Post Mortem

This seems as good a time as any for a feelings check, Aisling. I was laying—Bree in my arms—in a dazed stupor. Around 90% was feeling of afterglow like the trinity site. 10% of me was trying not to panic.

I counted the ways one could experience oral sex, and decided that, of 8, I had experienced 3 in one day. The oppourtunity to cross of “as female, recieving male,” was present all around me. If I hadn’t orgasmed so hard my tonails hurt still, I might try to get an even 50%.

Rachel said not to do something you regret. As a guy who had never had sex that seemed impossible. As a girl who had stuffed the nearest cock down her throat in the throes of passion it was more easy to identify with. So here I was a pretty to beautiful girl, with a beautiful girl in my arms, with whom I had sucked a dick.

Get back to your feelings Aisling.

Right. I was feeling calm. Euphoric. Relaxed.

Conflicted.

Why am I feeling conflicted?

I had a good point. I made up my mind days ago to do this. If paper calendars still existed I would have penciled in “become a cocksucker,” for the end of the week. Oh I guess that’s what I am now. A cocksucker. The word carried a feeling of debased pride within itself.

Like it or not, it’s one of many things that I had decided to do with my mouth. Pussy muncher had no such connotations, and I was one of those too. I decided to own the title, while still being ready to slap anyone I didn’t know who called me that.

My thoughts were drifting in a maze of post-orgasmic bliss. Best to focus on my feelings again.

Euphoric. Relaxed. Frustrated.

Okay, that’s just surfased. Is it because you sorted out conflicted?

Why was I frustrated?

Because this past month had been like bootcamp, Disney Land, and armeghedon all at once. Because I had friends now, who I was definitely forming bonds with. You don’t suck someone’s dick, and then have just anyone kiss you then express displeasure that there’s none left in your mouth for them. That’s a bonding experience.

I hadn’t wanted friends all of my life, just most of it. Now I had them, and I had to be a girl as well. A girl who had made friends seemingly effortlessly. The kind of friends who would share their friends dicks with you. Who would kiss you with a mouthful of disgusting cum, and love you for it.

And it was disgusting. Tasted just like boogers. And I loved that taste. Felt proud for enjoying it. Wanted more of it. I knew now that I could make a guy cum with my mouth. Girls were different. If they didn’t feel right, or didn’t like what was going on, they didn’t have to orgasm. I had been a guy and I knew how it was with them. A girl gets her lips on your dick, and she can pull the climax right out of you. I knew what it had been to be in a frenzy as a guy, desperate for a woman. Now I was a woman, and the possibility for control was almost endless.

Feelings Aisling. You’re thinking about your feelings.

Euphoric. Relaxed. Melancholy.

Oh good. You’ve worked through “frustrated.”

I was feeling melancholy because this was one further step away from being a guy. Not the ultimate step, maybe. I didn’t know what the ultimate step would look like. I just knew that simply sucking a dick with wild abandon hadn’t been it. Maybe I wouldn’t know what that step was until after I’d taken it.

That was a frightening thought. My plan up until two weeks ago was to wait until I could start taking some testosterone, and then get my life on track. My plan up until a week ago was to not enjoy being a girl, but enjoy the people around me. My plan as of two days ago was to find a way to suck a dick.

Did that make all the other plans obsolete? I was in with these people, and this was 2017. If I wanted to transition I wouldn’t get lynched. But what did I have to go back to? Was I feeling melancholy because this was just another reenforcement to this new life? To whatever a space alien accident had thrust upon me?

Bree stirred in my lap, and absently fingered her nipples. She blew me a kiss, and then yawned.

Regular Dave checked his watch, and made a spinning motion with his finger in the air. Bree sat up all the way, kissed me again, and started looking around for her clothes. There was a hunt and scrabble thing going on. People searched for their clothes, found someone elses clothes, didn’t know whose clothes those were, put those clothes back where they found them.

I had used my moment of introspection to spot the majority of my clothing. I uncurled and found that my legs were still rubbery from all that orgasming I had just done. Pants felt weird to put back on, like my skin was supposed to always be naked.

People stretched, and yawned, and gathered up. In ones and twos we all went back to the ladder.

Okay Aisling, where are you now?

Euphoric. Relaxed. Ready.

On the ground I had never felt better coming into tech. I had no idea what any of those tools did, or where they went, or how to put them in my hands; but I felt these were problems for someone more uptight than myself.

My pussy hurt though. Not the inside, but the outside. It felt stretched, like getting an indian rub on your arm. I figured my lips weren’t used to being pried open like that. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was overshadowed completely by how pleasant everything else felt.

“Let’s huddle,” Regular Dave pulled us all together. “Susan way underplays us at the start, and way over plays us at the show. Let’s branch out a little here. We have the plans right here, so lets start on the irregular platforms we need while we dutchman the last of the flats.”

I raised my hand, “Can I do not dutchmaning?”

“Chica you can do or not do whatever you want at this point.”

I blushed, but didn’t turn my eyes down.

“Aisling is on platforms. What are the rest of you mother fuckers doing?”

Everyone said one or the other until we’d all divided up. Team Platform was me, Sarah, Autumn, and Bree. I raised my hand, “What will all the women be doing while the four of us are doing construction?”

“Your mom,” Wee David shot back. It fell short, but got laughs.

We broke and the four cool people split for lumber.

Autumn spent some time staring at her blueprints, while we hunted things up. Finally I came over and stared at them with her.

“I think I outsmarted myself,” she said.

“How’s that?”

“When I lit on the school meeting room and the prison being the same thing, I just thought, you know, ‘round.’” She pointed to what I gathered was the wall of one of the sets, “Susan said she’d show us how to do it, and I know how to do it.”

“But…”

“I don’t know how to make a guide that big.”

“You said you know how to do it.”

“I know how to do the construction. I don’t know how to draw a curve that big.”

I looked at the section. The curve went across two platforms and looked to be about three feet deep. “It looks easy to me, we just need a compass.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot, “Where are we going to find a fucking compas with a twenty foot radius Aisling?”

I looked at her like she was an idiot, “Don’t you have any string?”

After a lot of hunting we came up with some 30 gauge wire. After that it was pulling out the platforms we would need, and aranging them the way we needed to graph the curve. Only the platforms were four inches off the ground, and the plywood was 3/4” off the ground.

We didn’t have any extra ply.

Susan came in then and looked at what we were doing. We explained what we were doing and looked at her like four deer staring down an oncoming semi. She nodded her head as we went and said, “I’m interested to see what you come up with.” Then she went out into the auditorium and watched us.

“Can we just do them like they are?” Sarah asked.

“No,” I told her. “The arc of the compass has to be twenty feet.”

“Twenty four and a half feet,” Autumn corrected me.

“Whatever. At that distance a short in the string—”

“Wire,” Sarah said.

“Whatever. Would turn into six inches to a foot off of the measurements.”

Bree sat down, head in her hand, “Look at the fucking brain on this one.” I don’t think she meant it to be mean, but it came out mean. And hurt my feelings.

I didn’t have a witty rejoineder. With a tiny voice I said, “I pay attention in math class, okay.”

Autumn rubbed my shoulders, and whispered, “It’s okay. Sometimes she gets like this after she gets laid.”

I felt diplomatic and came to sit next to Bree, wincing a tad as I sat down. She gave me a grin like she got that, and then sulked some more. “Can we afford to be off by six inches.”

She sighed, “No.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Then lets figure this out.”

“Why don’t we mark where everything would be with tape on the stage?” Sarah said. “Then we can lay the plywood flat, see where everything needs to go and mark it up that way.”

“It sounds easier than measuring everything out with a chalk line,” Autumn said. “That’s what I was about to suggest.”

And so we put down a platform, marked the edges with tape, moved it over, marked it with more tape. Moved it again. We laid the platforms we had to cut across those, and could see the way the 12 foot arc was going to run across them. We found the midpoint in the arc using the guides we’d laid down in tape, and got the two peices of ply set up.

“Wait,” Bree held up her hand, “We should make the two platforms the same.”

“We’re doing that.”

“No you’re not, this one is eight feet and this one is four.”

Autumn looked down at it, and then to me and I shrugged. “But we can get more wood out of it my way.”

Bree said, “But then you have two weird platforms that only work for this one thing. We can’t fit them into another design. If we do it my way we can reuse them.”

“Make them the same!” Susan called from the house.

Bree stuck her tongue out at all of us, Gene Simmons style. Or Miley Cyrus, whichever description you identify with.

“Okay,” Someone said. We started moving the plywood around until we had it right.

I got the wire, and Autumn reeled it out against a tape measure. “We need to keep it stable,” I said, holding onto my end.

“I got it,” Bree said from next to me. She was carying an 80 pound stage weight in two hands. “Run and grab me a c-clamp.”

I brought it back to see that she had found a board and screwed a screw into it. We clamped that to the top of the weight.

Bree stood and looked at it, “Oops.”

“What?”

“Now we have the same problem.”

Sarah came over and turned the whole thing upside down.

Autumn meanwhile had made a loop in her end of the wire and then tightened it around a pencil. As soon as we were ready to go, she dug it into the wood and made the arc. Over the next ten minutes we had saw horses, a jigsaw, and then two neat half arcs. We took a moment to stare at our handywork while Susan came up to the stage. “You all did good. Now clean it up.”