people think I had something to prove?

I turned to the mirror, straightened the kinks in my hair and frowned. Who was I kidding? I had everything to prove.

“Candace!” Mom called.

Screw it, I was going to go full girl. Bright dress, pink lip gloss, my favourite flats with the bows on the toe; there would be no questioning my gender, unless my voice slipped or something like that.

My brother burst through the door. “Mom says you have two minutes.”

I threw my arms over my chest. “Mitchell!”

He laughed and looked away. “For real? You only just started hormones last week. You’ve got no boobs to hide.”

“GET OUT!”

The volume of my scream only highlighted the depth of my pitch. Alone in my room I stared at the mirror, and oh god, I was a boy in a padded bra. How was I going to convince everyone else?

Five minutes later and I was climbing into the backseat of the car.

“You were late, so I claimed shotgun,” Mitchell bragged.

Mom hushed him and looked back. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

I crossed my arms across my stomach. “If I say no can I stay home sick?”

“Not a chance,” she smiled, and started the engine. “I know you’re worried now, but trust me, you’re going to come home tonight, and you’re going to have a whole lot of wonderful stories to tell. You’ll be the transgender princess of Cordova High, and before you know it you’ll be accepted as just a regular girl.”

Easy for her to say.

During the drive she made sure to give me every comfort; that the staff had been informed of my situation, that the principal had personally guaranteed to accomodate me, that I would have no difficulty in using the girl’s restroom and lockers, and that if I was uncomfortable I could go to the nurse’s station. It helped some, but the butterflies still lingered.

“Nobody’s going to care,” Mitchell said. “Remember Reggie Howard from sophomore year? He came back with one leg and nobody said a thing.”

“That was different. He had cancer,” I retorted.

“I’m just saying, nobody’s going to give you a hard time because you want to have bits cut off.” He laughed; I didn’t. “Just don’t try anything with the jocks, okay?”

That earned him a flick to the back of the ear.

“I like girls, idiot!”

“Break it up,” Mom growled. “Well, at least everything is normal with you pair.”

Soon after I was in front of the school, my hand running up and down the strap of my satchel, and considering the sea shuffling inside. As I walked along the path I kept my head down, hoping, praying that nobody would notice.

Did they know? It was the first day of school; only a handful of friends, and friends of friends would have heard that their classmate was coming back as a girl. What about everyone else? People were going to talk.

No sooner had I walked in than I heard a squeal. “Oh my god! It’s true!”

I froze; my shoulders arched up to swallow my head as the gaggle circled. I knew them all from Home Ec class, but we weren’t exactly what you’d call friends; acquaintances, perhaps. Regardless, they seemed like they meant well, in the loud, terrifying way.

“Wow, you look so different,” Amanda beamed. “Is it true your name is Candace now?”

“Was it hard buying new clothes?” Laura pressed. “You look like you’ve had a lot of practice. Have you always dressed up like a girl? You should come to my house and I can give you a makeover.”

“Uh, yeah, my name is Candace,” I finally managed to mutter.

I smiled, they smiled; some smiles were more real than others. Though as my eyes scanned the hall I could see a few that definitely weren’t smiling. Between the crowd racing after first bell I could make out, in order, a snicker, a shrug, a glare, applause, and a huff of disbelief.

Good start, I guessed.

After assembly was home room, and from there we were given our timetable. My teacher, Mr. Fletcher, halted when he read my name, then drew it out as he tore each syllable like a band aid from his skin. He looked down on me with heavy eyes, as though resentful for forcing him to enunciate a new name.

I ignored him; maybe he would go away if I stared out the window long enough.

When the next bell rang I jumped to the door, hopefully into a place more accepting. A double period in English was waiting for me, thank god. Ms Steiner, a hippy from way back, took the seniors.

Somewhere down the hall along the line where no eyes met I scraped by a figure. She nudged me out of my haze, and that’s when I caught sight of her; retro denim jacket, every inch covered in badges, and caramel eyes decorated by her ruby frames.

“Hey... Candace, right?”

Weird that she should ask my name, given we’d known each other since grade school. I fumbled a nod and cracked a grin.

Erica beamed and clung her books to her. “I just wanted you to know that I think you’re really brave,” she said, “and I think you make a really pretty girl.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? I may have said “thank you”, but I wasn’t sure.

She lingered a moment and then walked away. Was she going to Ms Steiner’s class? For a fleeting moment I hoped, but no; she was going in the opposite direction. Maybe that was a good thing; it’d give my heart a chance to start again.

The words circled around my head. “Erica thinks I’m pretty…”

Anyone would think I’d won the lottery.

“So she thinks you’re pretty,” Justin told me over lunch. “Girls are allowed to think other girls are pretty. That doesn’t mean it’s a gay thing.”

“But Erica’s a lesbian,” Trevor argued. “So when she sees a pretty girl, it’s not just ‘oh, she looks nice’; it’s more like ‘damn, girl. I wouldn’t mind some of that!’”

My friend clicked his tongue and sighed. “First, can the ghetto speak. It doesn’t make you cool. Second, just because she can appreciate a good looking woman doesn’t mean she wants to immediately bone her.”

What joy had been was starting to wear thin. I wondered, why was I hanging out with these guys? Could it have been because they were the only ones who gave me the time of day when I was in boy mode?

“Can’t I just enjoy the fact that someone thought I was pretty?” I asked my hamburger.

Justin turned and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re pretty. No, you’re beautiful. Seriously. I say that as someone who, if I didn’t know you last year as a guy, I’d probably be tripping over my feet trying to get into your pants.”

“So just because she’s transgender she’s not good enough for you,” Trevor teased.

My soon-to-be-less-than-a-friend opened his mouth and dropped his head. “Look, it’s complicated, yeah? She’s a beautiful girl.” He turned to me. “Candace, you’re a fucking beautiful girl, but you know that people are going to be a bit iffy, right?”

“Why would they be iffy?” Trevor pressed.

“Because,” Justin explained, “she used to be a-”

I slammed my palm against the table. “Don’t. Please?”

He reeled himself in. “Sorry.”

Hunching over the table I circled a french fry around the rim of the ketchup.

“I know that it’s going to be weird for some people,” I sighed. “Not everyone is comfortable enough to have feelings for a trans person. I guess that’s to be expected but… you know.”

“She’s a lesbian, bro,” Justin hummed. “Pretty sure she likes her girls to have always been girls. Sorry.”

“Yeah. Sorry, bro,” Trevor echoed.

Then, as if on cue, a slab of meat collided with my back and continued to walk as if nothing had happened. I turned to look at Bradley Shaw, former captain of the baseball team, who sneered as he passed.

“Faggot,” he muttered.

Trevor leapt from his chair. “Seriously, dude? That’s a thing you’re going to do? You’ve got a problem with people of different sexualities?”

I sunk about as far as a person could sink on a cafeteria bench. “You don’t have to do this,” I whispered.

Bradley rolled his shoulders, as if to demonstrate that they were arms he was carrying, and not tree stumps. “What do you care?” he spat. “Are you some kind of faggot as well?”

“Maybe I am,” Trevor huffed. “Would you have a problem if I was?”

“I... need to use the bathroom,” I said; not that they were listening.

My chest wrenched as I scuttled into the hall and pushed past the door. The painted figure on the sign gave some protection, or at least it did until an insider challenged my place. I dashed into a stall and locked the door, buried my face in my hands and tried to breathe.

Suddenly I felt more alone than I ever had before.

There was a knock at the door, and I froze. Mom said that I’d been okay to use the bathrooms; what if someone had a problem?

“Hey, Candace,” a voice said. “It’s Erica. Are you okay in there?”

Erica? I opened my mouth and fought to keep from shaking. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” It was a total lie, but whatever.

“Look, I saw what just happened in the cafeteria,” she continued. “Bradley’s an asshole. You’re not the first person he’s picked on for being queer. He’s given me a lot of shit too. Just, if you want to talk about it I’m here, okay? And I understand.”

Silence lingered. Did I trust her?

I released the lock and let her in. Tears burned without my realizing. I must have looked a mess.

Erica smiled and stepped inside. “Are you okay?” she asked again.

“Yeah, eventually,” I shrugged. Funny how I wanted to tell her everything but held back anyway.

“I’m always here to talk,” she said, slid down the stall and to the floor, and crossed her legs. She looked up at me, not really expecting anything, or at least not that I could read off her body language, and placed a hand on my knee.

Then, I smiled. “Thank you.”

It was all I could think about until final period before Mr. Bertinelli snapped me out of it. He called my name on the roll the same way you would an inmate, and looked down as though I were the one who forced his tone.

Why did he have to look at me like that? It was just a name; I didn’t see what the big deal was.

Who was I kidding? It was totally a big deal. Candace was the name I dreamed of ever since Mom told me that’s what my name was if she “had a daughter.” Well, turns out she did, and I was going to make a point of it; even if a jerk teacher thought it tasted like licorice and oysters.

The clock read just after three; ten minutes until freedom, ten minutes until the day was done. The world had not exploded. Wasn’t everything supposed to come crashing down when I challenged the gender norm?

I looked down to the hem of my dress and to my shoes. No, they were still as harmless as ever. I, however, was only made more whole by wearing them, and everything seemed… I don’t know, brighter? Does that sound cliche?

When the bell rang I was first out the door. There were stares; there had been all day, but they were dwindling in number. I guess the novelty of having a transgender girl in the hall was wearing off.

A block from the school and I heard her voice again.

“Candace!”

I’d never seen Erica grin like that, at least not at me. She ran in my direction, and I did everything I could to not watch her breasts bounce as she caught up; I mean, it’s not like she’d be interested in my staring.

Though I looked away from her and flushed I was still beaming. “Hey,” I muttered. “What’s up?”

She ran her fingers through her hair and stepped in front to face me. “Nothing. I just thought you’d like to, you know, hang out? Talk? Maybe I could walk you home if that’s okay. Just make sure you’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?” I pressed; not that I didn’t want her there or anything.

Erica ducked her head and folded her arms. “No reason, I guess. Honestly, I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Totally selfish, I know, but I need peace of mind. Us queer kids have to look out for each other, after all.”

I chuckled and hid my gaze. If it could have my head would have turtled inside my shoulders. Finally, I looked back. “How do you know I’m not a straight girl?” I teased.

“Are you a straight girl?” she asked.

“Does it matter? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to ask me out on a date or anything.”

She went quiet.

“And what if I was?”

We stopped. She was joking, wasn’t she?

Erica didn’t smile, and neither did I.

“I guess I haven’t really thought about it,” I lied; as though being with her wouldn’t be a dream come true! “If you wanted to, I... I don’t know. Everything’s so up in the air right now.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. “You don’t even need to explain,” she said. “You’ve only just started your transition and, even though I can never know what it’s like I can only imagine how complicated sexuality must be. You’re still learning to relate to yourself, let alone other people.”

“Yeah,” I said. I wish I’d said more.

Pulling away Erica turned, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Sorry if that’s all a bit much to take in. If you need some space I can-”

“I like girls,” I said.

I like you, I wanted to say.

Erica blinked, then flushed. “Y-yeah?”

“I like girls a lot,” I added for effect. Maybe I’d said too much.

She swished back and forth, biting her finger and searching everywhere but right in front of her. “Are..." Erica paused and drew breath. “Are there any girls in particular you like?” Did she really not know?

“I..."

Come on, Candace; just say it!

“Yeah,” I whispered. “One.” My eyes rested on her. “But… I don’t know if she’s into girls like me.”

“Maybe if you gave her a chance..."

Her hand brushed to my side. Fingertips curled around mine and stroked the length of my digits. Atoms leapt as they flirted with touch. My breath escaped me.

“Only if you’re really sure...”

Erica’s eyes shone as she looked up. We caught each others’ gaze. Was this really happening?

“I’m sure,” she grinned. “Trans or cis, you’re an amazing person and, no matter what happens I just want to be a part of your world.”

We laughed and that was when it hit; this was no dream.

“I’d really, really like that,” I told her.

Her face lit up.“Does that mean I can walk you home?”

Like she had to ask.

We dawdled the rest of the way with fingertips clinging loosely.

Everything was good in the world.

Mom was right; I really was a girl just like any other, and boy did I have a story to tell.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A while ago I set about to write an action/horror magical girl story with some Tokyo trans sukeban (read: girl gang) called "The Hellbound Dolls." This vignette follows one of the Dolls, Akane, whose ultimate struggle is to realize she's worthy of love. This installment does not have a happy ending, so read at your own peril.

* * * *

Any illusion that the Love Rose Hotel was a romantic getaway vanished at the offer of an hourly rate, and spiralled further deeper you went. Clean sheets had been thrown on the bed, and droplets from a sponge run across the countertops had yet to evaporate. The plush carpets clung to the smells of perfume and sweat, and not even the dim lamplight could disguise the abstract stains on the wall.

Regardless, it could be forgiven of an establishment that overlooked ID checks. Something, the girl reasoned, was always better than nothing.

The hotel charged by the hour, though Akane had booked three. As soon as she entered the room she drew the curtains, and spent the next hour stripping away the guise of a school boy. Her shirt and trousers flew like leaves in hurricane, as far from her body as she could throw. Out of sight, out of mind. Next was the pair of cherry red clips she used to part her hair. Only then was Akane able to look into the bathroom mirror, and exhale.

In the corner of her mind she could hear her mother and sister laugh about the aggressive transvestites from their soap operas, the kind who would deceive men for their own gain; and while they laughed, Akane would remain frozen. Of her family she was the only one to understand what an unnatural person might do to find love.

Her transformation was slow, but no less magical than what she’d read about in comic books. Methodical application that mimicked online tutorials, honed after countless hours behind locked doors, reshaped her features one after the other into a magnificent creature not even she could recognize. To think, even someone as pathetic as her, with enough patience could actually be beautiful, at least on a surface level.

As she worked she drifted back to that night in Ginza, when she and her ‘girlfriends’ crashed the yuppie shops. The district was too rich for their blood, but that alone didn’t stop them from looking. Little did she expect to catch her upperclassman, Kenta, or his sparkling gaze under the string of lights running down the street. Under his watch she was a real girl and more, and would have done anything to cling to that feeling.

Soon the pieces came together and crafted a princess, the kind dreamed about by little girls everywhere. Foundation and powder removed the blemishes on her teenage flesh, and was highlighted with the faintest blush to warm her appearance. White stockings ran up the mid-thigh ruffles of her dress, making her smooth and soft, and the ringlets of her wig became a part of her, hanging over her eyes and tickling the corners of her face. Akane giggled and fluttered her lashes. Finally, she was brought back to life!

When she was done, and there were no flaws left to pick, she sat on the bed and stared into the mirror across the room. Like a doll she positioned herself, fixing her poses, searching for that which would most please a lover. She blew a kiss to her reflection, with pink, glossy lips that smelled of bubblegum, and were just as eager to be tasted.

Time passed, and the absence in the room swirled around her. Would Kenta even come? It was only the day before when she passed him a letter confessing her feelings, though she was in the guise of a boy. At first he’d been confused, then angry at the deception, for which Akane had apologized profusely. After all, what other choice did she have but to deceive him? Unnatural people did not have the luxury of honesty.

Her heart stopped when he snatched her hand. “I want to meet her,” he said, as though it were someone else in front of him. Regardless, joy washed over her at the prospect; to love, to touch, and maybe more. It was all she’d ever dreamed of.

It was seventeen minutes after their scheduled meeting time when her phone sang with a text message. Kenta was right outside the door, and needed her to open it.

Akane did as instructed, opening the room to the handsome boy she’d been worshipping for so long. He was taller than her, which was a rare find among her group of friends, and had warm, hazelnut eyes to soften his striking features. To her Kenta was like some TV idol, and for the next hour they belonged to each other.

He scanned the hall and pressed inside, rapidly closing the door behind him. Finally, he stopped to notice her. The tension in his jaw eased, and his mouth fell open. Kenta took a step back to absorb the full picture.

“You look just like a real girl,” he said.

She swallowed the dagger of nature’s betrayal, and pressed the gap between them shut. Looking up with sleepy eyes that begged him to fall with her, she parted her lips. “I taste like one too,” she whispered, and drank the warmth of his breath.

Every inch dragged like a mile toward the inevitable, as the red string of fate pulled them close. Then, just as lips brushed, Kenta turned and balled his fists.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, “but… I-I… don’t know if I can…”

Her gaze fell, as did the weight in her chest. What did she have to do to make him love her, even if just for a little while?

Akane ran her fingertips down his arm, and soothed his shaking. Her kisses peppered his neck, and down the trail of his collarbone. Slowly she drew to the ground, one knee at a time, and knelt with her face against him. Kenta may have hesitated, but his eagerness showed.

“What are you doing?”

The girl flashed a knowing smile, and gasped. Her hand massaged against him. “I want to kiss you,” she said, and turned her eyes downward. She tightened her grip, and massaged the boy, guiding him into a slow dance against the wall. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Kenta said nothing. He drew a sharp breath and steadied himself.

This, Akane told herself, was her first kiss. It was not like in her dreams. She was not lost in her lover’s eyes, and he was not lost in hers, but it was something; and something was always better than nothing.

She accepted his affection in whatever form he offered it, and he touched her. His fingers ran through her hair, almost pulling it free, while she leaned closer and swallowed what she could. Every moan, and every gasp, was just for her. In that moment, even if it wasn’t destined to last, he loved her.

Kenta slowed. His body became rigid. He came. When the haze wore off and he found his footing, he zipped up his pants.

The girl knelt obediently, like a pup. She smiled in spite of herself, and didn’t reach for him as he stumbled away. Such was the way of things when one asked for unnatural love.

“I, um, I’ll see you around,” he muttered, and strode out the door.

Akane sat on her knees, suddenly aware of how cold the room had become. An hour and a half remained on the clock, and everything was still in place. Even the sheets of the bed lay undisturbed, though the maids would still change them.

Would he see her around, or would he look past her from then on? It didn’t matter.

She clutched her arms and ignored the tears, because she was happy. For the briefest of moments she was wanted, and she was beautiful. She would always remember that first kiss. Who could ask for more than that?

It must have been a demon who dreamed up a life regarded with male presumption. From the prescribed stoicism placed on a first born son, to the stifling collar of the school uniform, every moment was one of irritation. Yet I followed the path of least resistance, for no other reason than to lessen the blow. To conform was to evade conflict until such time as it was necessary.

The large windows of the school building portrayed the illusion of freedom. On the other side of each panel were more squares; nature tamed into cubicles, and earth flattened for human convenience. An artificial order wrapped its tendrils around the world, yet there was chaos also; seething in the corners, and coalescing like droplets waiting to fall.

I was sat by the bookshelves, third row from the front, and staring into my textbook at the gap between words. If I stared hard enough I could lose myself; maybe not completely, but long enough to suppress any discomfort, until Chiyoko was released again.

Our teacher scanned the classroom and perhaps while sensing my disinterest set his eyes on me. “Mr. Yamaguchi,” he said, pulling me back to the land of the living. “Please share your piece with the rest of the class.”

I frowned, stood, and opened my notebook. The task was decidedly complex, or it would have been to most; choose a classical English text and read a passage from it, then elaborate on the meaning. The other students were sweating, but I was not. I stood, straightened my jacket, and enunciated the words, rounding the letters like an actor from a European movie.

“All but mariners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, then all afire with me. The king’s son, Ferdinand, with hair up-staring; then, like reeds, not hair, was the first man that leaped, cried, ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’”

Silence fell on the room.

The teacher blinked, and cleared his throat. “That was an interesting selection, Mr. Yamaguchi. Shakespeare, yes?”

“Yes, sir. The Tempest.”

He nodded and stroked his chin. “That was a very ambitious choice. William Shakespeare boasts the use of over twenty eight thousand words in his literary work. Some believe his personal vocabulary exceeded one hundred thousand. Very impressive, Mr. Yamaguchi.”

My expression remained cold. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now for the second half of the task,” the teacher continued. “Can you discern the meaning of the passage for the rest of the class?”

I nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. The character laments the fear of her fellow passengers, all of whom jumped from a boat. Among them was a prince who declared that demons had ascended from the underworld, and that Hell had come to them.”

“Morbid, but powerful,” he remarked, and ruminated on the thought as though tasting an expensive wine. “Excellent work as always, Mr. Yamaguchi.”

That name, same as my father’s, tasted bitter in my ear, yet I resisted any sign of disagreement. This life was equal parts endurance test and war of attrition; could my psychological resources last until I had the means of an adult. I was determined to succeed, though had little choice to do otherwise.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. It was a woman, likely an administrator. She apologized for the interruption, and handed a note to our teacher.

He unfurled it, read the contents, and looked to me. “Mr. Yamaguchi, your presence is required in the gymnasium. Please go immediately.”

My fists balled in my pockets. From the far reaches of the world chaos had fallen. For what reason I was needed in such a place was a mystery. I steeled myself for the consequences of what I had reaped.

* * * *

The gymnasium was cavernous with only two bodies to fill it, and echoed with the deep thud of a basketball striking the court. To one end a man in a black suit and tie attempted shots from the three point line, while his partner in grey leaned against the wall. They were both slightly younger than middle age, but despite the fact seemed out of place in business attire.

I wandered along the court and into their notice. Both men had a similar swagger; the kind that might have pronounced ‘yakuza’ if not for their unblemished flesh. The man in black missed his shot, and sent the ball bouncing off the corner rim. He turned and smiled, flashing every tooth in his mouth.

“Yamaguchi, right?”

His partner lingered, and glared without blinking. No doubt he was to be the ‘objective third party’ to our interaction.

“My name is Detective Sakamoto,” the man in black said. “That over there is Detective Amano. We come from a special task force with nationwide jurisdiction.” The corners of his smile tightened. “Might you have any clue why we’ve come to talk to you, Yamaguchi?”

Flashes of the night before ran before my eyes, though I did not blink. My breathing remained even, and my shoulders relaxed.

“No,” I said.

The detective huffed. “Our job is to track gang activity across Japan. Intel suggests that one of our wanted gang leaders might be attending this school.”

I paused, and remained still. “What does that have to do with me?”

Sakamoto shrugged. “You’re a smart kid, Yamaguchi. You get good grades. I’m sure you can put two and two together.” He removed a phone from his pocket, and summoned an image. “Do you recognize this man?”

The picture was of myself as Chiyoko, complete with blond wig, shredded t-shirt, and fishnet stockings. It had been taken recently, when the dolls and myself pried our way into the side entrance of a nightclub. Evidently we were under watch.

“How would you recognize anyone under all that makeup?” I asked.

He held the picture against my face, and compared the differences. “You’re both tall,” he said, “and you’ve both got the same dour expression. You have to admit that in a certain light there are… similarities.”

“We both have a cock, and that’s where it ends.”

Sakamoto and Amano laughed. I didn’t.

“Do you shave your legs?” the detective asked.

A wave of hate flashed behind my eyes. “Isn’t it considered misconduct for a police officer to ask a school student such perverse questions?”

He was silent, and lowered his gaze. “Hey, Yamaguchi. What happened to your knuckles?”

There was no point in hiding the bruises on my left hand, and the scraped flesh whose wounds had only started to heal. I always managed to ignore the aching between joints; it was less than the other pain that was mine to carry.

“Karate club,” I said. That I had not attended in several weeks was not a detail they needed be concerned by.

Sakamoto beamed. “Ah! Like Bruce Lee, and Jackie Chan!”

“No. They practice kung-fu.”

Of course the detective was already aware of the fact. Such was the way of police; catch a perp in a white lie to get a feel for the larger ones. They would not get such an opportunity from myself.

I stood straight. “Am I free to go now?”

Sakamoto and Amino looked to each other, and nodded. They waved me off, and huddled together to discuss their conclusions. Perhaps I should have been concerned, but I was not; the truth of Chiyoko was inevitable, after all.

* * * *

The tension in my neck eased as I stepped into the open air. School was done for the day, and with it my obligation to manhood. Even while keeping a low profile the Hellbound Dolls were set to gather, and without Queen Chiyoko would not be complete.

I barely made it to the building’s front lawn when a classmate stepped into my path. Though I stared at the ground and pretended not to notice she was determined to be an obstacle, and cleared her throat distinctly. She brushed her hair behind an ear and shone with enthusiasm. I suppose that might have passed as cute on any other day.

“Excuse me, Yamaguchi. Can I talk to you?”

I forced a smile and looked up to her. “Hello. Inoue, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you can call me Reiko.” The offer of her first name brought a familiarity I saved for the dolls. In the confines of my other life, however, it grated on my senses.

“How can I help you, Inoue?”

“I’m not going to waste words, Yamaguchi,” she said. “I like you very much, and have for some time. I think that you and I would enjoy spending time together, and I would like to go on a date with you.”

Her boldness swirled on my tongue and gave me pause. A confession of love; it wasn’t the first I’d received, though it had been a while. She leaned toward me, eager for a response.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I’m not interested.”

Her smile broadened. “Not interested in girls?”

“Only girls who would ask me to be their boyfriend,” I said, and pressed toward the gate. “You should put down the boy-love comics, and focus more on studying. You don’t want to be stuck in a cram school, do you?”

Inoue clutched the strap of her satchel with both hands, and followed in even time. She was like a lost pup, though only half as charming. “I’ve been watching you, Yamaguchi. I know there’s more to you than the smart and cool type.”

I had to get away from her, and from my hideous disguise.

“There’s a rumor that the police came to see you,” she said. “Some of the juniors are saying you’re a drug dealer. Is it true?”

“No.”

She bounced. “Which part? The police, or the drugs.”

I was barely at the gate, and had reached the end of patience. Through gritted teeth I told her, finally; “what is or isn’t true is exactly none of your business. Now take your gossip to someone who gives a shit, and leave me alone.”

Though she did not follow I remained aware of her smile at my back. Were she to become an additional burden to manhood action would have to be taken. Though in that moment there were more pressing needs to be met.

* * * *

Tucked away in the side streets of Shibuya was a refuge for girls like us; a bar sitting under a large sign reading ‘Ladyfingers’ in cursive Western letters. Behind the double doors was a wide staircase declining into an open floor with booths lining the nearest wall.

It was there I found Yumiko, still presenting in male attire. Without the wig and her clothes she appeared awkward, though most would excuse that as being a geek. She raced to my side the moment she saw me, and from the look at her carried heavy news.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Yumiko inhaled. “The madam is pissed,” she said. “Someone came here looking for us.”

My jaw tightened, but I held my resolve. “Police?”

She shook her head and looked down. “I don’t know, but it’s bad. She threatened to kick us out, and to tell Big Joe.”

I peered across the bar to where an older woman emerged from the corner office. To most Madam Haruko was equal parts witch as she was a wise old crone; a fact that would leave her cackling whenever she heard it. She was a drag queen, newhalf and transgender before the words even existed, and stoked the spirit of the Hellbound Dolls from a time since forgotten.

“Ginny and Akane?” I asked.

Yumiko bowed her head. “Ginny’s not here yet. Akane’s in the back, changing.”

“Go join her,” I said, and kept my gaze rested on our hostess.

Whether in spite of her age or because of it there was no questioning Madam Haruko’s beauty. From head to toe she draped herself in the divine feminine, and splashed herself with colors that hypnotised men and women alike. Her oversized lashes opened like a meat-eating plant, and waited for me to enter.

I stepped into her aura, and through the chill that ran over my flesh. She drew a puff from her cigarello, and frowned as I cast my eyes to the floor. Of the few people for whom I would humble myself, she was the first.

Madam Haruko sneered into the mirror above the bar. “I don’t mind you and your girls getting into trouble, Chiyoko. I only ask that it never comes back on me. You know this, and yet you failed to honor our agreement.”

My head bowed as far as it would go. “I am sorry. Please forgive me, Madam Haruko!”

“I don’t want apologies,” she said. “I want you to clean your mess. You’re not the only girls I’m fighting to protect. The last thing I need is gang thugs chasing you into our haven.”

Gang thugs; not police? My breath caught in my throat, and I froze. Pressure was mounting on all fronts. Laying low would not be enough.

Madam Haruko tilted her head. “You didn’t know,” she huffed. “That convenience store brat you put a beating on was an initiate of the Black Soul Angels, and cousin of their second in command, Yoshino Genta.”

The reputation of the Black Soul Angels was one that echoed through the Tokyo underworld. Once they were an ordinary motorcycle club, then turned couriers for the yakuza, before claiming a territory of their own and defending it with maximum prejudice. Not only was violence their first language, but the punctuation at the end of each sentence.

A glossy red talon drew my chin so that my pupils locked with hers. They sharpened like pikes and drove into me. “He came to visit,” she said. “He asked for you particularly. It seems he does not appreciate family being brought down by ‘artificial women.’ You are of course aware that I do not tolerate such remarks.”

“No, Madam Haruko.”

“Perhaps that is why I’m permitting you to stay... for now,” she said. “I’m offering you one opportunity to resolve this matter, Chiyoko. Do what you must, and make sure it doesn’t follow back to my doorstep.”

Since our coming together Madam Haruko had been like a mother to the Hellbound Dolls, and ran hot or cold as needed. As in any other family responsibility fell on me as the eldest to pull my sisters in line, and to make sure that we saw things through.

She returned to her office, and left me with this new burden. The things that would follow were destined to be bitter indeed.

* * * *

Akane was sitting on a dressing room counter when I entered, whispering as Yumiko applied powder to her cheeks. The elder doll had come a long way since our first meeting, when the make-up brush in her hand trembled with shame.

I threw my satchel and jacket into a corner. Through layers of fabric and synthetic hair Chiyoko would be reborn, and I could not wait. The world may not ever bow to my control, but at least I had myself. What face the world saw was mine alone to choose.

“Chiyoko?”

Both girls looked back from the mirror with concern. It was then I noticed my pale reflection, and an expression more vacant than usual. For them I forced a smile, and unbuttoned my shirt.

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

If the Hellbound Dolls were a sisterhood then Yumiko and Akane were the children. The wrath of the Black Soul Angels was not for them to face, regardless of their inevitable protest. Our role was to protect each other, which I could not do if they fought my battles.

Yumiko furrowed her brow and returned to the mirror. Her eyes started to shine from the painted shadows around them. Though it might have been natural for us to doubt our own girlhood, from the other dolls it seemed anything but.

“I’ve been texting Ginny for an hour but she won’t reply,” Akane whined. She kicked the air. “When’s she getting here? She’s supposed to bring jelly donuts!”

The hour was growing late, and though she struggled with keeping time it wasn’t like Ginny to be so quiet. Ill ease churned in my gut with thoughts of what kept her. At best her devices ran out of charge; worse, there may have been complications with family. However, there was another possibility I dared not entertain.

I scrolled through my phone contacts, and found her name. Each ring wound my nerves tighter. I prayed for her safety while hope waned. Finally, someone answered; it was not Ginny.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Who the fuck is this!” I roared back.

Akane and Yumiko jumped. There was to be no hiding the situation from them.

The deep voice on the other end laughed. “Are you Queen Chiyoko? God damn, dude. You don’t sound like a chick at all. Are you even trying? I heard they’ve got these vocal classes that you can-”

“Where’s Ginny?”

I could hear his smile over the receiver. “So we did get the right guy! I was worried we grabbed a random, but then how can you miss a fat fuck like this?” There was more laughter, but there were also gasps; another voice in the background.

Akane and Yumiko pulled to either side, and held my arms as I trembled. Rage bubbled like lava moving to burst. It raced past my tongue and into my knuckles, twisting them into the instruments of pain they were trained to be.

“If you hurt her, I swear-”

“We’ve already hurt her,” he said. “Perhaps if we can arrange a meeting with Queen Chiyoko we’ll be inclined to set her free.”

Again, they laughed.

“Who is this?” I seethed.

“You already know my name,” he said, “and you know what I’ll do. Ask the old drag queen where you can find us and he’ll tell you where. I expect I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended with a click, and even with the dolls at my side I was alone. They asked what was happening, but I was silent. My thoughts were already across town, waging war for the sake of our own.

To be continued...

The bed lay half filled. Evie cocooned herself in blankets and skirted the edge, allowing room for another; her ex-husband, a new lover, who knows? Yet her dream wrapped smile betrayed no sense of absence.

It was a fact she might not have been aware of until the mattress depressed and gravity tugged her to the centre. She opened her eyes, shaped the numbers 2:53 out of the fog, and rolled toward the mass laying against her back.

She croaked through the film that dried in the back of her throat. “Madelyne?”

The body stirred but said nothing. Instead she reached for a fistful of blanket, pulled until covered, and clutched as she would a life preserver miles from land.

Evie propped herself on an elbow, but didn’t reach for the light. She reached for her daughter, with fingertips guiding the stray hairs around her ear.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” The question did not require an answer.

“M’ fine,” the girl said. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Of course. Always.”

Madelyne turned away, nestling the comforter under her side. Like her mother she pressed the boundary of the bed. She curled in place, her shoulders contorted as though to swallow her head, and pulled her knees over her abdomen.

Silence lay between them until interrupted by gasps. At any other hour they might not have been heard.

Evie pulled her daughter back, guiding her into her arms and nestling the girl’s head against her breast. Fingers raked through the strands of her daughter’s hair. Tears fell, either to burn on the parent’s skin or to be drunk by thirsty sheets.

She hushed and rocked the girl back and forth, same as she had done whenever called upon for the last fourteen years. Without even knowing the reason she told her child it was alright, that everything would be better soon, that she was there to look out for her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked; that it was the tenth time had not worn down the song in her tone.

Madelyne stopped and drew breath. Her lungs jolted as they filled and coughed as she released. She propped her forehead in the dip above mother’s collarbone, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“Can I ask you something really dumb?”

Evie smiled, “you can ask me anything you want.”

Fingers balled, this time claiming the arms of Evie’s nightshirt. Another lump in the girl’s chest rolled and she fought for words.

“Do you ever get sad,” she started, “that… I’m not a boy?”

Evie pulled her daughter close, enveloping her in her grasp, clasping her shoulders, and squeezed her so she might bleed all doubt.

“Never,” Evie whispered. “Never ever ever ever!”

Madelyne flashed a half-hearted smile. “I just... I know this has been really hard for you, and it’s been a huge adjustment, and you’ve given me so much, and... I’m scared that one day it’s all going to be too much, and-”

Evie hushed and cradled the girl, running her fingers up and down the base of her neck and rubbed her back. The ball that was Madelyne fit so easily into her; it was easy to imagine the two still being one body.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “I thought I had a son, but I had a daughter, and more important than that, I had you.”

Madelyne choked as a fresh wave erupted. “Mom…”

“I am so proud of you,” she sang, “my darling girl.”

Her eyes didn’t pass back to the clock, but by the time Madelyne was dozing the sun crept over the horizon. Her maternal duty done she, placed her head down and closed her eyes.

“Sweet dreams,” she said.

I can’t remember a time when Adam and I weren’t friends.

Our mothers met in hospital shortly after giving birth. They swapped numbers and babysat for each other; because of them Adam and I shared the same milestones, whether it was swimming lessons, birthdays, or joining the scouts. We spent so much time together that growing close was inevitable.

From pre-k to high school we were joined at the hip, and always watching each other’s back. Even when Adam started getting in trouble, smoking weed and getting into fights, we were there for each other.

My Mom worried, but didn’t say anything. She knew better than to tamper with fate.

On most nights you’d find one of us at the other’s home, raiding the fridge or sitting in front of the TV, or even taking up a reserved seat at the dinner table amidst the other siblings. It had long been assumed on the nights that I was home Adam would be with me.

Things changed in senior year. His Mom, Cathy, had recently divorced and was working a second job as well as going to night school. That meant that Adam was home a lot, by himself. Knowing that he was prone to trouble I made a point of being there as much as I could.

That made things difficult at home; mostly arguments with my Dad.

“I’m staying at a friend’s house,” I said over the phone. “Yeah, Adam. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

There were the usual concerns, that it was a school night, and that he was worried about my grades. It wasn’t until the end of the conversation that he made his actual thoughts known, not that they would sway me.

When all was said and done I’d have my way on the sole condition my schoolwork didn’t suffer. Maybe he hoped my diligence would rub off, and that Adam could avoid flunking.

I slumped into the sofa and watched over Adam’s shoulder as he played his game with alien bodies exploding in succession.

“So you’re cool?” he said.

I folded one foot under my leg. “Yeah.”

Adam scoffed. “He still doesn’t trust me, huh.”

“The words ‘stoned’ and ‘loser’ may have come up,” I said.

Entrails of a xeno-arachnid exploded across the television screen.

Adam shrugged. “Whatever. You’re too good for me to be a bad influence.”

He played the game, and I did homework; I read about the Gettysburg address, and he earned the Universal Combat Commendation, the highest honour awarded to a space dragoon.

At night he slept in the bed and I slept beside him on a mattress. He’d give me a pillow without a cover that smelled like sweat, but not so heavily that it couldn’t be ignored. Across the room were piles of clothing, with no distinction between clean and dirty; typical chaos in Adam’s world.

Whenever I lay there I always thought the same thing, whether I should be there at all. Was Adam a lost cause, or was he better than all this?

That was the way of things until the following April, just two months before graduation.

It was rare that Cathy wasn’t home on a Saturday night, and rarer still that she had a date; both of which meant Adam had free reign at a time people were available. As soon as he found out he made plans, inviting me to spend the night watching horror flicks along with two other friends, Nick and Sasha.

They weren’t close, not like Adam and I, but Nick and Sasha were cool. They were the sort of friends you have because they’re there, because you’re stuck in the same halls for seven hours a day, and suffering together is better than suffering alone. Chances were we wouldn’t see much of them come summer.

Halfway through ‘Undead Massacre III’ Adam pulled out a bong, the kind crafted from a soda bottle and garden hose, and offered us a hit. We all partook, though Nick was the most enthusiastic.

His eyes were pointed at Sasha the whole time, even as he coughed his lungs out, not that she noticed. She was quiet, and nursed a handful of popcorn for the better part of the night.

Nick swayed in the seat and kept looking around the room. Every so often he’d stop and stare, probably waiting for our attention to pry from the screen. Eventually he turned to me.

“Hey, Jonah. What are your plans after graduation?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe go backpacking for a year, then apply for college.”

He leaned into a grin. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

I shrugged, again.

Nick furrowed and turned to the other end of the sofa. “What about you, Adam?”

My friend shone his teeth and laughed. “Masturbate. I’m going to masturbate.”

“Fucker, you already masturbate,” I said, “more than anyone I know.”

“Then I’m going to masturbate until my hands are calloused, and my dick is bloody and raw!”

Sasha snatched the remote to click pause, then whipped around. “Hey, you know what I’m going to do after graduation? I’m going to finish watching this movie!”

Nick looked down, deflated. “Sorry.”

“Come on, Sash. You really expect us to sit quietly for six hours?” Adam said.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know. Maybe you can talk at a normal volume so some of us can follow the plot.”

Adam laughed. “What plot? Zombies rise up, people scream, fight back, and win, but-” He rose from the chair and leered. “-For how long?”

Our supply of chips and soda were starting to dwindle; in other words a good time to get out of the room. I stepped into the kitchen and opened the fridge where a gallon of pop was waiting to be consumed, along with some chicken wings that had my name on them.

Just as I reached for the bucket the fridge moaned and rattled. The light inside went out, followed by the light in the kitchen, and the TV. Everything was dark, inside and out, save for the screen on Nick’s cell phone.

Sasha huffed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

We filed into the garden. It wasn’t just the house, but the entire neighborhood. Darkness stretching for miles. From the rise where the home sat you could usually see the town, but without power there was nothing but void.

Even in the dark Adam’s grin shone. “Let’s go exploring,” he said.

I grabbed his arm. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

“It is kind of cool,” Nick said.

Sasha tisked. “No, not cool. Stupid, and dangerous.”

“What danger?” Adam said. “I know these streets like the back of my hand.”

I pulled his arm back. “Sasha’s right, man. Let’s go inside and wait for the power to come back on.”

He wrenched away and skipped onto the street. “Look, I’m going whether you want me to or not. You’re free to join!”

All the paternal lectures struck like a hammer; all those arguments with my Dad about Adam being trouble and how I was being ‘roped in roped into his doom spiral’ rang through my thoughts, but I couldn’t just leave him.

I sprinted as cautiously as I could in the pitch black and followed the silhouette. “Alright! I’m coming with.”

The neighborhood took on a new life. Weird that I’d lived there forever but never seen it that way, with not even a street light to give it shape. Houses, trash cans, mailboxes were little more than cut outs highlighted by the moon, cast in deepest blue.

Every block or so we found a group of kids with the same idea, who couldn’t resist the lure of the night. Some of them hid behind bushes and tried to fake us out with ghost sounds, not that they were very convincing.

After a while we passed the houses and drew near the pines on the edge of the estate. They may not have been wilds in the traditional sense, but most people knew to stay away at night, especially without a flashlight.

“Let’s go back,” I said.

Adam shook me off. “No, there’s something I need to see.”

“See what? It’s fucking pitch black, man!”

He didn’t listen, but then he never listened. Adam stepped into the foliage and followed the incline between the trees. Nick and Sasha had dropped behind several blocks back; maybe if they were still around I wouldn’t have gone after him.

Every step was like adding another weight to my legs until the ground sat at forty five degrees. The leaves and twigs under foot didn’t offer much as far as security, and solid roots are more dangerous when they’re invisible.

Adam stopped atop the hill.

“You done?”

We waved me to his side. “Dude, look.”

I trudged to the top of the hill and inhaled. “What’s that smell?”

The air was heavy with ash drifting from the valley. From above you could make out a trail of embers following the upturned earth. I don’t know what it was Adam was looking for, but I doubt it was that.

“Oh my god.”

“We have to check it out,” Adam said.

“Are you crazy?”

He was already one foot in the dirt, searching out his next steps. Did he even know what he was getting himself into?

Did I?

“Adam,” I said. “For fuck’s sake-”

He’d scaled ten feet before I could reach out. With every step he grew more bold until he was falling into a run and letting gravity guide him. Even as he kicked smoking clumps he laughed and picked up pace, until one false move took him off his feet.

“Adam!”

One second he was making progress, the next he was tumbling. In the dark I could make out a human ball following the curve of the hillside, until he was swallowed by shadow.

He didn’t cry, he didn’t yell; he didn’t make a sound when he hit bottom, however far that was.

“Adam! Adam, come on, man!” I was screaming.

Suddenly there were lights shining between the trees, bright and getting closer. They scoured back and forth, at least a dozen in all, followed by the sound of voices. A search party, maybe?

They called out, “who’s there? Show yourself!”

I don’t know why I ran. Adam was probably hurt. Shouldn’t I have stayed? Fight or flight made the decision for me; there would be time for regret later. Meanwhile there were people scouring the trees where we shouldn’t have been in the first place.

The street lit up once I made it to the road, and from there I kept running, fast as I could, strangling every ounce of breath in me. I didn’t look back until I was halfway to Adam’s house, and though I was alone it didn’t seem safe.

Nick and Sasha were lounging on each other when I burst in the door. They didn’t move, not even to pause the movie.

“You get it out of your system?” Sasha asked, still married to the screen.

I grabbed the remote and killed the TV. Nick and Sasha darted up to snatch it back.

“What the hell, man?”

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

Nick made a grab for the remote. “No, screw you. Where’s Adam?”

“Adam is...”

The room was silent.

Sasha combed her fingers through her hair. “Is he in trouble?”

“I... don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

My mouth hung open, but what was I supposed to say? Images of Adam, hurt or worse, circled my thoughts and there I was, the friend who ran.

“Just go home,” I said.

They hounded me with questions for ten minutes, and agreed to leave when I wouldn’t give way.

On the walk home I composed at least a dozen texts, most of which I was too gutless to send. ‘R U OK’ seemed simple enough, and after a couple of minutes I hit send.

Adam didn’t reply.

I stopped and turned to where I imagined him, bloody in a ditch, and wondered, should I go after him? Maybe, maybe not. What if they found him, the people I’d been running from?

It was just shy of midnight as I made it home, but not my own bed or clean linens could get me to rest. Every worst case scenario filtered through my mind so clearly that I could see them.

When he didn’t text after an hour I thought about calling 911. I didn’t.

For the whole night I lay in bed and waited.

* * * *

The following day was a grind, like nails on a chalk board. Every five minutes I checked my phone. The silence was agony.

I texted Adam, again and again. No response.

The image of my friend, broken and battered, was enough to drive me onto the street. I walked for hours, even returning to the estate we’d gone exploring the night before. The houses and fences weren’t as daunting in the day, and were quiet enough that kids were playing in the street.

Their eyes followed as I passed them by. They’d been warned by their parents about older kids; guys like Adam, and I guess me as well.

It was a sudden divide between the road and the pine trees. There was only the framework of houses around the stretch of asphalt before trailing off into a mound of dirt. Following that the ground had yet to be tamed and opened into a labyrinth of woods that led to private property, owned by who knows.

I took a hard gulp and steeled my reserve. It was luck that I’d found my way home in the dark, and not even the light of day promised I’d get to the same place a second time.

My journey was cut short when a car turned the corner. It was a luxury car, navy paint job, and sparkled like it was fresh off the lot. What struck me most were the government plates, and the three men inside wearing suits.

The car rolled to a stop on the gravel, right beside me. The passenger side window rolled down to reveal a man, thinning hair, probably in his forties, wearing a smirk.

“Something we can do for you, son?”

Private security, I thought.

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

He lowered his shades to glance me up and down. What he saw didn’t seem to impress.

“Well, you’ve got no business here,” he said. “Go find a girl, or a boy, or whatever kids are doing these days.”

I nodded and started the journey home, feeling official eyes boring into my back the whole way.

Adam had told stories about the woods; mostly about the secret stash a friend had planted, or the times he was busted by a deputy, but nothing like this. He would have told if the men in black were on his tail; it was just too good a story.

Since Adam’s house was on the way I decided to stop by, not that I even had the nerve to knock on the door. Cathy’s car was parked in the driveway. Her being there just made it harder.

What if something really had happened? How could I face her?

Instead I sent another text: “dud whr R U caL me”

He didn’t answer that night either.

* * * *

At school on Monday there was still no sign of Adam.

Sasha, Nick and I gathered around the dumpsters where we smoked before first period, and tried putting our heads together. Should we swallow our pride and call the cops? Nobody had to say it, but it was the last thing we were going to do.

“We stopped by, but nobody was home,” Sasha said.

I tilted my head. “What about Cathy? I saw her car.”

“Car was there, but she wasn’t answering,” Nick said.

“Shit.”

There were no bright ideas. Then the bell rang for first period.

It was a zombie march between classes. My mind was somewhere else, and time was not my friend. Being trapped at school made me helpless; it didn’t matter that I had nothing else to do with the time.

In sixth period I got a text. My chest nearly exploded when I saw who it was from.

“Oh, thank god.”

Adam wrote: “hay sup cum c me l8er i got sumtin 2 show u lmao”

Usually I’d chew him out for his phrasing, but seeing how I thought he was dead I didn’t make it a thing.

“dud i thawt U wer ded,” I wrote.

He wrote back: “nah jst cum 2 my hows aftR skul”

I wasn’t going to argue.

The moment the bell rang I was out the door, sprinting through the exit and to the first bus. My pulse was racing to the point of bursting, as though it were my chance to make up what I couldn’t do the first time around.

Adam was okay. God above, he was okay.

I ran from the bus stop and to his front porch, rang the bell and bounced on my heels. After all the waiting I needed to see him in one piece just to remember what it looked like.

Cathy’s car was still in the driveway, which was weird; she definitely had work on Mondays.

The door opened. It wasn’t Adam come to greet me, but his Mom. She pushed open the screen to reveal her lazy smile, and some other things. I averted my gaze avoid her nipples jutting out through her shirt with a low, scooping neckline. There was no question she was aware of this, and beamed.

“Hey there, sugar.”

I took a step back onto the garden path and coughed. “Uh, hey, Cathy. Is… is Adam home?”

“Sure. Why don’t you come inside?”

Anyone who knew Cathy might not have recognized her in this way. ‘Carefree’ was what she was selling, though it wasn’t her brand; usually it was ‘self conscious’ with the dial turned to ‘painful.’ Instead I came face to face with this other person who wore gold lipstick with her hair down, and a short skirt in place of leggings.

She fluttered her lashes and beckoned me inside. I followed, but not for her.

“Sweetheart! Jonah’s here!”

“Coming,” said a voice. It wasn’t Adam’s.

A girl stepped out from the hallway wearing a green skater dress and not much else. She danced on the balls of her feet before leaning against the wall, and purring like a tiger. She looked like a relative with the same auburn hair Adam had, as well as his spatter of freckles. Her mane was long and curled, hanging around the cleavage I was determined not to leer at.

“Hey,” she said.

The girl pressed against the wall and hummed.

“Hey,” I said back.

Was I supposed to know her?

“So, what do you think?”

Cathy poked her head in as she passed between rooms, and giggled.

“What do I think of what?” I said.

The girl laughed and pressed toward me. She reached to stroke my face and I pulled back.

“Dude, you really have no idea, do you?”

The more I looked the more familiar she became. It wasn’t just the hair or the freckles; there were the little things, like the shape of her cheekbones, the way her nose ended in a round nub, and the color of her eyes. There was no mistaking the blue fading into mist.

I collected myself.

“...Adam?”

“Actually, it’s Angela,” she said.

I stepped back to absorb the full picture. Standing before me with hands on hips, shifting from one foot to another was a girl my age making kissy faces; a girl I’d never seen in my life, now telling me she was my best friend.

“You’re not…”

Same pale skin, same piercing on her eyebrow; even the same scar Adam had from a bike accident when we were kids.

I shook my head. “How?”

Adam… Angela, turned back down the hall, and I followed.

Her bedroom had changed along with everything else. She’d let some air in to start with, and the carpet was clear. Everything had been stripped; the bed, the furniture, some even replaced with new items. A lamp, a dresser; it was a long way to go for a practical joke.

Angela sat, folded her legs and patted the bed beside her.

“Everything’s changed, in ways I can’t even describe.”

I lingered in the doorway.

“Does this have something to do with the woods?”

She sprawled and leaned on her elbow. “Yeah, it does. Thanks for letting me fend for myself, by the way.”

I said nothing.

Angela just scoffed. “Relax. I would have done the same thing, and I’m alive, aren’t I? Everything’s fine.”

“Is it?”

She propped herself up, smiled, and looked down to her chest. I’d fought not to look, but as she rolled handfuls of flesh under her dress it was hard not to notice. God, they were actually a part of her.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Everything’s perfect.”

Angela shuffled over, beckoning me again. This time I did was I was told.

“Once upon a time the thought of turning into a chick might have grossed me out,” she said, “but now that it’s actually happened…” Angela arched back and continued to massage her breasts, like I wasn’t even there. “Dude, this feels so fucking good. You have no idea.”

I licked my lips. She really was beautiful.

“This is real, isn’t it?”

Sultry eyes fell on me. “Yes,” she said.

I was like jelly when Angela reached to caress my wrist. When I offered no resistance she took my hand and guided to her breast, and encouraged me to inspect it with a heavy gasp. Maybe I should have refused, but I didn’t.

“Oh my god…”

She bit her lip. “Have you ever done this before?”

I shook my head.

“It’s okay with me,” she whispered. “We’ve been friends forever.”

“Yeah, but… guy friends.”

Angela drew closer and threw one leg over my lap. Slowly, sensually, she straddled on top and brushed a wisp of hair from my eyes. She leaned in until all I could smell was her; cream, skin, fruit, and so many things that weren’t the boy I knew.

“It’s not gay if you have tits,” Angela said with a grin.

Gay, straight, whatever; this was something else.

Soon I was tasting the condensation on her breath, and burned with the heat of her. Falling into her kiss was the easiest thing in the world.

Next thing I was on my back, underneath Angela as she ran her hands up my arms. Our mouths lapped one over the other, tongues stealing licks, while she ground her hips against me. Fuck, I’d never been so hard in my life.

Her nails raked my sides as she moved to take off my shirt. Next she was hiking her skirt. Our bodies pressed together and bucked in rhythm with her flesh searing into mine. She was so soft, so smooth, like nothing I’d ever felt before.

Suddenly I felt her press into my abdomen. It was only when Angela arched up that I saw the bulge in her panties, that her transformation was not absolute. She thrust her crotch against me, grinding her arousal against my own.

Her whimpers were like music, mine were gasps that I held in my chest. It was all so much.

I pushed her away and fumbled before standing. My heart beat out of my chest like bombs going off.

Angela arched a brow. “Not into it?”

“I…”

My erection surged in my shorts, though I did my best to hide it.

Angela laughed. “Sorry. I’ve been crazy horny. We can slow down if you want.”

She lay back, cock straining against her panties, with a wet patch accumulating at the tip. Through the swimming in my head I knew I wanted to touch her again, but couldn’t.

“Is it the whole ‘chick with a dick’ thing?” she asked. “Because I thought you were cooler than that.”

I shook my head.

“No, I don’t care. I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Angela rolled to her belly and kicked up her feet. “Now’s the perfect time, don’t you think? I’m practically throwing myself at you, dude.”

I fought to keep with my breathing. When she neared I inched away.

“Yesterday I thought you were dead.”

“No, just got hotter,” she said.

I reached for my shirt and stepped into the hallway. No sense in dragging out goodbyes. I told Angela I needed to think, and that I was glad she was okay, and that I’d be back again soon. Just because she was a girl didn’t mean I stopped being a friend.

There was still the question of what happened to Adam. Spontaneous sex changes didn’t just happen, did they? The more I thought about it the more confusing it became. What happened in those woods?

Three blocks from her house and my crotch was still ready to explode. Maybe some time alone would help to calm it down.

Just then I heard the rumbling, and then I saw what you don’t see in the suburbs; it was a convoy of vehicles, jeeps, trucks, vans, and busses, some khaki like you see in the army, but most crisp and white. All of them had government plates and ran without abandon. Anyone who got in their way received a roar from their horns and jumped out of the way.

I stood there and watched dozens of them plow through the neighborhood, their uniformed drivers married to their destination. Who were these guys? The big wheels were like rolling thunder shaking the earth.

When they finally passed I looked back to Angela’s house. Maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t.

Something strange was happening, and I didn’t know what.

Robin, Alfred Pennyworth, and Batman are the property of DC Comics.

* * * *

Her knuckles balled white around the hem of her skirt and pulled it over her knees, which in turn bounced in time with the ticking of the clock. Three-fifteen was the cue for dismissal, save for one who had been removed from class early and was seated in the main foyer.

Rory Colburn tucked her hair behind her ear and exhaled through her nostrils. She closed her eyes, grit her teeth and contorted her brow, straightening herself again to remain still for as long as she pulled her arms tawt.

She arched like a cat at the whine of the brakes. Through the window she spied a black luxury car pulled by the curb, and from the driver’s seat a blonde haired man in a suit and tie. Most mightn’t have known from a glance, but the young woman recognised him through the disguise.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he hummed. “I trust you’re anxious to return home.”

“Yeah, I was starting to forget what home looked like.” Her laugh lacked the vigor it carried a week ago.

After packing her case in the trunk the driver opened the rear passenger door for the young woman, allowed her to sit, and returned to his place behind the wheel. Moments later they pulled away, down the driveway, and through the gates of the prestigious school.

Alfred Pennyworth pulled off his wig and peeled the false brows from his face. “Damnable things,” he muttered to himself before turning his attention to the rear view mirror. “I took the liberty of preparing a change of clothing, Master Dick. One imagines how eager you must be to resume your former life.”

The girl shrunk into her shoulders and forced a smile. She didn’t look back as she snorted, “Thanks, Alfred.” She remained tense, like a bowstring waiting release. Words and silence danced in her throat but started to sink. They squashed her lungs and made her breath shallow, try as she might to conceal the fact.

“Sir?”

Rory, if she could even call herself that, looked up and hummed through a tight lipped smile; the kind that betrayed her to a friend who knew better.

“Is there something the matter?” he pressed. “That is to say, is there something that I can help you with?”

The smile was broken by her toothy chuckle. Rory Colburn threw her shoulders into the leather seat and crossed her legs. She waved waved him off and rolled her eyes at the question. “I just spent a whole glorious week cohabitating with smart, funny, incredible girls. I mean, apart from the fact I had to pretend to be one of them, what could possibly be wrong?”

‘Pretend’; the word stuck in her maw like a chisel.

Alfred smirked and looked to the road. “I see some things never change.”

She turned back to the window; not to the hedges and brownstones of the uptown Gotham district, but her own reflection for as long as it would last. Soon she would part with the auburn strands; she wouldn’t have to worry about wearing just enough makeup to look ‘natural’, nor would she have to shave her legs or pluck her eyebrows, or worry about detention, even if sneaking out with friends for midnight movies was totally worth it.

The car turned into the nearest fast food outlet and pulled to a stop. Alfred straightened his jacket, leaving his charge in the back seat to collect herself.

“Colossal Burger? Alfred, what happened? Did the kitchen burn down?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Miss.”

Rory paused. “Miss?”

After purchasing what passed for food, at least to the younger of the pair, they moved on to a nearby park and were seated at a picnic table under a tree. The illusion of Rory’s delicate femininity vanished the moment she opened her mouth to inhale the faux-meat-salad-bread combination. Meanwhile, Alfred sat across from her, prodding the patty as though it would eat him first.

“You really didn’t have to,” Rory said. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaken. It happens on undercover cases.”

“Having seen Master Bruce acclimatise to various roles I’m familiar with the process,” Alfred informed her. “However, it is quite rare to see your wit so dull, Miss; this melancholy is different than any I’ve seen you suffer.”

The girl smirked. “What are you, my shrink?”

“Merely someone who cares for you a great deal.” Alfred placed his burger back in its box and reached for Rory’s hand. He gave it a squeeze, the kind that made a promise without the use of words; the kind that made something swell inside the girl’s chest.

She laughed and pulled her hand away. “Seriously, I’m okay,” she lied, stuffing more fries into her face.

Alfred raised his head and smiled to the simplicity of nature. “When I was your age I attended a segregated boarding school,” he started. “It was an all male college just south of Oxford. Frustrating as it was to be a young man removed from the other sex they were halcyon days, and I learned a great deal.”

Rory swallowed her food and leaned forward.

“Like what?”

“Well, such as what it meant to be a man,” he mused. “Ironically I learned a great deal about manhood by portraying women on stage. Gaining that perspective helped to quell a number of insecurities about masculinity.”

The girl paused, and searched him. “Do you think that’s what’s happening to me?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. You see, the same experience might teach a different lesson to somebody else. It depends entirely on the student.”

“What do you mean?”

Alfred smiled and leaned forward. “Take for example my dear friend Oliver. When I played the queen of Denmark, he played Ophelia. Where I played Ariel, he played Miranda. To my Lady Capulet he was Juliet, and so forth.”

“So you were just a couple of guys having adventures in cross-dressing,” Rory grinned. “Sounds about as normal as fighting crime in spandex.”

“Indeed,” the butler hummed, “but where I learned the nature of masculinity, Oliver learned something else entirely. It was during our senior year he learned that despite his beginnings perhaps manhood was not his destiny.”

She reached for the paper cup like a cat passing through reeds and held it like a shield. “So… what did Oliver find out about himself?”

Alfred beamed across the table. “I suspect you already know, Miss.”

Her eyes fell; Alfred ducked to seek them out.

“You’ve yet to correct me, Miss” he said. “Is that your preferred title?”

Rory placed her cup down and folded her arms, pulling away from the gentleman with a sigh. Her gaze turned and sharpened on nothing in particular. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Only for one who knows what to look for,” Alfred concluded. “As I said, this is something I’ve seen before.”

The girl’s jaw tightened. “And Bruce?”

“It’s difficult to say. He may be the world’s greatest detective, but his notice often gleams over those in his personal life; not to mention his, what should we call it, lapses, in emotional intelligence.”

That sacred knowledge cracked her demeanour. Rory turned back and looked to the butler.

“So what happened to Oliver?”

“Gwenyth, as she is now known, went on to appear on London’s West End for a number of years,” Alfred said. “Since then she married a man, Matthew, with whom she now runs a stable in Kent. Last I heard they were remarkably happy.”

Rory eased into a sigh and resumed her soda. “I guess it’s not all doom and gloom then.”

“Not even slightly,” the old man said.

The sun drew across the afternoon, and the two shared their time, but not before Rory asked the most important question; “Hey, Alfred. Are you going to eat that?”

A/N: This isn't a story that goes anywhere. It's a semi-autobiographical snapshot that I needed to put outside of myself, but read and enjoy if you're into something dark.

****

Amber wasn’t an orphan, but she didn’t imagine it being much different to her own life. ‘Family’ was something other people had, while she kept to her own company.

Her father and brother were there, at least in body, with eyes glued to the tee-vee set. Truth be told they cared more about wrestling than they did the eldest daughter, and told her so whenever they deemed her worthy of notice.

“Do you really have to wear that around the house?” her father groaned.

She dressed differently to the other girls; short hair, rainbow socks, a denim vest and the brightest shade of lip gloss she owned, but that wasn’t bothered the old man. Whatever. He had no right to comment.

“You look like a faggot,” grunted the boy on the sofa. He wasn’t even looking at her; his face was buried in the phone.

“And you fuck gerbils,” she said.

Her Dad snapped from his seat. “You don’t talk to your brother like that! Go to your room, young man!”

‘Young man’; yeah, like that was going to win her respect. Amber shot him a finger as she stormed through the front door. He had no real authority over her, despite his bluster. Maybe he did it because that’s what he thought fathers were supposed to do.

It was Saturday night, and there weren’t many places for a fifteen year old to go, especially a fifteen year old like her. Barely tolerated at school, and only holding a handful of friends out of pity, the only person Amber could count on was her Mum, and she was a million miles away.

Maybe she’d spend the night under a bridge. There at least she could have a smoke, and think. In the dark, away from human eyes, she could imagine what it felt like to be a real person.

A college age man of questionable integrity makes a deal with a demon spirit, but not all goes to plan.

* * * *

Virginity is a cruel, cruel mistress, and it only gets worse as time goes by. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be twenty-one years old when you’ve never had sex? In a world where a man’s worth is measured by his virility I can think of nothing worse.

My female ‘friends’ - if you can even call them that - tell me that I need to be myself, or that “it’ll happen in time.” Like they would ever understand the struggle. Worse, they then hook up with jerks who treat them like crap, and ignore the nice guys right in front of them.

Something had to be done.

I was in the third year of my English literature degree, and living in the dorms with an alpha male, Dave. He always looked down on me for not having getting any pussy, and complained that I made his girlfriend uncomfortable. What, so she didn’t believe in men’s rights? Or maybe she thought I wasn’t good enough to cuck.

“Dude, you’ve got to get your brain out of the internet forums,” Dave said more than once. Maybe if he was in his room more than twice a week he’d understand.

Then, one fateful day in June, my internet brother gave me the encouragement I needed. His name was Jason, though his handle was ‘weirdocuck’ on Reddit, and I’ll never forget his advice. “Shit or get off the pot,” he said. “You know how to get laid. You’ve been sitting on a plan for years. Now stop being a pussy and do it!”

He was right that I had a plan, but it was too far fetched to be believed.

After an evening lecture I returned to my room. Dave was out, at a party or whatever it was he did, and I had the place to myself. It was the perfect opportunity to experiment.

I removed a tome from a box at the end of my bed; it was the ‘Occulta Quo Daemonia’, a family heirloom bound in leather I’d once used as a LARPing prop, and so much more. How did it land in my hands? Well, let’s just say my father would freak if he knew where it was.

The spell guide was simple enough, and I was able to draw a pentagram on the carpet with chalk. The ring of salt would be harder to clean, as would the dripping wax on each of the five points. With my ceremonial knife at the ready I began the ritual in earnest, and summoned the spirit with whom I would bargain.

“Cui ego invocabo daemonem adiurat turmasque pacisci humilitatem meam et potestatem et divitias pro sexualem uictoria!”

The candles flickered. Everything outside the ring of salt was swallowed into the abyss. An eerie cold ran over my shoulders as the depths of the void grew into absolute. From the darkness came a presence, one that lacked shape and substance, but who I was all too aware of. It circled like a hungry wolf.

YOU WISH TO MAKE A CONTRACT, it said but didn’t say. The entity did not use words; rather it projected its intent directly into my thoughts.

“Yes.”

WHAT, it didn’t ask, DO YOU SEEK?

My hands were shaking, but I didn’t balk. “I want money,” I said, “and I want to be powerful. I want to be sexy, and I want to be… irresistible!”

THESE THINGS ARE WITHIN MY POWER, it didn’t say. WHAT DO YOU OFFER IN EXCHANGE?

The moment of truth had come. I steeled myself and said, “my soul!”

For a while the spirit was silent. There was only myself and the gaping absence.

YOUR SOUL IS PITTANCE, it didn’t say.

I prostrated myself. “Then name your price, spirit! What can I offer you?”

The presence lingered until finally it didn’t say, YOUR BODY.

“What do you want with my body?”

THAT IS MY BUSINESS, it didn’t say. YOU COME TO BARGAIN WITH ME, AN EXCHANGE MUST BE MADE!

It didn’t make sense. All throughout history there were stories about men making deals with the devil, swapping their souls for wealth, fame, and more. Surely there was some truth to these stories; so why did the entity dismiss my soul as though it were nothing?

“If I give you my body, what happens to me?”

YOU WILL RETURN TO YOUR BODY, it didn’t explain, WHEN THE CONTRACT EXPIRES IN ONE YEAR.

I peered into the darkness. “And you’ll give me what I want?”

YES.

My imagination turned with the possibilities. The things I would do to have an endless cash flow, and a string of bitches falling to their knees to be a part of it. Why, I may even be able to run for president one day.

“It’s a deal,” I said.

SEAL THE PACT, it didn’t command.

I took the knife and pressed it into my palm. A trickle of blood ran from it, and along the blade until it dripped to the floor.

Suddenly there was a gale wind, corkscrewing into a tornado, and driving into my wound. The abyss melted around, and flowed until a universe existed inside my chest. Endless power, and infinite possibility, had become a part of me.

My room was back to normal. On one side was my bed, and on the other was Dave’s. He had his Nickelback poster, and I had mine from the last Ron Paul campaign. The pentagram, however, was nowhere to be found, and neither was the tome.

I opened my mouth to speak, only… I didn’t. While I wanted to search the room my body had other ideas, and stepped into the small bathroom.

It was only when I watched my body inspect itself, regarding its own shape, and making movements with my mouth that I realized what was going on; my body was no longer under my own control.

“One year, and then you will have your reward,” my mouth said. “Until then I would appreciate if you did not complain.”

The spirit had taken over my own body, and I was a passenger, watching his every move! What special kind of hell was this? There had to be a way to get out.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said with my lips. “Now quiet, please.”

It was going to be a long wait, but I told myself the result would worth it.

I settled into the corner of my psyche, and tried to content myself on watching the new host in action. Given the way he grimaced at my reflection he didn’t seem too happy with his situation. Whatever. He may not have been a fan of my body, or my clothes, but he would have to live with it.

He slipped on a jacket, some shoes, and left the dorm. Where did he have to go that was so urgent?
Across the campus was a department store that was open twenty-four hours. It was a veritable warehouse, and employed a large number of students. That, and it was a favorite go-to for every night owl, stoner, or would-be academic pulling an all-nighter.

The spirit wandered inside, and grabbed a basket. He browsed the aisles in search of this item and that; first razors, assorted creams, and other girly smelling shit. It wasn’t a big deal until he moved toward the clothing section, and evaded menswear.

I screamed, what are you doing?

He hummed, “quiet.”

Surely it was unreasonable for him to expect silence as he sifted through the lingerie, and selected various cuts of panties; hipsters, bikini briefs, and thongs. He moved from one section to another grabbing new clothes, all feminine, and seemingly without regard for the sideways glances he was receiving.

I was dying inside.

When the basket was full he turned for the counter. Of all the people working there he had to come across Kate Walsh, one of those vicious feminazis in my course. She scowled as the spirit unloaded the basket, though her expression turned when she caught sight of what he was buying.

He smirked, and chuckled. “I bet you’re wondering what this is for.”

“Nope,” she lied.

“Sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” he said. “I’ve had a chance to rethink a lot of things, and I want to make amends.”

What was he saying? I wanted to die right there.

“That’s a nice top you’re wearing.” It was red with layers crossing over the bust, and split sleeves.

Kate shrugged. “Um, thanks. It’s from our new collection. They like us to model stuff from the store.”

“Well, it looks good,” he said.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and laughed as she rang up the bizarre purchases. “So are these for you, or…?”

He grinned a wicked grin. What evil things did he have planned?

With every step I kicked and screamed, helpless to do anything. It was torture to watch this thing take my money, my body, my life, and to waste them on women’s clothing. I failed to see how this was going to make me the powerful, or rich.

Once he was back at the dorm he threw the dozen or so bags on the bed, and removed the toiletries. First he produced a pair of scissors and gazed into the mirror. Then he started to cut the beard I had allowed free reign since I was sixteen.

I bellowed for him to stop.

“We haven’t even begun,” he hummed. “Please, be quiet.”

Snip after snip he thinned the hair, then after applying the cool smelling cream shaved my face for the first time in my adult life. The transformation was jarring, stripping the years away, and rendering me unrecognizable. It was even worse when he plucked my eyebrows, shaping them into high, less-than-masculine arches.

He stripped my body, and took another bottle, and smeared its contents down my chest, arms and legs.

“You will be irresistible,” he said.

There was nothing I could do.

* * * *

The chance to sleep brought relief. For eight hours I could veer away from the nightmare that had become my life, hijacked by a supernatural creature!

There had to be some way to regain control. To hell with sex and riches; I was going to get them my way, and I wouldn’t have to dress up like a fag to do it!

My eyes opened, and the demon groaned with my mouth. Watching him rise was like sitting in a roller coaster teetering over the edge. All I could do was wait it out.

“Are you still complaining?” he croaked. “Relax, mortal. You may yet enjoy the ride.”

Like hell.

I was forced to watch as he dressed himself in the bathroom mirror, first by tucking my penis behind my legs and holding it in a pair of black, cotton panties. God, the way he wore them it was like I had no manhood at all. Then he pulled on a bra, which he only needed to hold superfluous mounds of silicon to my chest. Why pretend to have tits? It was disgusting.

The demon ran his hands down my sides, and giggled. Did he really like this? I could hardly watch.

He then reached into his bag of purchases for the make-up, and spent time applying cool, wet creams and fine powders to my face. They felt gross, like rolling in mud, but the demon behind the wheel seemed to think otherwise. He brushed along the contours of my face, rounding the shades and tints until it lit up.

After slipping on a low cut black top, and a skirt too short to be anybody’s business, he began to brush my hair. Worse, he styled it, straightening it so that it fell below my ears, and cut a line of bangs above my brow.

There was no mistaking the female appearance in the mirror where I should have been. God, if I didn’t know she was a trap I might have even deemed to fuck her. Knowing that would have turned my stomach had I still a body.

He, or perhaps she, smiled.

“You don’t think this is better?” the demon asked.

No, I didn’t.

It was a battle to ignore the fruity, sweet smells my body was bathed in, along with the silk sensation between my legs as I moved. God, why? I was determined to enjoy it as little as possible, but couldn’t help the tingling that ran goose pimples down my arms.

The spirit spent the majority of the morning in the dorm room. On the upside I didn’t have to see that face again, but on the other I spent the time watching her sort through my belongings; clothing, mainly. She went through my books, sorted them on the shelf six months after I’d intended to, and delved into my clothing pile. Old tees and slacks were the first to make their way to the bottom of a trash bag, but at least she kept my trilby.

Sometime around eleven the door opened. Dave had returned from one of his overnight adventures wearing the same clothes from the day before, and was desperately in need of a shower. Though given the look on his face grooming was the last thought on his mind.

“Uh, hello.”

My attempts to throw myself out the window were for nought.

The demon looked up from her chores and shot him a glossy smile. “Hey.” Her voice was a higher pitch, but still unmistakably my own.

Realization washed over Dave, and he stopped before closing the door.

“Uh…”

“You told me to be myself,” the demon said, as though she was anything but. That was my body!

Dave nodded. “Right.”

“This is who I am,” the demon said.

He fumbled for words with all the skill of a thousand-pound gymnast. “You’re a…”

“Sort of, and yes.”

The demon continued her business, throwing trash bags to one side, and stripping the covers of my bed. She contorted her face as though she could smell something, though I couldn’t tell what through all the crap under my nose.

Dave buried his hands in his pockets and moved toward his side of the room. “Listen, I can see you’re busy. I’ll just grab a few things and I can-”

“Don’t you want to stay?” she asked. She fluttered her lashes at him. Ugh, usual chick manipulation. How pathetic.

“It’s been a rough night,” he said. “Some stuff happened… for you too, I guess.”

Seriously? He was buying into it?

Like a typical female the demon strolled to his side, and placed a hand on his arm. She would soon learn that men weren’t so pathetic as to fall for a simple touch.

“Want to talk about it?”

Dave eyed her, and her hand. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged, and stepped away. “Just offering a listening ear for a friend. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Next thing she stepped onto the bed, reached for my Ron Paul poster, and… no! She tore it from the wall! It was one of a kind, autographed by the man himself, and she threw it in the garbage! After getting my body back I also expected to have all my things!

My roommate reeled. If anyone knew my admiration for the libertarian ideologue, it was him.

“Are you feeling like yourself?” he asked.

The demon smiled. “I’m a whole new person.”

She got that right.

“Come on,” she said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” She patted the bed beside her as though any self respecting straight man would get that close.
Dave sat on the end of the bed, and then inched closer. What was he doing?

“Heather and I broke up,” he said.

I didn’t care, but the demon nodded. She hung onto every word, from his whining about being an only child dating a girl with five siblings, about her insecurities, and about his insecurities. God, I thought this guy was an alpha. He was so pussywhipped, and he didn’t even know.

“That sounds difficult,” the demon said.

Then she placed a hand on his shoulder, and rubbed it. Like I cared about his stupid feelings! Even though I could feel stirring in my chest, like heartburn or something, there was nothing more insufferable than watching a grown man on the verge of tears.

Dave half smiled, seemingly not caring that he was in the company of a trap. “When did you become such a good listener?”

Like I had any choice.

The demon shifted closer to him, and snaked a hand around his waist. Just when it couldn’t get any more gay she put her head on his shoulder, looked up and asked, “is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

My worst fears came to life when he leaned in for a kiss, and there was nothing I could do to stop him! Our lips parted, and tongues met. He radiated warmth, just like I imagined a girl would. How could this be my first kiss? He wasn’t soft, he wasn’t feminine, and yet a tingle ran under the sickness in my thoughts.

Dave pulled away, and blinked.

“Is something wrong?” the demon asked.

Yes! There was something very wrong!

“I don’t know. This is weird,” he said.

He forgot gay; very, very gay.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” the demon said.

At that point a proper straight man would have stood up, walked away, and never talked about it again, but that wasn’t Dave. Instead he threw himself back into the kiss, addicted to the taste of man-flesh. It didn’t matter how girly my body looked, it was just wrong.

No amount of resistance could stop the demon from melting into his touch, and rolling under his weight on the bed. Worse, she was making me enjoy it, or trying.

She squirmed from under him and off the edge of the bed, where she waited for him on my knees. Dave turned over, unaware of the tent in his shorts that the spirit was fixated on.

No… anything but that…

When he noticed his erection he pulled his legs back. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

The demon bit her lip. “Why?”

Against all reason she leaned into him, guided his legs apart, and pulled the band of his shorts down. From them sprung a thick, fleshy appendage, red and bulging, bigger than the average sized tool I never wanted to compare.

This had to be some kind of nightmare. I was going to wake up any minute. Please God…

The demon shushed me, and then Dave, before leaning in. She wasn’t at all nauseated as she approached the organ, but rather she salivated. Fought as I did to pull away she drew my mouth down, ran my tongue along salt-tasting flesh, breathed in the sweat, and tickled my nose in the plume of hair above his penis.

Next I knew she had my mouth bobbing, up and down, slurping his cock, and of all the nerve even moaned like I was enjoying it!

Dave was slightly more articulate than usual. “Holy… oh fuck! How did you… oh!”

My mouth hurt, but the demon didn’t stop.

It wasn’t until he nutted that she let up, and even then made sure to swallow every single drop of the bitter goop. She even had the gall to smile at him like she was innocent and didn’t understand how dirty she was.

“Wow, um… I…”

The demon climbed onto the bed and kissed him, the dirty whore. “You’re welcome,” she said. Shit, I was being cucked by my own body!

She turned away, and walked to the bathroom. At the very least I was glad she hadn’t taken my virginity properly.

“Give it time,” she whispered.

The nightmare had only just begun.

* * * *

Every day that followed was a new chapter in the horror story of my life. It seemed there was no end to the demon’s depravity as she discovered increasingly novel ways to belittle my manhood.

First it was her treatment of my hair and the application of obnoxious, shining lipstick, but had soon spiraled into making a show of walking glass staircases without any underwear. In a week she had attracted a considerable audience, most of whom were male.

I could feel their eyes, and the way she shivered under them. How could she be aroused by something so disgusting?

It didn’t take long to gain a reputation around campus as some sort of slut. Even the jock types, the first ones to cry ‘fag’ were lined up for blow jobs. I swear I… she… must have sucked the entire health and fitness departments dry. My jaw had gone past aching, and was numb.

The following Friday she’d received an invitation to a frat party. I’d never gone to one before, on account that they were nothing more than an excuse for neanderthals to drink in excess. As a gentleman I considered myself above such things.

“Sounds great,” the demon said.

Of course she didn’t care about the quality of her company, so long as they had cocks to jam down my throat.

Were fortune and power really worth the humiliation?

On the night of the party she had me dressed in next to nothing; booty shorts, a top cut off at the mid-riff, and platform sandals with an open toe. They went perfectly with the hoop earings she stabbed through my earlobes, because the experience was nothing without permanent alteration.

She knocked on the door, and from the second it opened the brothers were pouring themselves over me. They had no control of their hands, and grabbed my chest, ass, and even my crotch.

“You look so fucking sexy,” they said, one after the other.

Ugh.

The demon smirked. “Who’s a girl gotta blow to get a drink around here?”

If I died in that moment I would have been too happy.

For hours she danced, and laughed, and kissed random men who wouldn’t know good conversation if it bit them on the ass. God knows what she ever saw in them, next to their alpha packages, the sight of which filled me with disgust.

It was close to midnight when she climbed the stairs of the frat house. There were at least five of the brothers trailing behind. She lead them to a room at the end of the hall, and to a bed with crimson sheets. The demon fell onto it, and crossed her legs.

Was she going to blow them all? I hated the taste of jizz the first time, and while I was getting used to it taking that many loads was still too much.

“I think I’m getting tired,” she lied.

The guys weren’t happy with that.

“Come on, you didn’t drag us up here to sleep.”

She tossed my hair to one side. “Maybe, maybe not. You could convince me to put out… if you make it worth my while.”

They looked to one another. “How?”

“Fifty bucks,” she said. “Each.”

One of the guys, a large strapping lad named Jody, scoffed. “You’ve been doling out hummers all week, and now you’re charging?”

“Fifty bucks gives you more than that,” she teased. My legs parted, and she turned over, offering them my semi-covered behind.

I was screaming. Of all the times to fight for control, this was it! No matter how hard I tried, nothing. She had my body, and I was strapped in for the ride.

They looked at each other. “All of us?”

She hummed, and nodded.

In the old days when men were men, and folk like myself weren’t in any way considered feminine, a fellow of integrity would have turned around and left the room. Unfortunately for me, America had long since gone down the drain.

A series of fifties flew at my face, and fell to the bed. They grabbed my legs, laid me out on my stomach, and pulled down my shorts. My thong remained to cradle the ill-timed erection, but was pulled to one side when a larger member of the pack pried my cheeks apart.

Something warm and slippery circled around my rear and wormed its way inside. I think it might have been a tongue.

Oh… oh god…

The demon closed her eyes, and all that remained was the probing sensations following my body. I was drowning in a sea of hands groping each and every way, while my own poured down the body of unclothed men.

One of them entered my mouth, impaling me on the taste to which I was fast becoming accustomed, before switching out with another of his brothers. Some were thicker than others, and some were longer, but all were big enough to stuff my throat and leave me gagging. I could almost hear the demon rejoice in the act, like she wanted to bathe in them.

Suddenly there was a presence behind me; something hard pressing at my end. My hole burned as the invader ploughed through the ring of muscle.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

No, no, no, no…

The demon screamed, and tossed back her head. “Yes!”

His cock was agony, but in the demon’s mind gloriously so. I could not resist, despite my best efforts, even when he rammed me to his hilt.

Oh, how far I had fallen; one day I was a man going in his own way, and the next I was prize bitch in the house of cuck. I couldn’t even cry for help, not while the demon screamed “fuck me! Fuck me!”

He rocked me until I was whipped into a haze, barely able to register my surroundings. Then, something strange happened; it started to feel good.

How could I enjoy this perversion? And yet as one man switched out and another entered I became acutely aware of something inside stirring with their movements.

It built for what felt like hours; one college brother after another, having his way with me. I screamed every time they pulled out, and yearned to be filled again.

What was happening to me?

“Fuck me!” the demon screamed.

My legs were trembling, but still I held on. Sweat poured down my body, and the pressure inside mounted. God, I was full, like I needed to piss, but the demon clenched. I begged her, please, please, please let go.

I was hunched over the headboard when my body gave out. For a moment I was afraid she’d wet the bed, but it was something else. My erection exploded, and sprayed sperm across the pillows with all the accumulated force driven into my ass.

A chill ran over my body, my dick fell limp between my legs, and we collapsed onto the bed. I was lost in the haze, so much that I almost felt the demon’s satisfaction.

The string of men, more than the five I’d dragged to the room, took turns at waving their cocks in my face. I was fuck drunk to the point of blindness, and didn’t fight the strings of semen blowing across my hair, my mouth, and my chest. I didn’t even fight when they used my tongue for clean-up.

Was this my life? There was no question I’d lost my virginity.

The demon smiled, and collected her fee.

* * * *

ONE YEAR LATER

I don’t know when it happened, only that one day I woke in a body that no longer belonged to me. The demon had changed things so much that I could no longer recognize the person in the mirror. The tattooed make-up, the long hair, the collagen lips, along with the false breasts that spilled out of every item of clothing she wore was far removed from anything I could have imagined for myself.

Then there were the ‘niche’ alterations; having ribs removed so that I could fellate myself, shortening the tendons in my ankles so I would be forced to prance on tip-toes, and worst of all having my balls clipped. Yeah, she had me castrated, because she thought the empty, hanging sack was ‘cute’, along with the string of men who got off on my emasculation.

Once upon a time I might have called it ‘Hell’, but the human mind has a remarkable ability to adjust. Even a forced-femme dickgirl nightmare could be tolerated given enough time.

Ultimately the demon had delivered on her promise; I was wealthy, and living in an upscale New York apartment. She’d dropped English Lit in favour of sex for cash, moved up to high class escorting, until finally milking a fortune out of a dozen different sugar daddies. With the right investments, and supernatural foresight, she’d accrued resources enough for me to live on for the rest of my life, and then some.

She’d helped me lose my virginity a thousand times over. Though I’d regretted it at first I learned to love the touch of a man, and the things he could stir inside. It was that, or fight every step of the way, and lose. After a while I just wanted to cum too.

Looking in the mirror there was no question whether or not I was desireable. Those curves were good enough to eat off of. If I were anyone else I would have pulled my string bikini off with my teeth.

“Honey, are you ready for more?”

She shimmied my hips as she strolled up the stairs with a pair of mimosas in hand. What can I say? The demon had fine taste, and because of her I was living the high life.

Our lover, Ian, an older gentleman who’d donated a car to our expensive garage, opened his robe and sprung free. How strange it was to see a cock and think it was delicious. Of all the ways to start the day it certainly wasn’t the worst.

She dropped to her knees, stared into his eyes, and took his member in hand. Then, something strange happened.

THE CONTRACT IS COMPLETE, the demon didn’t say.

Suddenly, my body jolted, and I blinked; not the demon. I looked around of my own accord for the first time in a year. Finally, control was mine again!

Ian ran a hand through my hair. “Everything okay, honey?”

I turned back to him, and that handsome face. His body was just as rugged as it had been the first time we met, and his surging erection no less enticing. Shooting him a wicked grin I opened my mouth and engorged his cock.

Life, I decided, was good.

THE END

It wasn’t that Natalie hated Christmas; she could never be that cynical. In the face of blinking lights, baubles, and ornate decoration she stared ahead, and traced the steps between her flat and the office. As far as she was concerned it was a day like any other.

Her hands balled in the pockets of her coat - one pressed against the phone, the other grabbing lint - while she pressed through the carols in the air. She smiled tightly, threw a dollar into a charity bucket without a thought for who they collected, and marched on. How could she begrudge them for trying to spread joy?

And then there were posters featuring snapshots of the season. Santa Claus beamed with rose-coloured cheeks from a billboard, electric train sets behind storefront windows chugged through a scale model Toyland, and of course, there was the nativity; Joseph, Mary, and Christ himself - father and mother, with the child they so adored.

Natalie only looked for a moment, but that was all it took. Her jaw tightened, and she took a deep breath. “One more week, and then it’s over,” she told herself. The holiday would pass, and things would go back to normal.

A wall of heat flew against her as she stepped into a coffee shop. Bright walls and polished wood benches helped to warm her, as did the chatter of strangers absorbing much needed doses of caffeine. The scenery dripped with seasonal spirit, tinsel and fairy lights, but none of that mattered so long as the shop’s aroma swirled around her.

She looked up from the queue and to the specials board, which read ‘LIMITED TIME - GINGERBREAD HOT CHOCOLATE’, followed by the price of each cup. ‘The perfect holiday treat,’ it continued, next to a picture of a gingerbread girl with pigtails, waving as she hung from a candy cane.

It had been years since Natalie had tasted gingerbread, and the thought alone conjured hot, sweet tingles in her mouth. Her mom made it best, not just for Christmas, but all year around. How she wished she could have that again.

Finally, she reached the counter. “Gingerbread hot chocolate, please. Grande, with cream. To go.” The handsome barista took her order and gave her a smile, blissfully unaware of the nostalgia.

Natalie waited by the far counter, and was soon lost in memory. Her parents had divorced when she was in grade school, and she’d spent alternating years between each side of the family; that was until she was fourteen, and her mother was taken by a stroke. It was like a half of her existence vanished overnight.

She was still a boy back then, or trying like anything to appear like one. What would her mom think if she could see how she’d grown? Natalie looked to the outline of her reflection in the window. Her bangs and softened features were a far cry from that child trapped in pubescent hell. Maybe her mother would have been less than comfortable given how much they were alike; or maybe, like her father, she would have thrown her out, cried, and worse. It was impossible to know for sure.

Her attention wandered to the other side of the counter, where the handsome barista whispered pointedly to a woman just slightly older than him. Natalie could barely make out their conversation. “Come on. You’ve got to have something,” he pressed.

His colleague, probably a manager, pursed her lips. “I’ve got everybody vying for holiday shifts. I’m sorry, Caleb. There’s just not enough work to go around.”

“I can either eat or pay rent,” he said. “Come on, Joan. Give me something.”

No matter how hard he pushed she would not, could not budge. She shrugged, wishing there was some other way, meaning this Caleb character was going to be high and dry until the new year. It wasn’t right, and they both knew it.

The handsome barista stifled a frown, and capped the last order. “Natalie?”

Natalie raised her hand, and hesitated as she reached for her order. Poor Caleb. She knew what it was like to starve between paychecks, and was determined to do something.

Opening her purse she counted her notes, the largest of which was a fifty. She paused as she danced between it and the twenty. Did she need it? ‘Only for surgery,’ she thought; the same thing she’d been saving for going on ten years. But while her goal was affirmation, she couldn’t ignore a more immediate demand.

As she took her drink she slid the note toward the barista, and though she barely made eye contact, smiled. “Merry Christmas,” she squeaked, daring only to acknowledge the holiday out of politeness.

Before he could respond she was out in the cold, crunching snow under her boots on the way to work.

* * * *

December twenty-fifth came, and it was a perfectly ordinary day. It was a bank holiday, and while Natalie’s co-workers chose to spend time with family she was determined to spend the day inside a book; perhaps a fantasy novel, with customs far removed from those in the real world.

There was no need for turkey when she there was a leftover curry in the fridge, and a lack of decoration saved her in storage. The new year was only six days away, and one night of drinking with her friends was all the celebration her holiday season called for.

She collapsed onto the sofa in naught but a tee-shirt and leggings, and thought about her father. Was he lonely too? Not that it mattered. He made it more than clear she wasn’t welcome in his life.

Her aunt, Roxanne, had sent her an email. There was nothing from her cousins. What would they even say? It had been years since they’d exchanged words of any kind.

Natalie held open her book, but regardless how many times she glossed over the words she couldn’t pick them up. Her fingers were cold to the touch, despite the reading on the thermostat. She shifted her position on the cushion at least a dozen times. There was something restless in the air; more than her usual discomfort at that time of year.

She jumped at the sound of knocking. At first she thought it was the neighbors, until she realized it was her own door. Crawling from her nest she wondered if someone in the building was lost.

On the other side of the peephole was a young man; handsome, in that rugged kind of way, with curls slicked back, and the faintest five o’clock shadow. He smiled with the widest corners of his mouth, and rocked back and forth where he stood. In one hand he held a basket, filled with mystery treats.

“Hello?”

The stranger stood upright, and grinned with every tooth in his mouth. “Uh, hi! I’m looking for Natalie?”

Natalie held the door ajar, and peeked through. “Yes?”

“You probably don’t remember me,” he chuckled. “I, er, work at a coffee shop about four blocks from here. Last week a woman… I mean, you, gave me a really big tip, and-”

Though skeptical, she opened the door wider. “I remember. Caleb, right?”

“You do remember!”

“Yes,” Natalie said. “Though I don’t remember giving you my address.”

Caleb nodded, and took a step back. “That’s true. I promise I’m not some weird stalker or anything. You don’t even have to see me again after today if you don’t want to. I just wanted to thank you. I’ve never received a tip that big, and it made all the difference.”

“I’m glad I could help. I know what it’s like living hand to mouth.”

He chuckled, kicked his shoe against the carpet in the hallway, and held up the small basket. In it was filled with cookies; gingerbread figures, with gumdrop eyes and buttons, and lips and hair drawn with frosting.

“So I wanted to give you this,” he said.

Natalie blinked, and hesitated before accepting the basket. “You really didn’t have to,” she said.

Caleb shrugged. “I wanted to, so I did. All I ask is one thing in return.” He leaned closer, and Natalie stiffened. “When you take that first bite I want you to close your eyes, and think about the thing that you’ve always wanted but could never have.”

She stepped back, and forced a smile. “Okay.”

“I know it sounds weird,” he said. “Just trust me, okay?”

Trusting strangers bearing gifts didn’t seem like the smartest idea, but Natalie would have agreed to anything to get back inside and lock the door. “Okay. Thank you. I will,” she said. As soon as he was gone those cookies were going in the trash; they might have been drugged, or worse.

Caleb shuffled, and stepped away. “Thank you again, and please, enjoy the cookies. Have a merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, finally acknowledging the day.

As soon as he was gone, Natalie closed the door and exhaled. She cradled her gift, though as thoughtful as it was she had her suspicions, and left them on the counter. Reason told her to get rid of them entirely, but she couldn’t; she wouldn’t. There was just… something.

She returned to her book, and all the futility of reading it, trying to set her mind on anything else. Just knowing that those cookies were there, waiting, left her twitching more than usual. God, she swore she could smell them, like they were straight from the oven.

Finally, she marched into the kitchen, and stared down the basket. “You’re some evil drug cookies, aren’t you,” she reasoned. “I’m going to eat you, pass out, and that Caleb guy is going to come back, and rob me, or worse.”

The gingerbread men said nothing. They just smiled their frosting covered smiles, and invited her to eat their soft brown limbs.

For every step back she took another two forward, and whined. Reason said she must not consume this strange gift, but she wanted to, more than anything. Her resistance in the face of temptation waned like that of a child.

Then, after what must have been an hour of debate, she picked up the gingerbread man from the top and examined it closely. Most unusual was how familiar it was; like the kind her mom used to make. The hair, the nose, even the frosting sleeves were all in the right place. Surely it was a coincidence.

Her lips parted, and the cookie shuddered as though bending into the mouth of a lion. Natalie breathed in the warm cake, and closed her eyes, and as she did she thought about her mom. If she didn’t know any better she would have sworn it was one of hers, and she wished, oh how she wished, that it could have been.

The taste danced on her tongue, tingling as only gingerbread could, prompting a satisfied moan. It was the best cookie she’d ever tasted, bar none. Then, halfway through her second bite, something began to stir.

Natalie leaned against the bench as the world started to tumble. Her body felt warm all over, swimming in the joy of gingerbread, but something was wrong. The room became much larger than it had been before, and she was thrown into a battle to hold her footing.

“I knew those were bad cookies,” she whimpered, and made a dash toward her cell phone on the coffee table. It was in vain, however, as the far end of the living room was suddenly a hundred miles away.

Her leggings slipped off, no longer clinging to her hips, and her t-shirt fell on only one shoulder. What was in that cookie?

At the last moment Natalie turned for the door in the hopes a neighbor would hear her scream. Then she could go to a hospital, get some help, and…

She turned the knob and tumbled into the snow. The world had stopped spinning, but her apartment was gone! Natalie wondered if she was in some sort of a dream, until she turned around. There, she was face to face with a two level suburban home; the same that belonged to her mom so many years ago.

“Oh my god.”

Something was different; her voice! Gone was the soft alto she’d worked so hard to balance, replaced by a squeak unbroken by puberty. She looked down to find she had the hands to match; small hands, still clinging to the last remnants of baby fat.

Had she gone back in time? Natalie stood only to realize that no, this reality was different to the one she’d left behind. It was her mother’s home, but at no point did she ever have a lavender parka, bright pink gumboots, and a high ponytail swishing behind her.

She crawled through the snow, and brushed the dew from her skirt. “What’s happening to me?” she gasped. It was so familiar, but at the same time not.

“Incoming!”

Natalie turned just as the ball of compacted ice flew into her. She crashed in the snow with the wind knocked out of her tiny chest, and looked up to see a pubescent boy hiding behind a tree. From a distance she could have sworn it was her cousin, Mark, without the ‘dad beard’ he showed off on Facebook.

Then, like a backyard ninja a young Thomas appeared from behind, and dropped a snow boulder on his brother’s head. His mad grin was a vision of years gone by, and proof of Natalie’s current circumstance.

She turned to the house, and blinked. It was like staring at a ghost. Though it belonged to another family in her adult life, it had the same stained glass pattern on the door, the same green paint that had since been replaced, and the old swinging wooden seat hanging from the patio roof.

“This can’t be happening…”

Step by step she climbed toward the door. Her little legs made it all the more difficult, stretching higher than she was used to. Mark and Thomas called to her, but she was transfixed on the handle; her breath still, her heartbeat raging out of control until she turned the knob and stepped into the hearth by the stairs.

From around a corner she spied her Aunt Roxy, dressed in jeans and a tacky Christmas sweater, swirling a glass of red in her hand. She leaned on the kitchen bench, and giggled to the person unseen across from her.

“You know I can’t wait until those boys are grown,” she lamented. “Mark my words, I’m going to travel Europe. London, Madrid, Berlin, all of it. The whole continent is going to be my oyster.” She couldn’t have known how prophetic her words were, or that she’d meet an older man in Denmark who would become her third, and she eventually swore, final husband.

She inched nearer, and spied a blond haired man also wearing a gaudy sweater darting back and forth from the cutlery drawer. “Beep beep,” he chuckled, swaying his hips to avoid collusion. Natalie knew him; Daniel, her mother’s boyfriend. He was a nice enough guy, but they were never as close as they could have been. After the funeral he went on with his own life, and she with hers.

Natalie stopped when she heard the voice that had sung her to sleep for so many years. “You should take the boys. It’ll open their eyes,” she said.

Aunt Roxy laughed. “Drag two kids across Europe? No thanks. If it’s all the same to you, I want the unfettered experience of a free woman.” She turned and noticed Natalie standing there. At five seven it was the only time Roxy ever seemed tall in the girl’s eyes. “What are you doing here? Food’s not ready for at least thirty minutes,” she chided gently.

“Let her stay,” the other woman said. She leaned back from the stove, and beamed down. “Are you okay, sweetpea?”

She was just as Natalie remembered; straight, dark hair hanging around her face, a tight smile with deep, concave dimples on either cheek, and warm, brown eyes the colour of earth. It was as if an entire lifetime of memory had been condensed into one moment, where only the best of her mother shone.

The trapdoor inside her chest fell open. Natalie couldn’t hold back the fat, ugly tears spewing down her face. How, after all this time, was she face to face with a woman she’d been forced to leave behind?

Her Mom signalled to Roxanne to take over cooking, while she bent down and wrapped her daughter tight in her arms. Nails gently scratched the back of her neck, soothing the girl the way she would during her childhood.

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Natalie squeezed for all the strength her little arms had, and begged between sobs that the moment would never, ever end.

* * * *

The table was set with enough food for an army battalion, though there were only the six of them. Mashed potatoes, yams, green beans and corn floated on plates around the centrepiece; a great roast turkey almost half the size of the girl in front of it.

Natalie could hardly remember the last time she’d sat down for a meal like this. Over the years friends and colleagues had invited her to family events, and on the few times she indulged them she was an outsider, like David Attenborough filming wildlife. As sweet as they were there was no connection, leaving her more empty than she was before.

But this was different; this was her family. Daniel sat at the head of the table, her mother next to him, while Natalie sat beside her with Aunt Roxy on the other end. Mark and Thomas sat across from her, and had only just sat down when they started flinging peas at each other.

Once they were settled, everyone took hands and bowed their heads, except for Natalie. Her digits were so small in her mother’s palm, which was just as soft and as warm as she remembered it. That silk touch was everything she ever wanted, but how could it be real? Less than an hour before she was a grown woman, alone in her apartment, reading a novel and trying to pass the day.

Daniel broke the silence. “Lord, we thank you for the bounty we are about to receive, and give thanks to the many hands who helped to bring it here. We ask that you bestow grace and compassion on those less fortunate, and to give us the wisdom and courage to serve your will. Amen.”

The table echoed, “Amen.”

Natalie was quiet through the carving of the turkey, and didn’t reach for the food. The last time she prayed was with her father, and once he was gone she had no more use for it. Yet there she was, a daughter in the heart of a miracle. Was this an answer to a prayer she never dared to speak?

“What’s the matter, sweetpea? Aren’t you hungry?” Her mother scooped up her plate and took samples of everything, enough to satisfy a seven year old girl. She then poured Natalie some sparkling apple juice in a champagne glass that as a small child made her feel so adult.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

Her Mom raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What do you say?”

“Please,” she said. That, also, was a relic from her childhood.

“You may,” her Mom said, smiling and cupping the girl’s cheek. “And don’t forget to wash your hands, alright?”

“I won’t.”

She scuttled down the hall, through the laundry and into the ensuite on the other side. As soon as the door was locked Natalie yanked her tights down along with her underwear. Sure enough, her transformation had been absolute.

“I have to know what was in that cookie,” she muttered, and dressed herself again.

Natalie decided if she were in a dream it was the most vivid she’d ever had. Not only was she aware of her situation, but the finer details; the electric charge of her fingers gliding across her arms, and the absence of fine hair across them. Every smell, every sensation, was just like that of her old home, down to the grubby handprints her younger self left on the walls.

It had to be a dream, and not a memory, because no matter how exact the detail she was still wrong. On her way back to the dinner table she caught her reflection in the mirror at the back of her grandmother’s china cabinet. The seven year old staring back was not the one of her childhood; the long hair and dress was a fantasy, and nothing more.

Her fists tightened. Why couldn’t it be real? It was like some beautiful form of torture. Would she still have eaten the cookie if she’d known what would happen?

“Come on, sweetpea. You need to eat,” her mom called.

Natalie steeled herself, and scampered back to the table. She climbed the chair the same way she once would have a high fence, and stared down the portion on her plate. It smelled warm and rich, with a layer of thickened gravy pooling at the bottom. The pieces of meat had already been cut into bite size chunks, ready for her to skewer with a fork.

Her mom turned and gave a knowing smile. It was the little things once forgotten that came flooding back, and sent warm shivers down the girl’s body.

Mark kicked the underside of the table, despite the numerous warnings from others. His frown deepened with every orbit of his food in the gravy. “Can we open our presents yet?”

“Yeah, presents!” Thomas echoed.

Aunt Roxy leveled them with her eyes. “After we’ve finished eating.”

“But I’m already finished,” Mark whined. He peered to his cousin across the table. “Come on, Nat. Don’t you want to know what Santa got you?” His eyebrows waggled, as though the name was supposed to excite her.

“I don’t believe in Santa,” she said, though without her usual conviction. In this dream place who could say that he didn’t exist?

“Why not?” Mark pressed.

“I just don’t, okay?”

Natalie’s mother reached beside her, and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. The effect was instant, soothing the hairs on standing on the back of her neck. “Santa Claus isn’t for everyone,” she said. “Natalie never took a liking to him. That’s all.”

The girl exhaled. She couldn’t remember the last time somebody stood up for her. In the adult world it might have been condescending, but it was okay if it was her mom; she, of all people, understood, and always had.

Mark bounced in his chair. “But, but… presents!”

“After we’ve eaten,” Roxy said with finality in her voice.

Both boys rolled their eyes and turned back to the meal, though how they could be bored by such rich and flavorsome food was a mystery, especially to Natalie.

She took a scoop of mash with her fork, lifted it to her lips, and savored the creamy texture. Then she turned to her mother, whose watch was fixed on her, as was her smile, and she blushed.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered.

Her mother said nothing, but with a glance gently encouraged her to continue eating. Natalie did so, happily. Dream or not, she wouldn’t pull herself away.

* * * *

The boys sprinted to the corner of the living room where there stood a plastic tree with flecks of painted snow. It was modestly decorated, with bulbs in sapphire, silver, and ruby red, and a spiral of golden tinsel reaching the angel on top. Underneath was an array of presents through which Mark and Thomas sifted; anything without their names on it was cast across the floor.

Daniel followed immediately after, assigning himself the role of ‘Santa Claus’ and telling the boys to wait their turn. He tried his best to deny any knowledge when they pointed to a larger box.

“What makes you think you’re getting a Nintendo?” he shrugged.

Natalie stayed with her mom, and even helped her carry away the dishes. Wherever she went the girl was two steps behind. Dream or not, she wasn’t going to go far, nor was she going to say anything to spoil the mood.

When they finally made their way to the sofa Natalie sat on the floor between her mother’s legs, and lay her head on her knee. This, she decided, was the only present that mattered.

“Are you okay, sweetpea?” her mother asked. Natalie nodded to her. “Just feeling clingy, huh?”

Roxanne laughed. “They’re cute at that age. Such a pity they have to grow up.”

The girl cringed. If she was in a dream she’d soon have to wake up, and she’d be alone again. She prayed it wouldn’t end; giving up her old life would be a small price if it meant holding onto the only family she cared about.

Mark and Thomas got their Nintendo - one of the old systems that would soon become a collectors dream - along with some new winter clothes, and some action figures; Daniel received a Harley Davidson model kit and some cologne, and Roxy some exotic coffee grinds along with tickets to ‘Cats’. Even Natalie’s mom gained a number of new CDs for her collection, and raced across the room to play some Tori Amos.

She soon returned, and Natalie’s mom reached down to cup her shoulders. “You haven’t opened any of yours, sweetpea. Go on.”

Natalie pried herself away to accept the parcel Daniel handed to her. Christmas was not as magical for her; none of her wishes came true. Even after giving up on ‘boy’ gifts, people struggled to buy for her, and usually relied on gift cards or cash.

Thinking nothing of it, Natalie shredded the red paper to reveal the plastic pony underneath, with a synthetic mane and tail, opposable limbs, and an array of clips, combs and bows with which to decorate. In another life Natalie had thought of buying one on the internet, though by then she was an adult. To suddenly have a dream denied in her little hands brought tears to her eyes.

Her mom beamed down to her. “Don’t act so surprised. You’ve been asking all month,” she said, and knelt down to wrap her arms around the girl. “Merry Christmas, sweetpea. Do you like it?”

Natalie nodded more times than she had to, and pulled the toy from the plastic. “Do you want to play with me?” she asked.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

* * * *

The afternoon settled, and while the boys were distracted by Super Mario, Daniel and Roxanne took charge of cleaning. Meanwhile, Natalie had a chance to curl up with her mom on the sofa, and brushed the hair of the plastic pony in front of her. She bunched the hair with the bows and clips, and arranged it every which way.

“Why don’t you give her some braids?” her mother asked.

Natalie blushed, and stared at her feet. She was twenty seven in the real world, living as a woman for ten of them, and the most interesting thing she knew to do with hair was curl it in a bun. Her cheeks burned hotter with embarrassment when she admitted she didn’t know how.

Of course, her mom held no judgment. She just smiled and said, “would you like me to show you how?”

The girl nodded, and sat between her mother’s legs while she reached over and combed the pony’s tail into three strands. She crossed them left over middle, right over middle, left over middle, right over middle, weaving a pattern the girl struggled to follow.

Natalie attempted the braid herself, and only had to be shown twice more before making sense of it. Her face lit up with pride when she found her rhythm, and continued to beautify her new toy.

“Left over middle, right over middle, left over middle…”

The mother combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair, sending a shiver down her neck. “Would you like me to give you a braid?” she asked.

How many hours had Natalie spent fantasizing about moments like these? It was a life she was once not allowed, of a parent passing sacred knowledge of the feminine to her child. Her body tensed; no matter how many years had passed, it still seemed forbidden.

She nodded, granting permission to run the brush through her hair. As a child the strands were softer, and less prone to knotting. Her mother’s hands were delicate and aware, imparting more on the girl than simple touch would alone.

Natalie inhaled and stilled her breath, as though wanting to hold the moment forever.

Finally, she opened her mouth, and let out a tiny squeak. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetpea?”

Her jaw hung open. Words escaped her, until finally she found some. “I’m really glad we could have this,” she said.

“Me too, baby.”

Natalie tensed, but quickly melted again under each pass of the brush. “I love you,” she said.

Her Mom put the brush down, ran her palm over the back of the girl’s head, and leaned forward to kiss her crown. She was always so delicate. “I love you too, Natalie,” she said, “heart, mind, body, and soul; more than anything else in the whole wide world. Never ever forget that.”

The girl leaned back, and fell into her mother’s embrace. Tears fell, matched only by the width of her smile. It ached, as though her cheeks would shatter, but Natalie didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, she was home.

* * * *

The day drew into dusk, and the sun sunk behind the suburban landscape. From the swinging chair on the porch it was the perfect view, and Natalie’s mom had drawn her out to enjoy it with her.

She pulled the girl into her lap, and let her head rest under her collar. Even through the winter layers they were still connected, and sharing their warmth. The bond between them held over the years between two bodies that were once joined.

Natalie closed her eyes, and drew closer. She’d push the air between them if she could, so long as they were together. She nestled into a ball under her mother’s arm and sighed, feeling more of her former life slip away.

“I remember when I used to sit out here and read in the springtime, and how just before the sun would go down you’d come running up those stairs,” the older woman said. “You always smiled, but I knew something was hurting you. I just thought it was you growing up.”

With eyes wide open Natalie turned and glared at her. “Mom…?”

She reached to cup the girl’s cheek, and smiled. “Did you think I forgot?” she chuckled dryly. Tears sizzled down her cheeks, and inspired her daughter to do the same. “I’ve been watching you from afar, for all your life. Oh, my poor, sweet girl. I wish I would have known.”

Natalie gasped, and tripped over her words. “So you know that I… that…”

“You’re a girl,” her mother said. “You’re my girl, and that’s all that’s ever mattered. I’m so proud of you for making it real.” She leaned her brow against her daughter and hummed. “I am so proud of the woman you’ve become, and always will be.”

Natalie pulled back, and sat on her knees. The people, the surroundings; they all seemed so real. Suddenly, she began to tremble.

“You’re… you’re only a dream…”

Her mother pulled closer, and took her hands. “No, sweetpea. This place is a dream. The people inside are a dream, but I’m… I’m…”

“She’s real,” said another voice.

Natalie turned to the handsome barista at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a soft smile with his hands buried in his pockets. He kicked a clump of snow from the path, forced a grin, and then turned away.

“It’s not her body, but her spirit,” Caleb explained. “This is your actual mother, Natalie. Enjoy this. Please.”

The girl trembled, so much that she couldn’t form words. “Then you… know…”

“I had a stroke,” her mother continued. “My body failed, and the universe took us away from each other.” She held onto Natalie for dear life, and ran her glove over her hair. “And I’ve been watching you this whole time, wishing I could reach out; and now we’re together, even if it’s only for a day.”

Natalie bolted upright. “You mean I have to leave?”

Caleb cleared his throat. “Your Mom is real, but this world isn’t, Natalie. This is only a mystic halfway point. It doesn’t last.”

“Listen.” Her Mom stroked the loose hair from her braid. “We’re going to see each other again, sooner rather than later. I promise.”

Natalie sniffled. “You mean, like, in the afterlife?”

The older woman smiled. “Maybe even sooner than that. Who can say?” She stood from the seat and guided her daughter toward the stairs. “Just promise me that you’ll be good, and that you’ll keep making me proud.”

“Do I really have to go?”

Caleb offered his hand. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“You don’t get to call me that,” the little girl snapped with all the cadence of her older self. The barista mock frowned, while her mother laughed.

“I love you, Natalie,” her Mom said.

Suddenly, like an oil painting in the rain the colors of the world started to bleed. They ran into the ether, wiping the canvas clean until only Natalie and her mysterious benefactor remained.

She screamed to the vacant steps, “I love you, Mom! I miss you! Every day!”

And then there was nothing; not even white.

* * * *

It was dark when Natalie stirred, save for the lamp beside her sofa, and the glow of the space heater. A warm odor tempted her from where she lay; steaming chocolate in a mug sitting on the coffee table. She sat upright, but stopped when she saw the toy pony, complete with brushes, clips and bows sitting beside it.

Grabbing the toy, she made sure to inspect every facet, just to be certain that it was, in fact, real. Even more peculiar was the braid in it’s tail, wrapped in the same pink bow she’d used in the dream; assuming it was a dream.

“How...?”

Under the mug of chocolate that had no business being hot there was a note. It read: ‘I thought you could use this to help finish your cookie. I hope the day was everything you needed it to be. See you around, maybe. Merry Christmas. -Caleb.’

Natalie picked up the headless cookie that had fallen by the wayside, and considered it carefully. Eager to return to the dream, she took another bite, but whatever magic it held had passed. Instead she leaned back, and enjoyed the warm spices that tickled her tongue.

Through the ceiling, past the upstairs apartments, and far up in the heavens she wondered if her mother was watching, and if she really was as proud as she said. Considering her mystery gift Natalie decided that yes, it was all true, regardless of how unlikely it seemed.

“Merry Christmas,” she wished to nobody in particular, and smiled more broadly than she ever had.

He thinks I don’t notice. It’s in his eyes and the stillness of his breath, hidden behind ravenous sex so meek that anyone else might fail to notice. After three years of marriage, and another two of dating on top of that, there’s very little I can’t see.

There have been other men, but none so meticulous. Nobody worships my body like he does. At first I thought my then husband-to-be was simply the sensuous type, as in the kind one thought only existed in dollar pulp romance novels sat spine up in a bin by thrift store counter. But time reveals the cracks, and in the end only truth remains.

He touches me with a craftsman’s care, and with the same appreciation. His trail follows between my breasts and up my sides, and into the erogenous corners that often go forgotten. Fucking is the last thing on his mind, no matter how I stir.

My thoughts curl into fog. Arousal makes the air thick in my chest. I fall for him all over again, and almost forget…

With every kiss he whispers to me, ‘I love you,’ over and over, maybe a dozen times. His words are heavy with promise; with duty, devotion, and more. In the moment he is a slave to my desire.

A cold pang shakes me from my arousal long enough to see him attend the inside of my thighs. Is it passion, or is it desperation? There’s no questioning his absolute intent, only his motive.

‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,’ he says, and I believe him. No feat too great, no pain too unbearable, though I would never ask for him to suffer. Still, an invisible weight drags on him, whether he knows or not.

It is usually at this point when things change gears; where he would move between my legs and drive inside me, and work until sweat drips from his brow and onto my bare stomach. His raw strength makes me cum so hard every time, enough to make me spray the sheets. Then he would collapse with me in his arms, and I would be there, waiting for him to return from behind glassy eyes.

This time I stop. I sit up, gently guide his head from the cleft of my thighs, and cup his cheek. It’s been a week since his last shave, and the hairs are beginning to soften.

‘Baby…’

His shoulders stiffen like an animal trapped in a corner. He searches me for hurt, for displeasure, or worst of all, for anger. To fail in his role as lover, to him, is the greatest sin. Perhaps it’s the same for me as well.

‘Harder? Softer?’ A nervous twitch betrays him.

All I needed was to ask, and he would tend to my any wish; the greedier the better. I speak, and he obeys.

How many nights had we laid there with me staring down at him while my husband fixed on the ceiling? He would never deny my touch, but didn’t savor the fingertip tracing shapes through his chest hair.

He can never look me in the eyes; the shame is always too heavy. Instead he seeks out my lips and attempts to reignite our passion. Sex is his way of saying he still wants me, same as he did when we first met, and in the morning the darkness would be gone; until the next time.

I ask in a whisper, ‘what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ His answer is faster than expected.

My touch curls under his chin and guides him into my gaze. He remains balanced on his arms, trembling as I draw him closer. If it were anyone else he would run for the hills. I hush him and make myself soft; hopefully enough to counter the shame tugging at his heels.

‘You promised you would do anything,’ I said. His eyes repel from mine, and I pull him back. There’s a storm inside his chest, and I stare down the eye. I ask him, gently but firmly, never looking away, ‘did you mean it?’

‘Always,’ he says, and it’s the truth.

‘Then tell me. Please.’

My lover’s brow twists in torment. He cannot face me, though he wants to.

‘Nothing you say will ever make me stop loving you,’ I say. ‘Even if you hurt me, I don’t think it’s possible.’

He shakes his head.

‘What is it?’

There are tears now, and the words of his father pressing him to be a man. He leans in to distract me with his lovemaking, but I lift his chin. It is only because I love him that I do not allow him to flee.

Finally words climb the lump in his throat. ‘You’re just… so… beautiful,’ he says. Never have the words been so agonising to hear.

I cup his cheek and whisper, ‘what does that mean?’

My husband trembles like a child, and winces as though awaiting punishment. What pain must haunt him. He steels himself, and hides behind the veneer of his manhood. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘But I want to understand,’ I say. ‘Please.’

He faces me, and I see the same yearning and ache he ignores except during the most vulnerable moments, and even now struggles to hide it. His mouth hangs open as he chokes on the words.

‘I wish… I could be…’

Suddenly it falls into place. The endless desire was so much more than I could have imagined.

I pull him into a passionate kiss and roll him onto his back. Oh, if I could only dissipate the pain with my love, but it would need so much more than that. In my arms I see him for the fragile thing that he is, and how strong he’s had to be.

The spring of tears is flowing now, seemingly endless down his cheeks. ‘Baby, I’m so sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry?’ I whisper, and smirk as I lay on my side and gesture to my naked body. ‘Who wouldn’t want to be this beautiful, hmm?’

For the first time he laughs, even if it is in spite of himself. Never before had he dared to hope.

‘It’s stupid,’ he says. ‘Forget it.’

But he can’t hide her, no matter how he tries. Now that I know she is as bright as day, like some fresh faced princess screaming from the window of a dungeon tower. His mouth is clasped shut, but she is so loud.

‘Don’t run from this,’ I say. ‘Do you want to be beautiful like I am?’

My husband appears trapped in a corner, but answers honestly. ‘Yes.’

‘As in you’d like to be a beautiful woman?’

No words this time, only a nod.

I cup his cheek and pull his face to my breast. He’s like a ragdoll in my arms. ‘Can I ask how long you’ve wanted this?’

‘For as long as I can remember,’ he says.

Together we stare down a well of possibility of what this could mean. Is my husband in actuality my wife waiting to be realized? Or perhaps it’s simpler than that; that he, maybe she, is my lover, in pain, too weary even to beg.

Well, no longer.

I run my fingers down his chest, careful to avoid the hairs, and to the mounds of fatty tissue already there. It takes little imagination to transform them into breasts, or kneed them as such. My lover gasps; it’s the first time she’s ever been touched that way.

‘You know I can see it,’ I say. ‘You already are my beautiful girl. In time I know you’ll see it too.’

There are more tears, this time of relief. How could I do anything but treasure this new vulnerability? Things will change as they are meant to, but not my love for her.

“Mama…”

She doesn’t say the words, but you still hear them: “not now, sweetie. Mama’s busy.”

You know better than to reach out for her. Your hands are already stinging. Better to keep them by your side where they can’t annoy anybody.

Still, the need aches at you.

“I told you, I’m busy,” she doesn’t say.

You try to be a good girl and pull away, but your heart doesn’t listen; it still reaches out despite knowing it’s not allowed.

The yelling gets louder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was busy. Stop being a bother.”

You hold the need inside your chest, dragging it away kicking and screaming.

She doesn’t need you. Why can’t you just do what she says and leave her alone? Sit in your room by yourself and play with your toys. You’ve got no excuse to feel lonely.

Yet you can’t stop yourself.

“Bad girl,” she doesn’t say.

“Bad girl,” you echo, because that’s what you are.

You shouldn’t need her like that. You should be content in yourself. You shouldn’t need to hold and to soothe, because everyone else has grown out of that.

What is wrong with you?

“I just want my mama,” you whisper.

It feels like such a small request, to have a family that loves you, just like everybody else; but she doesn’t.

She tolerates your presence, and you should be grateful.

You pull away, and you hide. At least in the real world you never have to bother her.

In your chest she still follows you, and you can’t help yourself.

“I’m busy,” she doesn’t say. “Take your need somewhere else.”

I’m trying, Mama.

The hole punched through space with a mighty boom. Large rings undulated around the corridor with mysterious, alien function. They opened into a great rock cavern supported by pylons. It lead to a polished floor adorned with trophies of battles past. These were the first steps into a secret home of superheroes, tucked away under Mount Justice.

Robin stepped through the portal, unfazed. Fantastic technology from distant worlds had long since become mundane in his world. Like many things it was a privilege that came with working under the Justice League. It was a privilege he could take for granted.

He marched with purpose toward the conference table. Around it were chairs marked with individual emblems. His gold lined cape swished behind him. To look on him one might have noticed a brow contorted with concern, visible even through his domino mask. He stopped and he sighed.

The Boy Wonder’s call echoed through the chamber. ‘Alright, Kon! I’m here!’

Something wasn’t right. Being summoned to an empty headquarters alone was often precursor to a trap. It wouldn’t be the first time they attacked. The Secret Society of Super-Villains, the Legion of Doom, or the Injustice Gang; all found found their way in at one point. He slipped a batarang from his sleeve in case.

A gust of wind blew from the upper platform, and a solitary figure levitated above the ground. ‘Geez, Rob. Loosen up, would you?’

Robin blinked. They dressed like Superboy, and spoke like him, though didn’t sound or look like him. The smirk was unmistakably Kon-El, but different. In place of the Boy of Steel was a girl with sweeping raven locks hanging above her neck. She wore a fishnet stockings with a red pleated skirt and a shredded Superman tee. Top top it off she wore Kon’s patent ‘S’ leather jacket.

The Boy Wonder could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Oh no.’

She landed on the floor of the HQ, legs apart, hands on hips, and grinned. ‘Oh yes!’ she chirped. ‘Say hello to the brand new Grrrl of Steel, Connie Kent! That’s my secret identity, by the way. Don’t spread it around.’

Robin frowned, which for those who knew him was typical. ‘Kon, how did this happen?’

‘Connie,’ she retorted, ‘and it was the weirdest thing! You know kryptonite, yeah?’

‘Yes, I’m familiar with kryptonite and how it works.’

Supergrrrl giggled. ‘Well, you know there’s green kryptonite, but there’s also red kryptonite and gold kryptonite. And blue kryponite that only works on Bizarro. It turns out there’s also pink kryptonite, and nobody knew what it did before Metallo used it as a power source.’

‘And now Metallo is also a woman,’ Robin said.

‘Nope. Still a dude. A very pissed off dude since I tore off his arms and dropped him on Stryker’s Island. At first I thought the pink K was harmless, but when I woke up the next day…’

She gestured to her chest. By some miracle it had developed overnight, along with several other features. With a clinician’s sensibility Robin inspected ‘Connie’s’ form. Her jawline had softened, and her appendages were leaner. Contours rounded developing hips, and no mistaking the moderate swell of her chest. The transformation was a marvel in itself.

‘Okay,’ Robin said. ‘We can fix this. Let me make a few calls-’

‘Way ahead of you, Rob. Big Blue has Dr. Midnite and S.T.A.R Labs working around the clock, but I’m in no hurry.’

Robin found his chair around the conference table. Thanks to Impulse crossed out the bat symbol on the rear. In its place featured a symbolic ‘R’ scribbled on top with red marker.

‘So you’re comfortable like this,’ he said.

Connie shrugged. ‘I was born in a test tube. Technically I’m less than three years old. Cadmus gave me basic knowledge; speech, reading, writing, math, all that. But what they couldn’t give me was experience. I’m still only finding myself, Rob! Shouldn’t I be free to explore how the other half lives?’

‘But you could be stuck like this…’

‘Worst case scenario is Cissie, Cassie, Secret and I have something new in common,’ she said. ‘Besides…’

She sauntered toward his chair, causing the Boy Wonder to stir.

‘On no…’

Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, Rob. Wouldn’t you do the same in my shoes?’

‘I’m sure I have no idea,’ he said.

The Grrrl of Steel knelt beside Robin’s seat and gently took his hand. She removed his hard leather glove and traced his fingers with her own delicate digits. ‘Come on, Tim,’ she whispered. ‘It’s because I trust you. I… I want to make the most of this.’

Robin was tempted in spite of himself. The sight of a woman with sparkling blue eyes inviting him to share an encounter was like something out of a dream. That she was the former Superboy didn't seem to matter. His mouth fell open, and he realized the sweet smell of this new body. Was she wearing perfume? Her lengthened hair smelled like apple and vanilla conditioner.

It wasn’t reason that drew them together, but the taste of her lips that locked them in place. Their kisses lapped over one another. Tongues stealing gentle licks. A part of Tim wanted to curse Connie to putting him in this position; another was thirsty for more.

Their passion burned between the conference room and the bunks. Somewhere along the way Robin discarded the extra weight of his cape. Supergrrrl lost her jacket. It was only when he bounced on the soft bed that Tim remembered himself. In the handful of romances he’d shared there came a point where he had to restrain himself. Then there was Connie, straddled on top of him, begging for the floodgates to burst.

Crossing her arms in front of her, Connie peeled off her t-shirt and flung it to the far end of the room. Tim drank in the sight of her breasts - real breasts. Small but still heavy handfuls hung from her chest, same as any other girl. Hypnotized by the swollen areola, Tim all but licked his lips for those rounded points.

Supergrrrl grinned. ‘You like them, huh? Pink K is potent stuff.’

Tim’s hand trembled as she guided it upward. The curve of his palm ran on the underside of her chest, and savored the fullness of her. Connie hummed. His touch was electric, and sent her thoughts spiraling as his thumb brushed her nipple. She pulled his hand closer, harder, but always Tim remained gentle, as though she would break.

The Grrrl of Steel paused. ‘You want this too, don’t you?’

‘I-I do,’ Tim said, ‘but... I’ve never done anything like this before…’

‘You mean I’m your first?’ Connie asked.

Tim nodded. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact. Rather he was hesitant of the sudden reality.

Connie smiled. She reached to pull the mask from his eyes. Tim didn’t resist, though his nakedness prompted a gasp.

‘You’re holding back.’

Tim’s eyes clamped shut. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’

‘Whatever you decide is the right thing,’ Connie said. ‘There’s no way for you to screw this up, so long as your heart is in it.’

She learned down to reignite their kiss and drew his arms around her. Tim soon found his confidence. Gentle strokes down Connie’s back turned to the hungry pawing of her shoulders. Soon they turned to scratches down her side. The Grrrl of Steel moaned with the sensation. He was ready.

With a single touch the clips of Robin’s body armor flew open. Connie’s tactile telekinesis projected through his body. Cumbersome attire flew to the farthest corners of the room. Tim lay sprawled on the bed in only his underclothes, offering the Grrrl of Steel access to his body.

A coy grin flashed as she moved down the length of him, never once breaking eye contact. Connie’s thumbs flirted with the band of Tim’s jockey shorts, prompting him to release a nervous grasp. She relished every moment of this new experience, and the million turns across Robin’s face.

His cock sprung free. It was hard and aching with its purple head stretching toward the sky. One touch might have been enough to send him over the edge, so Connie made sure to be gentle. Her lips tasted sweat and flesh as she planted kisses along his shaft. Delicate fingers ran up and down to tease the pulsing muscle.

Tim moaned and clutched the sheets. His face contorted in agony and ecstasy.

‘Let me do all the work,’ Connie purred.

The Boy Wonder nodded emphatically and let go of the sheets. His fingers wrapped in Connie’s black hair. He guided her, not forced her, to the pulsing head she had gone down to seek. When her tongue swirled around him it came with a burst of sensation. Arousal welled inside of Tim’s abdomen, like a storm knocking against a dam wall.

Connie’s fingers gripped his cock and slid up and down in time with her lover’s breathing. She slurped and she worked with the enthusiasm of girls she’d seen on the internet. It was a first for Tim as it was for her, and nothing could hold her back. Soon she released her grip, and gulped as her throat took him. Connie held her breath and went down so far that his wiry public hair tickled her nose.

His body tensed. ‘I’m going to-’

Supergirl pulled back and smiled. ‘Cum for me.’

And he did. For the first time Robin shared this part of himself with another. A viscous rope of semen flew into the cave between Connie’s lips. Then another, followed by the slow dribble she squeezed from his cock.

Connie considered the taste on her tongue, and strange though it was she remained thankful for it. Her sparkling blue eyes beamed at Robin and she swallowed.

Tim caught his breath. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is hot.’

‘Two words, Boy Wonder,’ she said. Connie ascended the length of his body until they were face to face. Her dangling breasts burned as she pressed into Robin’s chest. He didn’t resist when her lips met his and pried them apart, sharing the taste of what she had received. He blinked, she giggled. ‘Pineapple juice.’

Tim smirked. Pineapple juice, of course. If girls were going to drink his cum the least he could do was sweeten the deal for them.

‘Yes, ma’am!’

With renewed enthusiasm Tim guided Connie over him and leaned into her chest. He lapped at her breasts, taking greedy mouthfuls of the soft, warm flesh. Goose pimples ran down the Grrrl of Steel’s arms. She pulled him closer, and guided his mouth toward her nipple.

It was a new sensation. His feminine transformation enhanced the experience a hundred fold. Tim flicked his tongue on the points of her swollen chest. Nothing that ever ached did so in such a delicious way.

‘Are you sure you’ve never done this before?’ she teased.

Robin clasped her thighs and pulled. Supergrrrl went crashing into the mattress with a delighted squeal. The Boy Wonder pressed between her legs and went on a journey of his own, moving down, down, down. Kisses and scratches marked the trail to Connie’s arousal. They ran down her ribs, the dip of her stomach, and to the curve of her hip. It wasn’t until lifting her skirt that Tim had reason to pause.

Connie lifted her head. ‘What is it?’

‘You, uh…’ Robin stared between her legs with the same cool, clinical gaze he’d entered with. Words failed him. ‘The pink kryptonite…’

Connie blushed. ‘Yeah. It missed a spot.’

Robin assumed the pink kryponite meant a complete transformation. Such things were not alien to his experience, after all. Yet he remained surprised, confused, by the bulge in Connie’s white cotton panties.

‘That’s not a turn off, is it?’

Tim shook his head. ‘I… I-I don’t know.’

‘It’s just a piece of skin,’ she explained. ‘Not like it was before. It’s smaller now, and doesn’t even get hard. In a weird way it’s as girl-like as the rest of this body.’

The Boy Wonder grimaced at this newfound knowledge. Logic made backflips through this new avenue of reality. Batman had taught him much about biology and reproduction. He'd also offered a few insights on the shapes human sexuality could take. But at no point did Tim expect to navigate such a situation first hand.

Connie stroked his hair. ‘Do you want to stop?’

Tim leaned closer. Though face to face with a panty-clad penis it remained an entirely feminine organ. Despite all reason it was at home on Connie’s female shape, and it was no less enticing than the rest of her.

A smile broke across his face. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… no, I don’t want to stop.’

Somewhere between curiosity and lust Tim found the nerve to slide her underwear down. Connie’s lazy dick hung to one side. Her skin held her tiny balls close to her body. The flesh was soft in his fingers, almost silky. The more he touched, the greater the urge to place it in his mouth.

It wasn’t an aggressive organ, not at all like he imagined most cocks to be. Instead it was a lazy treat for him to slurp on. Tender, with a musky smell not like his own. As Tim swallowed to its base it only fit half his mouth; not that he was complaining. Connie hummed and ran her nails through his hair like he had in her position.

‘You are so beautiful with a dick in your mouth,’ she said.

Tim’s chest swelled with pride. So long as she was enjoying herself he need not feel guilty enjoying himself. Gay, straight, none of that mattered in the company of his beautiful lover. He lapped on the Grrrl of Steel, rolling his tongue around. He smiled at her body’s half-hearted attempts to become erect.

‘That feels amazing,’ Connie hummed, ‘but we should try something else.’

The limp, tiny organ fell from the Boy Wonder’s pouting lips. Had he done something wrong? Supergrrrl stroked his cheek and lifted his chin with a finger.

‘I want you inside me,’ she said.

With those words Tim was hard again.

‘You mean… anal?’

‘I have lube,’ Supergrrrl said. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to try it?’

He shrugged. ‘I guess I’ve never thought about it.’

‘And here I thought Superman was the boy scout,’ Connie teased.

She sat on her knees to remove her skirt. Tim drank in the sight of Connie, naked save for the fishnet stockings gripping her lower thighs. He followed when she guided him upright. With an assuring smile she placed a tube in his hand and crawled onto all fours.

‘Wh-what do I do?’ Tim asked.

Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Jeez, Rob. You squeeze the lube out, rub it around my hole, use your fingers to loosen me up a bit-’

‘And then stick it in,’ he said. ‘Have you ever done this before?’

The Grrrl of Steel pursed her lips. ‘Nope. Now do it before I chicken out.’

Even she was nervous. Taking it in the ass? Once that might have been a joke, but now there was a need - a need that superseded trepidation. Besides, the Grrrl of Steel had never run from a challenge before.

The cool, viscous liquid dribbled between her cheeks, sending goosebumps along her back. Connie whimpered when fingers pressed into her. They circled her fleshy ring and probed it for resistance. Instinctively she winced, but eased into the sensation. In no time at all the Boy Wonder’s touch warmed to her.

‘Is that okay?’ he asked.

‘Don’t stop,’ Connie said.

His fingers pressed with new confidence and curled against her insides. A tidal wave like she’d never felt before rolled through the Grrrl of Steel. Soon she was swaying forward and back in time with her lover’s movements.

‘More,’ she begged. Wasn’t this supposed to hurt? It was then that Connie learned that she was an anal fiend, a natural bottom.

Tim removed his fingers, prompting a whine from Connie. Now she was empty, but not for much longer. Her legs parted wide, and her hips pressed back, ready for the action to continue. The Boy Wonder’s prick poked her and searched up and down. Finally he found her entrance, and slipped inside to the amazement of both.

‘You’re so hot,’ Tim gasped.

‘You’re so big,’ Connie shuddered. She clutched the sheet and froze to accommodate his size. The Boy Wonder seemed to pulse inside her. All her thought, all her arousal fixated between her hips. For the first time a cock stretched her ass and pressed her swollen prostate.

‘But you’re okay,’ Tim said.

Connie nodded, lost somewhere between delirium and joy. After drawing some controlled breaths she encouraged him to start thrusting. Already sweat was dripping from her brow. Black curls became a wet hot mess clinging to her face.

More than sex, the two heroes fucked, like slaves to their animal urges. For all their careers fighting crime it was the most adult thing they had ever done. Such an experience revealed new depths of pleasure neither had known before.

Tim grasped Connie’s hips and stared at her smooth shoulders gyrating with him. To see her head thrown back, with desperate gasps escaping, was enough to send him to the edge.

‘I’m ready to cum when you are,’ he said.

Connie moaned. ‘You can control it?’

‘For a little bit, yeah.’

She threw herself into overdrive, grinding against the cock like a woman possessed. The Grrrl of Steel guided him to ram her button - the secret spot inside that men feared for some reason. It swelled and it screamed and it demanded pressure, over and over until the tidal wave grew too high. She felt it rise until her body lost control.

Ripples coursed through Connie's body from head to toe. Words escaped her. She could barely mutter, ‘I’m cumming!’ It was an orgasm like none she’d ever experienced, but no doubt an orgasm.

It flew by her notice when Tim came inside her. She only felt the sudden absence of him when he softened and fell out of her.

The pair collapsed onto the mattress, burning with sweat, one curled around the other. Tim lifted her hair and kissed the back of Connie’s neck. She pulled his arm around her waist and made the most of his touch. Every movement was electric. It was some minutes before the waves settled.

‘That,’ she said, ‘was fucking. Incredible.’

Tim hummed in her ear with a satisfied grin. ‘Do you really have to go back to being “Superboy”?’

The Grrrl of Steel rolled over and rested her head against Tim’s arm. She smiled into his sparkling green eyes, and was for the moment lost.

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘but I won’t say no if you want to convince me otherwise.’

Their lips found each other again, and the two heroes lingered in the afterglow. Even if it wasn’t meant to last the moment it was perfect.