Tony is reserved, calm and unflappable. Every Friday night he goes to Lads’ Night, his main social outlet, drinks beers and plays games. He doesn’t even particularly like games, or the challenges or bets that go along with them, despite being very good at them. But something will happen to Tony this Friday night. Something that will change him and reveal a part of him he didn’t even know existed.
In a perfect storm of coincidences, friends, and new friends, with depths he didn’t even begin to understand, Tony could be starting a journey to a very new life. The question is what will it take for Tony to realise the Toni in him isn’t just a strange indulgence for a single night? And what will the people around him do to push him towards accepting this?
The first part of a new and ongoing serial.
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I really don’t know why I agreed to the rules. I guess because it’s Friday night, it’s the lads’ night in, I’ve had a few beers, and I suppose I trusted in my poker skills. I’ve never lost before.
Alan I’ve known since university and it’s Steve’s apartment, a friend I’ve known since school. Big-G and Sam are two of Steve’s co-workers, and just as crazy as Steve. All four of Steve, Alan, Sam and Big-G are always coming up with bets, and deals, weird rules and drinking games. I’m good at games which is why it’s never bothered me but I’ve never felt a real buzz playing a game.
Tonight it’s simple, every thousand chips below starting stacks you lose to another player you lose an item of clothing. No rebuys, no buying back clothes. You go broke, mandatory nudity. Every item of clothing you lose goes into the bath tub and the dryer goes on no earlier than 3am.
What I don’t trust and should really have thought of was my penis. It’s tiny. Now I’m on a losing streak, down to my underwear, with the rest of my clothes dumped into the tub filled with ice-water. But I’ve got Ace-King in my hand, with Ace-King-7 rainbow on the board, and I’m going all in. I don’t have much choice left. I’ll win just about enough chips to survive the blinds going up and fold everything for the rest of the game. They’ll get bored before the end and come up with something new, and either way I have another ace to play.
“Confident man,” Alan says. He’s not in the hand, of course he can talk.
I look towards Steve, “All in, or not? Don’t keep me waiting.” I just want it over with.
“Don’t rush me, this is a big hand!” Steve says.
“Now, now, Tony,” Alan says, “Steve is desperately afraid of ruining his ever-so-colourful tie in the tub.” Steve is more or less fully dressed. He’s been on the run of his life and easily has my all-in covered, while Alan is in one sock, his jeans, and whatever he has on under there. Probably nothing.
Alan’s two co-workers are standing behind him, already buck naked. I don’t know them very well, but well enough, and they laugh at the tie comment.
When Big-G laughs his whole body moves. His whole body! It’s obvious why they call him Big-G despite only being an average five foot nine man. My dick would barely count next to his. Next to anyone’s, I suppose, but especially his.
Alan lifts his cards an inch and shows them to his nude co-workers. “Should I call?”
“Big-G says no way, José.”
“You’ll be losing that tie,” Sam says. “And it’s such a pretty pattern.”
Steve looks up at both of them,“This is why you’re both naked,” he says. “Of course I’m going to call.” And he pushes his chips in the middle.
“Two-pair, Ace-King,” I say.
“Just a pair of fours for me,” Steve says.
Now’s my chance. “Look,” I say. “The game has been going on for ages, two people are already naked, I’m in my underwear. There must be some sport on the TV, from somewhere, you can bet over. How about we end the game here?”
“I agree with that,” Alan says. His foot must be getting cold on the kitchen tile.
“Fine by us,” Big-G says. “Big-G and Sam are already rocking with their tackle out.” He laughs a hearty laugh, his cock bouncing up and down as his chest rises and falls, then he takes a swig of beer.
“Agreed, then,” I say, and go to stand.
“Game’s not over though,” Steve says.
“Fine, yeah, yeah. Of course. Flip the cards,” I say, realising I hadn’t expected this hand to actually play and I was banking on it finishing up as soon as I made my suggestion. But of course it should be run, I got blinded by keeping my underwear on. There’s still outs for Steve, and two pair isn’t exactly a locked in hand, although it was my only chance. He can still win and all he needs is a four.
Alan flips the first of two cards, a nine, no good for anyone. I’m still safe. I take a deep breath. Then another. Then another. I feel sweat on my brow.
“Nervous, Tony?” Steve asks.
“Alan, deal, please,” I say, indicating at the cards. I just want to keep my underwear on.
He lifts one card up, holding it in front of his face, before showing it around to everyone but me. All their lips are pursed. “Come on, it’s a two or something, get over it. Stop trying to psych me out.”
Alan shakes his head and throws the card on the table. It’s a four. “And tonight, for the first time in lads’ night history, the games man who doesn’t even really enjoy games has lost,” Alan says in a faux announcer voice.
My heart pounds. They’ll all see me. The entire me. The full me. The little me. I’ll never be able to live it down. They’ll know and never forget. “No!”
“Oh yes!” Big-G shouts. “Three naked stags! The girls’ panties will be flying off!”
“What girls?” I ask, feeling like I could throw up.
“Some of the women from Big G’s office,” Big-G says.
“What!?” I yelp.
“Why do you think Big-G played strip poker with no women around?” Big-G says.
“Big-G wanted his big schlong to be on display when they get here,” Alan says.
“We can’t be naked when they arrive!” I cry.
“They said they’re fine with it, as long as Big-G is naked too,” Sam says. “And if it’s fine by them it’s more than fine by me.”
“The ladies know exactly why Big-G is called Big-G,” Big-G says.
“And soon they’ll be calling Tony Little-T,” Steve says. I glare at Steve. He probably has seen me naked. I couldn’t hide everything in school so Steve probably isn’t making a stab in the dark with that comment. “Double or quits?” Steve continues.
“What do you mean?”
“An out.”
“An out?”
“A chance to be fully clothed. No matter what.”
“What’s the twist?”
“No twist, fully clothed. It just depends on what clothes.”
“I’m not putting on some crusty gimp suit of yours,” I say. And he probably does have one. He’s actually seriously successful with women.
“Oh, it won’t be my clothes. These are all brand new. In their packaging. It’s not even embarrassing, really. Loads of people wear clothes like this all the time.”
“What’s the fucking twist, Steve? Crotchless something or the other?”
“Coin flip. You win, you get to put on some of my old sweats. Yes, my clothes. Tatty but fine. Remember you still lost at poker, and come 3am the dryer goes on. A little after 5am you’re getting a taxi home, drunk, in your own dry clothes and happy about how you got one up on all of us again. You the confirmed games master.”
“I lose?”
“You lose you wear what a normal, hot 27 year old would be wearing on a night out clubbing.”
“Deal.”
“Just like that?” Steve asks. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” He thinks he’s playing some trick on me, but I have no clue what he could mean.
“You lose you wear what a hot, 27 year old woman would be wearing clubbing. A stone cold stunner. The kind who’d never go home with you. And you have to be wearing it when the girls from work arrive later.”
This is why Steve is crap at games, and definitely why he got lucky against me in poker. He thinks he has it all figured out, in the mind games, like he can read people. “Yeah, I got that. Obviously. You’re on.”
“What? Like, I mean, dude, this is the full get up. I told you I’ve been planning this. Big, high fuck me boots, a tight, shimmering dress, bra, lacy thong, pantihose, I got nail polish, cheapo breast thingies, even a cheap wig.”
“Dude, they’re just clothes. And did you really go into a shop and buy all this?”
“I ordered online,” Steve says in a gruff voice.
But there’s no need to push it. Let him have his fun and think he won. “Sure, fine,” I say.
“Why are you so cool with this and not being naked?” Steve asks, very pointedly.
“That’s different,” I say.
“I know,” he says and he stares me coldly in the eyes reminding me even if I’m not bothered about the clothes this is him knowing about my tiny peepee. And yes, it really does count as a peepee, barely even a dick, let alone a cock.
“OK. Alan flips the coin?” I’m really not bothered about this, in fact I started feeling much better about myself as soon as he brought any clothes up. I guess it’s relief from knowing I won’t have to get my dick out, and be shamed. For everyone to know.
Alan takes a coin from Steve’s coin jar and holds it out in front of me, flipping it over and again. “Heads you’re a woman dressed to give head. Tails you’re a hot, young, hotty piece of tail every boy is chasing.”
“Agreed,” I say.
Alan launches it into the air and the coin comes down... And I realise what I agreed to. Everyone, including the naked Sam and Big-G bursts out laughing.
“The oldest play in the book!” Steve roars. Strangely though, as the coin was thrown, before I realised what I’d agreed to I was hoping the smelly Steve’s old sweatpants result didn’t come up. I push that thought aside though and finally let their mocking get to me.
“Fine, OK, OK! You got me!”
“Not so Mister, or should I say Miss Unfazed now, are we?”
“Yeah, that was good. I was bamboozled.”
“Glass of white wine for the lady?” Alan asks.
“But you drink white wine, too,” I say.
“I’m bi,” Alan says.
“I knew it!” Sam says. Alan spins around to look at him. “Did I say that out loud? I meant to say how you doin’?”
“Oh!” Alan smiles. “I’m doing OK. Could be better. Could be much better!” He winks at Sam.
Sam’s out in the air cock bobs and I don’t know why but my eye is drawn to it. It must be the weirdness of seeing my friend openly flirting with a guy whose dick is visibly twitching while we’re all standing in another friend’s kitchen.
“This is getting weird,” I say.
“About to get weirder, for you at least. Go on, into my bedroom. The delivery box is beneath the bed.”
“You want me to go beneath your bed?” I say.
“I have no secrets,” Steve says.
I shake my head. My fate awaits and there’s no putting it off. But the Miss Unfazed thing is mostly true, I really don’t care.
“Don’t forget your glass of wine, love!” Alan says, holding a glass out to me.
I take it, and then grab the entire bottle. “I’ll be needing this,” I say. But really I just want to finally feel safe again now I know I won’t be naked.
I walk to Steve’s bedroom which I’ve been in plenty of times before. Sometimes he’ll buzz people in, leave the front door unlocked and go back to bed while everyone chats to him like he’s a lord. This is so common he even has a couch setup in there. He’s just too at ease with himself.
His apartment is a modern place, but cheap, maybe an old design apartment but recently built. It’s actually quite a find, separate living room and kitchen, and not all open plan. The bedroom is quite big, has an en suite, and there’s a general bathroom off a hallway with full tub. The place is kind of run down from cheap materials but Steve has done it up with some pretty decent interior decorating. The living room can go from sports viewing central with the big TV to a chill out room with a comfy couch, beanbags, lamps and little lights in seconds. He says it helps with his score rate.
I don’t know why but I’m looking around Steve’s bedroom in an entirely different way. Usually when he’d be lying in bed the full lights would be on and the radio would be tuned into some sports news station while I avert my eyes and he scratches his balls and farts, but now the lighting is low and there’s even a few scented candles burning. It feels cosy.
My eyes fall on the package I’ve dug out and placed on the centre of the bed. It’s time to get it over with and it really isn’t bothering me. It’s just drag. Just drag and not my unimpressive piece on show for the world. I’ll simply look ridiculous instead of being thought of as less of a man, or not a man at all, with my size. A fine deal for me.
I pull out the first item and it’s the dress. Tight and shimmering was right, but there’s more that Steve didn’t say. It’s a thick material, an expensive material, the kind you’d see hugging a body moving through a movie scene. It’s not the disco dress I imagined, more a lush beaded dress, with glimmering black, what I assume are plastic, faux stones in a geometric pattern. The femme fatale wears it where you just can’t take your eyes off her. A superstar from the era when films were films, and women were women. You’d see every flex and movement of her body catching on the light and every man’s eyes would be hanging out of his head, craning their necks, following her around the room. A dress worn by the kind of ladies who have legs that go all the way.
Next out is a black bra, lace and satin, and a black thong, also lace and satin. At least he colour matched. Deeper inside the box is a package of black pantihose, which I unwrap and for some reason rub across my arm. These might actually feel good. They’re kind of thick enough that I guess Steve was thinking of covering my leg hair, not that I’ve much of it, or facial hair, or any body hair really apart from my pits and groin. There’s two other boxes at the bottom of the package. That must be the shoes and the breast forms, or the breast thingies as Steve called them. There’s also a little black purse with a gold chain strap. I lift it up and hang it over my shoulder. Why did Steve think I need a purse? Looking into it it is, of course, his idea of a joke. Inside is the nail polish, some condoms and, without fail, some tampons. What a hilarious man!
I fold the top of the purse closed and look into Steve’s full length mirror. My boxer briefs are all wrong with the purse and I quickly strip them off.
Looking at my reflection my dick is basically inside me although my balls are dangling, but if I turn a little I can just see my ass and the purse hanging over my shoulder, the leather of the bag I press against my butt cheek. I stand on my tippy-toes to give my behind some shape while I hold the leather of the purse. I look ugly as fuck. Maybe the thong will build up some illusion.
I take the black lace and satin thong, with some tiny fake stones on the front panel off the bed and snap off the tags. I pull it up my legs, with my butt to the mirror to not see my shameful dick and balls while I still have the purse hanging over my shoulder. As the lace front sits in place I feel a stirring in the tip of my miniscule dick as the pattern rubs over it. It begins to show a little. I am definitely getting turned on.
I take a deep slug of the white wine and throw the bag onto the bed. This is not going as I was expecting. What the fuck is going on with me? Am I really this drunk?
I take another gulp of the wine then fill up the glass.
As I’m thinking on what to turn to next I hear the front door open and at least two female voices being greeted. I wonder what they’re wearing? I mean, if they’re in jeans and a top I’m going to look a total fool in a clubbing dress. A real sore thumb, is what I’m thinking, I tell myself as I look in the mirror again and see a flat chest.
I quickly shrug on the bra, reach back to clip it closed and push in the breast forms. I look acceptable in the mirror. Like me, obviously, but I guess I could get my hair done.
The pantihose are next, I roll one leg up in my hand as I sit on the bed. I point my toes, and slide the leg over my foot, pulling it up a little way. The other leg is next. I don’t have time to paint my nails, not that anyone would see them through the pantihose, but I imagine, y’know, it’d be right to have toes painted, if my pantihose were to come off. And I was right, these hose do feel good. Like they give my legs shape, or make them feel like they’re toned or something. They definitely hide any blemishes and they even flatten my balls, I notice, as I pull and twist them up my waist.
The wig is in the box with the breast forms. It’s a black bob, very formal, very angular, almost too dark. Not really natural and I’m disappointed with that. I don’t want to look, like, so fully severe, like a character.
I turn back to my glass of wine and take a sip feeling the cool liquid travel down my throat. A heat spreads across my chest from the alcohol content and I swear I can even feel my nipples inflame. I resist the urge to reach up and squeeze them.
I figure the dress will come last, or at least the wig, the dress and wig at the same time to complete the look. I won’t look in the mirror before I have them both on so it’s boots time now. Except the box is much too small for fuck me boots.
I open it up and inside are a pair of delicate black heels, instep with a cutaway that will expose the arch of my pantihosed feet. I could imagine someone rubbing me there, just a finger gently stroking, holding my foot beneath a dinner table while I play with their hard, mmmm... My dick is growing to its impressive three inches and I look back at the heels to take my mind off someone stroking my feet, nibbling my painted toes... Oh boy!
Four inches of a stiletto on them. Real leather, my god how much did he pay?! These are exquisite and what the fuck am I thinking?
I shake my head but as I do so I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. With the heels on my butt is perking right out. I pull the thong up higher so it’s exposed above the pantihose and digging into me a little. My balls and dick are clamped down even more which just makes my cock strain all the stronger, the little, tiny lump of useless flesh.
I quickly grab the wig from the bed and put it on, before taking the dress and holding it in front of me. It’s lined with something on the inside, smooth to the touch like silk, but obviously fake silk. More satin? There’s no way Steve paid for such an expensive dress. Why did he pay for such an expensive dress?
The beads on the black material catch on the candle light as I’m rubbing between my thighs, imagining a hand there, exploring. Feeling me against the heat of my crotch and gently probing.
I pull down the zip and step into the dress. Lifting it up against my body it glides against my legs and pulls my boobs higher up. I’ve never felt so delicate, so ready.
I rub the soft material against my belly before I slip my arms through the arm-holes. I’m about to call out for Steve to help me with the zip before I catch myself. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even want a boyfriend. I’m not gay, I just have a small dick I don’t want to use with women because they’ll laugh. And that’s how Steve has me looking like this, I think, as I stare at myself in the mirror, fully dressed, for the first time.
I do a double take as I catch my reflection. It’s me, definitely, but if I squint my eyes a little and blur my vision, ignoring my face, there’s a gorgeous looking woman there in the hottest of hot date dresses. No. Not hot date, classy date. Drinking Martinis at a fancy cocktail bar with a piano player, someone holding my hand. Whispering in my ear while I act all coquettishly. Does Steve want to see me like this? He had this planned, he said so. Maybe he wants me to...
And as I think that my cock stirs again and I know what I have to do. I really have to.
I look around for tissues all the while thinking of Steve needing to see me like this. My dick tears at my panties and with every movement or twitch it’s rubbing on the fabric of the hose through the satin and lace and makes me glow deep inside. My mound roars with fire, but there’s no tissues to be found. What kind of man doesn’t have tissues in his bedroom? I’ll have to have words. What if he needs to blow his nose? Where does he put his snot!? It’s disgusting!
I remember the condoms in my purse. I take one out and tear at the corner of it with my teeth, like I’ve seen in films, while I massage myself through my dress. I lift the hem up, pull down the pantihose and front of the thong a little, and slide the condom just the few inches down my tiny, erect penis. It goes on easily.
I grab my dick and start stroking, but it feels wrong. I lie back on Steve’s bed and lift my legs high in the air, legs spread wide seeing my heels reaching for the ceiling like some horny little bitch ready to be pounded. I imagine someone coming at me, between my legs which I wrap around them and pull them close. They’re right against me. Their genitals are right against me and I feel their flesh against mine. I feel them on top of me. Going at me. Entering me...
And just as that thought enters my mind I explode in the condom. I barely lasted any time, not that I ever do. And it was all wrong. All wrong!
What was I doing? What am I doing? It’s wrong!
Then I see my legs and heels still in the air and it somehow secures me. It’s just a bet, and it was just a fantasy and, hell, I don’t get anywhere near women so I was probably imagining me doing it to a woman. I was dressed like a woman so I just imagined me fucking some woman. That’s all. Next time I’ll be finer with the tip of my dick though. Really play with it. Give myself time.
I pull the condom off my now nearly disappeared cock, twist it up, and put it in the purse with no other obvious place to stash it.
I look in the mirror and it’s very much male me there again. Very male me. I want to strip off the dress and even put on my ice cold, wet clothes from the tub but that wouldn’t be the bet. It’s just a simple bet. Nothing else. I can do this. Just another weird night at fucking Steve’s with his weird stakes and games.
I shrug my dress up my back and reach around to pull it up, getting at the zip. I drag it up as it fastens and close it, before pulling the garment down, secure again. Steve didn’t even get me some ass baring dress, this is really nice...
I make sure everything is snug and my silhouette is OK, patting myself down to make sure of no unsightly lumps and bumps, or snags, as I tune into the voices coming from the living room via the hallway. It seems like there’s a right party going on, and it’s ready to greet me, Tony, or now Toni with an i, I guess.
I guess? I’m still Tony. This is just a night at Steve’s. And I’m definitely Tony. I might as well be Hot Toni. It is just one night. And I figure the way to win this, psychologically, is to just be confident. Act like nothing is any different. Not that I’m a normal woman, I’m not a woman, but just that I’m a normal Toni.
That’s always the way with the bets and games Steve has when we all get together, just the lads. And it’s why I always win. He thinks I’m unflappable but I just don’t let things bother me. What’s the worst that could happen? I’ve already avoided the worst. I’m not having to show my tiny cock to all the guys here, or the women he knows from work he suddenly decided to invite to lads’ night. Anyway, come 5am or so I get my clothes back and no-one will have the image of my barely-there penis burned into their minds for them to forever insult.
I smooth down my dress one last time and go to reach for the door handle. Then I remember the white wine and grab the glass and bottle and stand behind the door again. This is it.
I step into the hallway, feeling the cool air against my legs and bare arms, a little wobbly with my first real steps in heels, and open the door into the living room.
I walk in, trying to hold my head high but I see Big-G sitting stark naked in an armchair, legs spread wide, massive dong hanging loose. Steve, still wearing his work tie like a prize is on a kitchen chair just inside the door next to a gorgeous blonde woman on another kitchen chair, who’s in a retro sweater dress with black heeled boots and taupe pantihose, legs crossed. Sam, also with his dick out from strip poker is flirting with my close friend Alan. And a black haired women dressed like the most fashionista punk, fashionista purely because of her flawless makeup, is reclining in one of Steve’s giant beanbags. They all turn to me.
I freeze.
“Fucking hell, Steve, you ordered that dress!?” the black haired woman says.
“Wait, what?” Steve says.
“It’s fucking gorgeous!” she continues. “Give me a twirl, hun!”
Without thinking I put one foot behind the other, and give a little spin, ending up facing back to this raven lying on a beanbag with giant glass of red wine.
“Jesus Christ, Steve, you having fucking taste. I’d murder to find a dress like that. And somewhere to wear it to!”
“That’s not the dress I ordered,” Steve says.
“When you’re done with it I’ll gladly take it off your hands,” the blonde woman says.
The black haired woman levers herself out of the beanbag and approaches me. As she gets closer I’m sure I’m like a fawn stuck in the beams of a car but she holds both her hands up and I instinctively reach up my own to place mine in her grip. She gives me the up and down and I see she’s wearing the standard punk, red tartan skirt, torn fishnets, big stompy boots with a massive chunky heel, and a band t-shirt for some band I’ve never heard of.
“Fucking hell it’s gorgeous... So don’t listen to a word that bitch Sally says! There’s no way a woman would give up a dress like that. Look at her!” she says as she squeezes to the side of me, releasing one hand and moving me forward to the middle of the floor, past Steve and Sally, right in front of the couch so everyone can get a good look. I bend one knee just a fraction and bring my legs together as they all look at me.
“My God! Jess! Did you see the heels?” Sally, the blonde woman says.
“Fuck off!” Jess, the black haired woman says. Her eyes seem wider than what I imagine mine to be. “What size shoe are you?”
“I’m size...” I stammer out.
“Those fucking scam artists!” Steve shouts.
“Who?” Sally asks.
“I ordered fuck me boots and a little black thing that barely covers his ass from that store!”
“Her!” Jess and Sally both say, without pause.
“Sorry, her. Sorry, Toni,” Steve says. “Yeah, a slutty, horny outfit. And they ripped me off sending me this.”
“Men!” Sally says.
“Fucking men!” Jess says.
I want to say Men! too but the word catches in my throat and comes out in a whisper. I’m not confident enough, or just a little taken aback, I guess, to be able to pull off a riff like that.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jess says. “I’m Jess, and this is Sally, we work with Steve, and Sam and Big-G!”
Big-G barks, “Big-G!” back at them, obviously getting drunker.
“You know it, babe!” Jess says, giving a thumbs up to Big-G. “You must be Toni,” she continues, turning back to me.
“Yeah, hi,” I say, desperate to take a drink but afraid I’ll dribble the wine down my boobs, so instead I wave at them both.
“Well, with the store fucking up the order, instead of Mr. Modernity here making you look like a whore you’re the classiest looking broad in the building tonight,” Sally says.
“If I didn’t already like her vibes I’d be giving her the stink eye,” Jess says. “Come on, sit down with me. I want to hear everything!”
“Hear what?” I say.
“Your story,” Jess says. “Where you went to school, where you work, any brothers or sisters, past boyfriends, past boyfriends we have to murder, past girlfriends, hopes, dreams, you know? Your story,” Jess says as she supports me wobbling over to the beanbag. She takes the bottle and glass off me and I slump down, before she lowers herself, cat-like, next to me. This is the closest I’ve been to a woman, almost lying back, in years. “But first I want to hear what store sent a what? $300 dress and $400 shoes instead of what I’m sure was Steve’s fifty buck order? Because you better believe I’m taking a chance with those fuckups!”
“I knew the shoes were too nice,” I say.
“Yeah, you lucked out there. And do not, I repeat, do not let Sally convince you you don’t want them, or the dress, and to give them to her.”
“I couldn’t pull the look off as well as her,” Sally says as she shrugs. I feel a little stirring in my crotch again when she says her.
“We should ditch this place,” Jess says.
“With Toni?” Sally asks. “No way. Normally it’s you getting all the attention and me getting whoever’s next in line, with Toni I’d be third in line.”
“Yeah, but I’d be second, and think how good it’d make you feel to see me beaten to the dark, strong, handsome men.”
“Rich men too,” Sally says. “But that’s a fair point. Let’s go!”
“No!” I say, almost thrashing in the beanbag. “We can’t!” I see Steve is sitting in his chair looking over at me and Jess with a big smile on his face. Alan’s legs are resting on Sam’s lap as they whisper and dart glances at me with Sam massaging the sockless foot Alan has from the strip poker.
“She’s right,” Sally says. “We don’t even know if she likes boys or girls. We wouldn’t know what club to hit.”
“Toni!” Jess says declaratively. “Do you like boys or girls?”
“Boys,” I say, instinctively. Then I catch myself. “No! I mean girls.”
“Both? Either? Or? In between? I like everything.” she says as she strokes the pantihose encased inner of my thigh, a little way inside the cover of my hem.
I take a deep breath through my nose trying not to close my eyes as she caresses a part of my body no-one has ever, ever paid attention to before. “I mean, I like girls, not boys. I just said boys because I thought I should, you know, with how I’m dressed,” I say.
“Mmmhmmm,” Jess says and exchanges a look between her and Sally before lowering herself to my ear and whispering to me, “Before the night is over someone here is going to make you cum.”
As I feel her hot breath on my ear, with her hand stroking ever further up my inner thigh I’m emboldened. I raise myself up on my elbows and lean around to her before whispering in as sultry a voice I can manage, “Who says I haven’t already?”
She immediately squeezes my thigh she has a grip on, hard, making me yelp, yes, like a girl, and speaks up. “Oh my god, she’s a firebrand! I’m sorry Steve, she doesn’t need us. Just set her free and there won’t be a cock left un-sucked and a pussy left un-eaten for ten miles square.”
“What do you mean I need them, Steve?” Was this his plan all along? Get me dressed up like an idiot and parade me in front of two women who’d toy with me and gossip about me for months?
“Toni, look...” Steve begins.
“No, out with it, Steve, was this a plan to embarrass me?” I say, feeling blood rush to my face and like I’m about to turn into the sternest bitch on the planet.
“No. It’s not like that. It’s just you haven’t been with a woman in years, if ever. Sally and Jess are lovely...”
“We are really lovely,” Sally says, nodding.
“And I thought if we had some girls at lads’ night it might bring you out of your shell more.”
“So you put me in a dress!”
“No! No-one put you in a dress. Well, I mean, it was the bet. But I’ve been planning that for months. It just so happened I went on a run with one of our stakes tonight. It was pure coincidence. I never thought you’d be... Check the order date on the shipping.”
“I wouldn’t want to meet Tony with a y,” Sally says.
“No. I’m sure he’s a lovely boy, but Toni with an i? All woman!” Jess says.
“Just play along Toni,” Big-G says, one eye half shut from the booze. “You’ve got two of the hottest women in the entire company ready to jump in bed with you.”
“Sorry, Big-G. You’ve got the Big-D but Toni, well, she’s special.”
“I’m not-” I begin to say, getting annoyed at everyone treating me like some project.
“You’re not what, hun?” Sally says.
“I’m not some project,” I say, feeling tears come to my eyes.
Jess climbs on top of me and scoots over to my other side, swapping legs beneath my crotch. I can tell what she’s doing, she’s trying to hide my crying from the boys, and that makes the tears come just that bit faster.
“Toni isn’t a fucking project,” I hear from Sally, still sitting next to Steve, then some rustling, then a chorus of, “No, no! No, she isn’t.” And finally from Sam, who may also be feeling the drink along with Big-G, with his slurred words, saying, “Fuck, if I wasn’t gay I’d nearly turn straight for her.” Followed by a series of stifled laughs, which makes me laugh, and then more tears come out.
“Fucking hell, hun, it’s a good thing you’re not wearing mascara or it’d be ruined,” Jess says. She reaches for her purse, takes some tissue out and dabs at my eyes, cleaning me up. I just mouth the words thank you at her before she palms the tissue away somewhere and clambers back over to the far side of me.
“Steve,” Jess says. “Now I know it was luck that got Toni her shoes and dress, but my god what would possess you not to buy the debutante some makeup for her coming out?”
“The choices were confusing,” Steve says.
“Yeah, that makes total sense, for you,” Sally says.
Jess climbs on top of me again, again putting her leg between mine, but this time pushing her knee and thigh all the way up against my groin. It feels so good having someone’s weight on top of me, and where our legs touch is heavenly.
“Toni, you’re no-one’s project. You are the finished article. But I, personally, cannot stand that Steve, who obviously fancies you to buy you such an expensive outfit for your date night, let you get dressed without providing even the most basic of makeup. If you don’t mind I would like to show you what you could look like with a bit of slap,” Jess says and my small, little dick grows harder with her staring deep into my eyes. And she must certainly notice it as well. Maybe..? It is small. “And I’m good with a trowel,” she goes on.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Why not?”
“No. No why not. I want you to see how beautiful you could be.”
“I’m already beautiful,” I say, meaning it as a joke but Jess doesn’t take it that way.
“Damn right!” she says. “And don’t let a single cunt tell you you’re not.” She caresses my face after she says that, and somehow my dick gets harder again. “So may I please do your makeup?” She tilts my face up as though getting a proper look at me, so who am I to resist?
“Please do,” I say.
“I’ll be gentle,” she says, Then she kisses her index and middle finger tips and brings them down on my lips, which part ever so slightly with me wanting to suck on them deep into my mouth.
“Close your eyes,” she says. Which I do, and soon there’s a cool liquid on my skin, gently being spread across my face, then a dabbing. “We’ll have to find the right foundation for you but for now Sally’s will do.”
I just nod as I’m treated to the most gentle of touches across my chin, upper lip, cheeks, and forehead. Touches I can barely notice as Jess squirms, more or less sitting to the side on my tummy just beneath my boobs, wrapped around me, and every time her knee moves between my leg I have to resist the urge to grind on her thigh.
Still, my resistance isn’t going too well when she sits back on her legs, right on top of my dick. I breathe deeply through my nose, patiently, and don’t think of her, or anyone else with even an iota of a body, or what I’m wearing, or naked me... Basically I’m trying to mentally catalogue all the stained mugs in the kitchen cupboard at work I’m sometimes made clean. All while Jess unintentionally tortures my cock.
“Open your eyes,” Jess says.
I do.
“Now, you’re not supposed to share eye makeup with anyone, but I think it’s worth the risk on such a special occasion. Try to keep your eyes open, I know it’ll be difficult, but it’ll be a lot easier when you’re applying your own and you’re in control.”
I nod.
“That’s done,” Jess says, after a few painful minutes of me trying not to blink right on top of the mascara wand. “And now the most important part, your lipstick. And it just so happens my pale skin and your drop dead gorgeous, black, dinner date dress...” As she says dress my dick yearns to get free, straining against lace, and I’m certain Jess notices because she wriggles her butt around in my lap. “...meet with a perfect, bold, red lipstick. Pucker!” Which I do like I’ve seen in every film and TV show, and from the few girls who’ve been around me. And as she coats my lips, the thought of me with a striking red mouth stands stark in my mind. All the ways I could possibly look run through my head, and in every one of them I’m a woman. “There!” Jess leans in and gives me a quick kiss on my newly painted lips before kneeling high above me, looking down on her work.
“Honestly, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the privilege to kiss!” And as she says that I can’t keep it from happening any more. My tiny dick starts to twitch with the closest I’ve been to a woman, or more a woman has been to me, and doing my makeup, and making me wriggle in my panties, and me cumming right into the lace, through my pantihose, and right onto Jess’s knee. The second time I’ve cum tonight.
“I bet you’ll love yourself,” she says, not missing a beat. “C’mon Sally, bathroom time!”
“I can’t wait!” Sally says, and they both stand.
“You too, dummy!” Jess says, reaching a hand out to me.
“What, but why?” I say, still wobbly from my orgasm, afraid to trust my legs. It’s not all that, though. I knew about the whole girls going to the bathroom together thing but I thought that was a piece of Hollywood storytelling and didn’t happen in real life once people left high school. Not that I really knew many women after high school or university.
“Come on!” Sally says, loud enough to attract everyone in the room’s attention that had obviously wandered while Jess applied my makeup.
I take Jess’s hand and she easily pulls me up and out of the beanbag chair.
Walking into the bathroom I’ve finally recovered enough, especially with the cool hallway air on me for a few seconds, to say more than a few words. “I thought this only happened in Hollywood.”
“What? The dour, bookish, shy girl puts on a bit of makeup and is revealed to be an absolute babe?” Sally asks.
“Sorry, hun, that’s not your story. You were already exceedingly pretty before the makeup,” Jess says.
“No, I mean girls going to the bathroom together.”
“Well, I really need to pee and so do you,” Jess says, looking at me. “But you must have been distracted by something in that living room because what do bathrooms always have?”
“Look in the mirror you idiot!” Sally says.
I turn and face me, or more not me, right in the mirror and immediately look away. “No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Oh, baby girl, yes!”
I turn around and lean my butt against the sink, unable to process what I’ve just seen.
“Aren’t you glad you came to Lads’ Night In?” Sally asks. But I have no response.
“Yeah, now. One hundred percent,” Jess says, the question obviously intended for her, not me. “But I can’t wait to get Toni on Girls’ Night Out.”
“No,” I say again, willing myself to turn around and look at the woman in the mirror.
“Sorry, them’s the breaks,” Jess says.
“I’m...”
“Yeah, what we’ve been saying all night, you’re all woman,” Sally says.
“Do you have a thong pantiliner?” Jess asks.
“I might, why? I thought you didn’t wear thongs.”
“It’s for Toni.”
“Toni?” Sally asks.
“Let’s just say Toni is absolutely dripping wet right now.”
I’m hearing these words but it’s not until I feel the punch on my bare arm they register with me. “I can’t believe Jess has made every woman in this apartment orgasm!” Sally says, rubbing her fist.
“Wait, what? Why did you tell-” I say. Then it dawns on me the sound I’m hearing, and the sight I’m seeing is Jess sitting on the toilet peeing. I avert me eyes and look towards the ceiling.
“You’ve just cum on my knee, you can watch me pee,” Jess says.
“You haven’t cum on me, but I don’t care, we all have the same bits,” Sally says.
“No! We don’t!” I say. I don’t know if I’ve been drugged, if this is a dream, or if I’m in at thong-split induced stupor.
“Semantics. Bits are bits. Except for Jess’s. They’re magic,” Sally says before sucking on her teeth. “I still can’t believe she’s made all three of us cum.” She looks at me. “I presume you haven’t made her cum?” I shake my head. “And I haven’t either, now why is that?”
“Because you’re both straight ladies and it’s the duty of the bisexual lady to stop her friends from getting too horned up lest they fuck unworthy cock while letting them know women are the real masters.”
I have no idea what’s happening at this point, until Sally pushes me down, sitting on the toilet seat, with Jess placing her ripped fishnets in fashionable spots with a care I didn’t think possible, her ass right by my eyeline.
“C’mon, clear out those pipes. We don’t want UTIs,” Sally says.
“I can’t,” I say.
Sally tuts and gives me a stern look. “We’ve all seen a penis before,” she says.
“More of a clit, really,” Jess says.
“What!?” I squeak, and it feels like my eyes are leaping out of my head. My blood pressure certainly soars, with my face getting red, and my dick, yes, my dick, somehow getting a little bit hard again.
“Oh, please. Do you really think I care? I wouldn’t have been up in your coochie if I cared how big your nubbin is. And I’m certainly not going to talk to the idiots out there about my friend’s crotch,” she says, waving in the living room’s direction.
“It makes things easier, really,” Sally says. “Now come on, chop chop. I need to pee too.”
It’s at this point I remember I’m wearing a dress, and satin and lace, and pantihose. I pull the appropriate ones up and the appropriate ones down to pee while my two female friends, I guess they’re friends, discuss my clitoris, and how having a small dick makes something easier.
I feel a wave of relief as soon I let my bladder flow, not realising I’d been holding it in, maybe afraid to go to the bathroom? Then, as I’m sitting there in my dress and heels and bra, with my friends standing around as I clean up the stains in my panties, what a sentence, without even thinking about it I let out, “My feet are killing me.”
“Did you have a stopwatch on that one?” Jess asks. And I realise they’re both now staring at me dabbing at cum on the lining of my dress.
“No, unlike the so-called men I don’t play those games.”
“You’ll be playing strip poker before the night is out.”
“Probably,” Sally says. “And I’ll win.” There’s a smug look on her face.
“That’s what I thought, too,” I say.
“My god, babe, you won the fucking lottery tonight. You’ve met two amazing women, who you are quickly joining with as the most dangerous trio of hoes within ten blocks. Yes! We’re a trio now...” Jess says. “You’ve orgasmed...” I’m immediately grateful Jess didn’t mention the twice part around Sally or I’d never get out of this toilet. “...you’ve got all the men drooling over you...”
“What?”
“Except for gay Sam but I don’t think he was joking about maybe giving women a go with you.”
“You could do worse,” Sally says.
“And you’re about to get amazing advice about massaging your feet when you’re sitting on the toilet.”
“What?” I say again.
“Make sure to never actually put your bare feet on the ground, no matter how much you want to,” Jess says.
This is disappointing foot advice.
“It’s ew...” Sally says.
“Just classier, isn’t?”
“This is really disappointing, you’re not helping my feet at all,” I say.
Jess tuts at me.
“Never give into feet on the floor unless you’re tip-toeing around your beau’s apartment in his day old work shirt, with his stink still on it, while he’s getting ready to depart, leaving you with his credit card and fully charged laptop.”
“Stop talking shit, Sally. You’ve never tip-toed around anywhere and you’re not the demure, boyfriend’s shirt, cutesy lady you think you are. Credit card, my dick!”
I take my foot out of my shoe and give it a rub.
“Pedicure next weekend?” Sally asks.
“Yeah, definitely,” Jess says.
“Toni?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Done,” Sally says and hands me a pad. “You know how to use...” But it’s obvious. I stick the sticky part of the pad around the edge of my underwear and I’m busy re-arranging myself once I’ve pulled everything into place.
As I’m pushing and prodding myself I think this is all just play right? Part of the games of the Friday night? They don’t really expect me to go for a pedicure next weekend even if I did think my toes needed polish before I put them in my hose. We’re just treating this like a playful evening, surely?
I see Sally standing over me looking impatient so I move to the side and make sure my dress is down, before checking my boobs are correctly set, while Sally sits, and now she’s peeing. I’m seemingly well used to it all at this point. “But why do I need a pad if I’ve cleaned up from, well, my last time?” I ask.
“Oh, that doesn’t count,” Jess says, as I’m washing my hands. “I was just going with the flow, you know? That was just opportunism. I want to make you cum like a basic bitch, now. Like an itty bitty, little, baby lesbian I take good care of. And now I’m not saying it will be me, and you might not even be a lesbian, I don’t think you are, really, and you might not even have your panties on, but you will cum again tonight.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’ll be the most amazing cum of your life.”
We move out of the way to let Sally wash and dry her hands and I fidget seeing as we’re all in a cramped, close space by the sink with no-one sitting down.
“Let me try something,” Sally says. She wraps her arms around my neck and leans in to me. Sally’s straight, but this isn’t really lesbian anything. I’m not actually a woman. Just go with it, I guess. So I close my eyes with her tongue forcing it’s way into my mouth, pushing firmly against my own tongue. I let her take control, letting her mouth play with mine, tongue stroking the tips of my parted lips and as soon as it’s begun it’s over.
“Anything?” Jess asks.
“Nope,” Sally says.
“How about you, Toni?”
“What? No!”
“Terminally straight,” Jess tuts.
I look into the mirror to check my lipstick and I hear a laugh but I don’t know why.
“We can’t help how God made us,” Sally says.
We, all three, walk back into the living room and Jess asks, “How’s the sausage fest?”
“Have a nice gossip about us?” Steve asks.
“I let Toni in on a secret about Big-G,” Sally says.
“Ooh, do tell!” Steve says.
“He’s got a pretty nicely sized penis,” Sally says.
“It’s very big, Big-G,” I say.
Big-G barks another, “Big-G!” Then he opens one eye, “And Big-G would like to thank Toni for her compliment on his Big-D, and say sometime, maybe? Young girl...”
I laugh as Big-G closes his eye again, but he somehow winks at me despite only one eye having been open.
“See, that’s what we talk about when we go in there. Your penises,” Jess says.
I consider how it was my penis that was on show in the toilet before smiling thinking about Big-G’s wink.
“And me and Toni kissed,” Sally says.
“With tongue,” I say, quickly retuning.
“What?” Steve says, almost leaning out of his seat to the point of falling. It’s obvious Steve fancies Sally, but for some reason I squeeze my legs together thinking of him falling on top of me.
“I had to check if I like girls, but it’s a big fat no from me,” Sally says.
“Yeah, sorry, you didn’t do anything for me either,” I say to Sally.
“Really?” Steve asks, with a smirk.
“Toni likes me and I like her!” Jess says, rather simply.
“But you’re a lesbian,” Steve says.
“Bisexual,” Jess says, “But hey! Let Toni like who she likes, even if she is straight.”
I smile hearing Jess’s comment be met with an echo of, Yeps, and That’s it! From Alan, Sam and Big-G, even if Alan and Sam are getting a little more forceful with their, well, playing on the couch.
“I’m just saying, I know Toni likes girls, even if she’s never, well...” Steve says. “And you’re not going to let yourself be-”
“Who says she hasn’t been with a girl?” Jess asks. And I’m glad I have a defender.
“Ever? Like, ever ever?” Steve asks, and laughs, “No. Never!” And that makes me flinch. “Maybe in school. Maybe she-”
“Tonight!” Jess says.
“But I mean with a girl! And there’s absolutely no way you three... While you were... There’s no way he-”
“She,” I say.
“She-” Steve says.
“What do you mean, Steve? It only counts if Toni runs riot on a woman? Like a big strong, no-use, no-ability-”
“Are you saying it only counts if I’m getting pounded by a proper, rugged manly man?” I ask, interrupting Sally.
“No. What? No, never. That’s not what I... That’s the opposite of what I mean. You have to be-”
“You did ask me to make myself look pretty for you tonight.”
“She is very pretty. Even you admitted she looks nice,” Sam says, as he and Alan begin their kissing again.
Alan nods in agreement, face full of tongue. “Stunning,” he mumbles.
“You bought me $400 shoes!” I say.
“Oh my god the shoes!” Sally says.
“A $300 dress.”
“If you want to go back to being the old you, you can give the dress to me,” Jess says to me. “But I don’t think that’s happening.”
“Some sexy lingerie...”
“No, that’s not what I bought, it was-” Steve starts.
“Do you want to push my thong aside? To fuck-”
“Stop, Toni!” Steve bellows.
“You don’t think I’m hot?” I say.
“She’s a natural,” Sally says.
“I’m a natural what?” I ask.
“Toni can torment Big-G anytime she wants,” Big-G says.
“Some day, Big-G,” I say.
“I like Toni,” Sam says, taking another oxygen break in his make-out session with Alan on the couch.
“I’ve always liked Toni,” Alan says, continuing to rub Sam’s thigh. “Steve and Toni are my best friends.”
“I like Toni, too,” Steve protests.
“We know!” everyone says.
“But how much?” Sally says.
“You three are insufferable,” Steve says.
Sally looks over at me and mouths, “Us three!” while pointing between me, Jess and herself but Jess is distracted.
She’s holding up what looks like an oversized silver bean in her hand. “Who knows what one of these is?” she asks.
“Big-G is pleading the fifth on this one,” Big-G says.
“I know what that is,” Sam says.
“Of course you do,” Sally says. “We were talking about one at work.”
“What is it?” Alan asks Sam, but Sam shakes his head.
“Is it some kind of stress ball? One of them..?” Steve asks. “Like those Chinese, or, you know those Japanese things you hold in your hand, and-”
“Oh, it definitely relieves stress,” Sally says. “And yes, you do hold it.”
“You need to get one of these and carry it in your purse, Toni,” Jess says.
“I don’t know-” Jess takes my hand, places the silver thing between my fingers and flicks a switch. It starts to vibrate in my grip while it buzzes. “Oh,” I say, realisation beginning to dawn. “OH!”
“Yes, babe. Lifesaver!”
Alan looks at Sam, who smiles. “I still don’t-” Alan begins, but one look from Sam seems to paint a thousand words. “It’s powerful enough to?” Sam nods, and shrugs, while the buzzing is still going strong between my shook fingers.
“What is it?” Steve asks.
“What’s it doing?” Sally asks Steve.
“It’s vibra...” Steve starts a sentence but he’s really not that slow. “It’s very small, isn’t it? I mean, how does it go in?” he says, while making complex hand gestures.
“Those poor women you’ve been with,” Sally says.
“I’m telling you two, come to the light,” Jess says, looking between me and Sally. “Forget the men!”
“Why is it we only ever talk about sex?” Steve asks. He’s not slow at all.
“You can talk about how hot we are,” Sally says.
“That’s still sex.”
“No, it’s about feeling good, and being complimented. I’ll tell you you look good when you do. And sometimes I’ll lie to make you feel good, and then you do look good because of confidence.”
“You look great, Sally,” Steve says.
“And you don’t look at all desperate, Steve,” Jess says.
“How do you feel, Toni?” Sally asks.
“Like a million bucks,” I say.
“Damn right, girl!” Sally says. And she holds out her hand for a low five, but I’m snug on the beanbag next to Jess so give her the finger guns. Sally laughs and rubs her forehead.
“OK. Fine, fine.” Steve says. “What do you hate most about yourself? What would you change about yourself?”
“You’re asking Toni?” Jess says, putting an arm around me.
“Finger guns,” I say, quietly.
Jess chuckles and kisses me on the temple. “Never change, girl,” she whispers.
“No, everyone. Just a question. Simple question.”
Jess leans forward and I go with her, now sitting upright, no longer in her arms. As I perch next to her, leaning on me knees, she takes my hand in both of hers and holds it in her lap. “OK, fine. If you want. But Toni doesn’t go first. Or even second.”
“Maybe third,” I say.
“You go first, Steve,” Jess says. “You brought it up.”
Big-G coughs, opens his eyes, and says without a hitch, “Big-G hates nothing about himself, and accepts Big-G is the package Big-G comes in, but saying that, Big-G would like to stop talking in the third person but it’s engrained in Big-G now.”
“You don’t at the office,” Steve says.
“Big-G is ever the professional in workplace settings,” the very naked Big-G says.
“I don’t like my hair,” I say. Despite not having to say anything I really felt it.
“Your hair is just normal hair,” Steve says.
“It’s too angular, and sharp. The black is too black as well. It doesn’t look natural. I don’t want to look so severe,” I say, reaching up and touching the artificial strands.
“That’s a wig, dude,” Steve says.
“That’s her hair! Dude!” Jess says.
“Jess gets her hair done at least once every three weeks,” Sally says. “All the colours. She’ll be bald by the time she’s forty.”
“I couldn’t afford that,” I say. “Which is another thing. My job is terrible. I get no respect. I’ve never had a promotion, my raises are all the base, agreed level. I see all of you doing so well professionally and I don’t seem to make any progress.”
“Have they met Toni?” Jess asks.
“I’ve worked there three years,” I say.
“No. Toni, Toni?”
“What. No! No way,” I say.
“The Toni I know would be kicking ass,” Jess says. “But I suppose I don’t know the Toni who’s been working there for three years. That could be a completely different person.”
“He is,” I say quietly, with a sigh.
“Big-G thinks it’s a pity the terms of the bet means people can’t get dressed again.”
“Why?” Steve asks.
“Big-G thinks Sam and Alan would be making their way to one of their homes right now if they had their clothes on.” He nods towards the couch where Alan is sitting with handful of Sam’s groin while they make out like sixteen year olds.
“Yeah, fair,” Steve says. “Lads’ night isn’t so much lads’ night when three women rock up and upset our rhythm.” He throws a cushion at Sam and Alan. “You two can use my room. Well, the couch. Just the couch. Definitely not my bed. I’ve just changed the sheets and I do not want your two’s juices all over them.”
Alan stands with Sam’s hand in his, leans into kiss him quickly before pulling him out of his sitting position, and in a stage whisper to him says, “Mmm, juices.”
“This is truly fucked,” Steve says.
“C’mon, Steve. Let’s get those clothes in the dryer,” Sally says as she stands.
“Yeah, lads’ night was a bust. Everyone can change back soon.”
“No,” I gasp, leaning forward out of my seat, reaching my arms as if to stop them. The weight of having to get back into my old clothes and no longer being allowed to be Toni pressing on me.
“It’s OK, babe,” Jess says. “It’s OK...” She pushes me back on the beanbag as Steve and Sally leave. “Close your eyes, Big-G,” she continues.
“Big-G is a gentleman,” Big-G says while Jess reaches down to my dress, her hand going behind me and lifting my behind up.
I raise myself knowing this will all be over soon and it’s the last of, well, everything. I’ll go with anything if this night doesn’t end.
“You close your eyes, Toni,” Jess says.
“Now?” I ask.
“I promised you something,” she says. I hear the little vibrator click on. Buzzing fills the air and I draw a long, deep breath. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
I feel her hike my dress up above my groin, up around my stomach, cooler air reaching my butt with only a thong and the pantihose to clothe it, turning me on just a little. She pushes me back down on the beanbag, lies up next to me, wrapping one of her legs around mine, in a tangle.
There’s a swelling in my chest, in my core. A swelling that feels almost like peace. Jess moves her vibrating hand all the way down to my calf. Shivers shoot from my leg all over at her touch with her inching the vibrator up the back of my leg, and behind my knee. Her other hand is now inside my dress, and reaching up, inside my bra. She cups my breast, taking the whole of it in her fingers as I push my ass deep into the giving beanbag, squirming.
She grabs my nipple between her fingers and pinches just as she gets to the inner space between my crotch and thigh with the vibrator, sending pulses forcing me to spread my legs to take it. I want to spread my legs. I want to take it. “Yes,” I whisper, knowing if this happens this one night will have been worth it.
“Open your eyes, babe,” she says. And I look into her gaze as I move my mound up and down to grind against the heel of her palm she obligingly holds there.
“Look at G,” she says. And I do. My eyes go to his magnificent cock and I lick my lips as I imagine me kneeling before him.
“G..?” Jess says.
Big-G opens his eyes and I move my stare from his dick to meet his view as though I’m looking up at him from right before him. He looks at me as though he has a question, and as I notice this Jess moves the vibrator from my the crook of my thigh and groin to my panties clad penis. “Please!” I moan, spreading my legs wider still, still staring at G.
G nods. He brings his hand to his dick and slowly begins to stroke, his cock becoming hard.
“I want this,” I say.
“Tell me what you’re going do to G,” Jess says.
“I want to mount him,” I say.
“Yes,” Jess says. G is stroking faster while watching Jess fuck me with her hand.
“Then what would you do?”
“My legs wrap around him, clinging onto him. I’m on top. I pull him in close feeling him between me. My god he’s between me... I feel his heat against mine. I move my hands over his chest, his hair is so good.” Jess presses the vibrator hard into my dick. “Manly chest hair...” I moan as I clamp my thighs tight onto her hand not letting her get away. “I grind on him.”
“Do you want him?”
“Yes! All of him. I want all of him!” I’m breathing faster and I don’t know if my eyes are open or closed. I don’t know if I can even see G masturbating or if I feel him on top of me. Jess moves more fingers down to my taint, fingering me.
I buck into her vibrating hand. She’s more forceful on my nipple now, twisting, aggressive, my tits feels so sensitive, like a soft breeze would turn me on. My insides contract. I want G inside me.
“Is G going to fuck you? Would you let him enter you? You, Toni. An innocent virgin? Would you let G fuck you?”
“Oh please fuck me, G,” I say. Jess stabs fingers into where my scrotum is and I fuck her hand back. I’m rocking in the beanbag now. It’s a rhythm fucking me and I’m giving it all back. I’m being fucked and I’m fucking. Me changing between pounding my ass back into the seat and fucking Jess’s hand fucking me.
G is going miles an hour on his big, hard dick and I’m imagining it repeatedly entering me, in and out, forcing me to scream. “On top of me G, please,” I plead. I’m going to... Jess is violent with me now. I can’t survive this. I want G to do me hard, like I’m a little bitch. “Fuck your little bitch, G. Fuck me hard. Take me like a bitch, please! Fuck me, G. Fuck me!” I scream.
My legs spring high, bent in the air, with me giving in completely to Jess’s hand pounding me, and I see my heels pointing towards the sky as G fucks me. I have no more to give. He’s fucking me and I’ve got nothing to give. I’m all woman. I’m fully woman. “G, I’m going to...” My back arches. I rock back and forth. I’m so fucking contorted. I’m twisted. My eyes are wide open. “Fuck me! G! Fuck your little bitch! Cum in your little whore!”
Spasms run through my body as I shoot my load into my panties again, letting out a primal groan before falling back into the beanbag. My legs go limp and land spread eagled as Jess fucks my scrotum a few more times. I lie back and close my eyes, breathing hard. There’s cum all inside my panties, inside the liner, but that’s me. That’s all me, and I love it. Jess is rubbing the pad from the outside with her vibrating hand. I feel warm, and whole. My body is at peace.
I feel a kiss on my lips. Jess is above me. “You did great, babe,” she says.
“I...” I begin to say. Then I turn my head to look at Big-G. His cock is soft, his eyes are closed, seemingly asleep, but there’s a smile on his face.
“Want to do it again?” Jess asks.
“When?” I say.
“You’ve got a whole new life in front of you, Toni,” Jess says.
I close my eyes, not able to stop myself from beaming, thinking of being fucked while Jess cuddles up next to me.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel Jess rattle me.
“C’mon babe, get yourself cleaned up, we’re leaving,” she says.
“What, where?” I say.
“The taxi’s on it’s way. Go to the toilet while you can, and you need to borrow a jacket from Steve for outside.”
“What? No!” I say. Sure, this night has been amazing, and I don’t want it to end, but I can’t go outside in a black, date night dress and heels. I can’t let people see me in this get-up!
“I’m not leaving you here with these unruly beasts. Who knows what they’d do to you! You can come back to my place. I have a big bed.”
“I can’t go out like this!” I squeak.
“It’s dark, no-one will care, and there’s no way I’m leaving you alone tonight,” Jess says. “Even then, we have to drop Sally off at her place and I would really prefer if it wasn’t just me in the car with the taxi driver.”
“But...” I say, but I don’t really know what to continue with as I sit up out of the beanbag.
“Anyway, you don’t actually want to stay here. You know it, I know it, and I don’t want to spend the time best used by you cleaning up on convincing you, so let’s cut to the chase,” she says, then she slaps me on the thigh.
“I’ll go the toilet,” I say. “And think about it.”
“No. No thinking. Thinking is bad for you. You already know.”
And as I make my way to the bathroom, and lock the door, and pull down my panties, and sit down to pee I know I do already know. I don’t want tonight to end. Tomorrow is different. Once tomorrow comes it’ll be different, but before I go to bed it’s just a game, right? This is just... What is it? It’s not a game. Just don’t let tonight end.
Leaving the bathroom I hear conversation from the kitchen. Walking in Sally is still fully clothed, sweater dress and boots, and Steve has now lost his tie, shirt and under-shirt, chest bared, poker hand laid out in front of him.
“I need to borrow a jacket, Steve,” I say.
“You going somewhere?” he says with a chuckle.
“Back to Jess’s.”
“Dressed like..? I mean, it’s your life, dude,” he says.
“It is her life,” Sally says. “Now go get her a jacket and be thankful the game is ending and I’m not forcing you to get your tiny, little peepee out. Because then you’d have no chance with Toni.”
“Fine, yeah, sure,” Steve says. “I mean, the dryer will be done with your normal clothes in about thirty minutes, but you do you,” he says, looking me up and down before leaving to his room to get me something to keep warm.
“Go gather your purse and things, Toni,” Sally says.
Soon I’m standing outside Steve’s building, waiting for a taxi, arm in arm with my new friends, looking around like I’m seeing the night for the first time.
As the taxi pulls up I’m shaking. I whisper to Jess, “What about my voice?”
“Just close your eyes,” She says and climbs into the back seat, pulling me behind, with Sally clambering in after me.
“Good night, ladies?” the taxi driver asks.
“Great night! We’re pooped. So if you hear snores don’t be alarmed,” Jess says, and squeezes my hand, so I lay my head back and close my eyes.
“Oh? You must know my wife,” he says. “Forty years married and she still denies she sounds like a saw on timber. Where to?”
We drive through the night and eventually I open my eyes to watch the city passing by. I see revellers and partiers, some dressed like me, and it all looks just perfect. We drive miles out of town to a suburb to drop Sally off, then back into the city, and before I know it I’m in Jess’s little studio apartment, kicking off my heels.
“Go on. Go wash your makeup off,” she says.
When I come out of the toilet, Jess points at the bed before she goes to clean up. I see the side she pointed to has the covers folded down, with a nightdress laid out on top of it. I get undressed except for my panties, put on the nightdress and climb into the bed, exhausted.
Through the fog of coming sleep I hear the toilet door open, and Jess say, “You know you’re amazing, Toni.”
“Tonight was amazing,” I mumble, and soon I’m in nothingness.
Tony had a wild night at Lads’ Night and by the end he didn’t want it to finish. So much so that Tony, when invited, slept at Jess’s place as Toni. Now it’s a new day, and the only clothes Tony has is a fancy date night dress and killer heels. How the hell is Tony going to get home? Maybe, just for now, it has to be Toni going home...
That’s up to Tony, though. But does this newfound fun really have to end? Can Toni continue, at least in the privacy of Tony’s home; at least once he gets there? Whatever happens Tony seems to have found two new friends in Jess and Sally, the problem is they don’t know Tony. Sure, Jess and Sally know he technically exists, but Toni is their friend. And what happens when they want to see her again? These are questions for another day, though, right?
---------------------
Waking up I roll over and look at Jess sleeping next to me. She opens her eyes and says, “Back to sleep, girl. It’s the weekend, it’s early, and you have a whole new life ahead of you, if you want it. You need your rest.” So I close my eyes and settle back into the warmth of the blankets.
I don’t know how much later it is when I finally wake up for real but the light is coming from a totally different position outside the windows and Jess isn’t lying next to me.
I drag myself out of bed pulling down the nightdress that’s ridden up on me and sleepily walk over to Jess sitting at an outcrop of counter, placing myself down opposite her.
She holds a finger to her lips, picks up her phone and dials a number, then places it back in the centre of the counter. After a few rings someone picks up. “She’s awake!” Jess says.
“How are you feeling, babe?” the woman asks.
It’s Sally.
“Tired,” I say.
“Well Big-G would tire any girl out,” Sally says with a laugh.
At that comment I feel blood rush to my face, pins and needles all over and it’s like my body has caved in.
“She’s blushing,” Jess says.
“With the screaming I heard she’d want to be, the little slut.”
“Can you please stop,” I say, breathlessly.
“OK, what’s the plan for today?” Sally asks.
“I have to study in the afternoon, catch up on some things,” Jess says. It dawns on me that this is ending. All of this is ending. I’ll be going home and it’ll be normal again. It’ll be normal and boring.
“I’ll call you this evening, then. Toni, give Jess your number and I’ll get it from her. I would usually say something like it was a pleasure to meet you but we’ll be running riot again soon so it’s unnecessary. Anyway, you already know all this.”
“I...” I say. What does she mean Again? Soon?
“Toni’s lost for words,” Jess says.
I force myself to speak up but all I can say is, “I had fun.”
“Yeah, we know. You’re one of us, now. Jess, get her sorted.”
“Sure thing,” Jess says.
“I’ll call tonight,” Sally says, then hangs up.
Jess stands and takes a few steps. “Coffee?”
“Please,” I say. As I watch her pour the coffee and move the milk and cup to the counter I realise my mind is all static, me unable to pull a single thread of thought from the seeming thousands ricocheting inside my head.
Jess pushes the cup in front of me and sits down, crossing her legs. She looks completely different in an oversized t-shirt and no makeup. Twelve hours ago she seemed out there, kind of wild, forceful, but caring. Now she just seems, I don’t know, regular? Tired maybe?
“Thoughts?” she asks. “Questions..?”
“What happened?” I say, without even thinking.
“What do you think happened?” Jess says.
Images flash through my mind from last night that don’t really form a story, more a feeling, but it’s a feeling I can’t identify. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, please. You’re not stupid, and you’re not some ditz of a girl. Think about what happened last night.”
“I really don’t know,” I say.
“No, you don’t want to say it. To put it in words,” Jess says. “And that’s fine. But just think about it. Permit yourself to know it.”
I lift up the coffee, then place it back down again without taking a drink. “When did you know? You know? Know me? That I wasn’t..?” I ask.
“What? That you weren’t playing? And that you are who you are?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess.”
“Instantly,” she says. “Never,” she continues. “I still don’t really know.”
That rocks me. How can she not know who I am? The person sitting opposite to her? The, well, a kind of, sort of... A kind of ‘wants this to go’ on person. A person she helped create.
“Come on. You’re thinking something big.”
“I...” I can’t say it.
“You’re thinking the big question, so I’ll ask you. Do you want Toni with an i to end?” she says. “It’s out there now, so straight answer.”
“No,” I say, snapping the word out in an instant, as if to put it out of its misery. Then I sigh. It feels like I’ve emptied my chest. Like it’s hollow.
“Then that’s that. Decision made. Simple, really.”
“It’s not simple,” I say.
“Oh my god, Toni! It’s so simple! Just let it happen.”
“But I’m not a girl,” I say.
“Who cares?” Jess says, which is not what I want to hear. I do not want Jess to be telling me I’m not a girl.
“But if I’m not a girl?” I say.
“But what if you are? What does it matter what I think? It’s about what you think. It’s about who you are,” she says. “It’s about what you want.”
“I want to...” I say, trailing off.
“Yes, you want to be you. And to answer your original question the second you walked through that door, into the living room, in all your beauty, I knew this wasn’t a joke. That chances are you weren’t playing a game, you weren’t just living up to a silly bet. Your head was held high, and you looked happy, and proud. You were just you.”
“I wasn’t,” I say, but I feel uneasy saying it.
“That’s the impression you gave off. And every moment of last night, every interaction, everything you said and did confirmed that you were exactly who I saw you were. I didn’t know if you were just playing a game, playing it exceedingly well, so I can only go on what I see, and hear, and my own instincts, and Toni, from what I can tell, and trust, is a woman I want in my life. You seem like an honest person. So you’re my new friend, one who’ll be with me a long, long time. If you want.”
“How do I do this?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ve never done this,” Jess says. “But you have the internet. Start googling. What I can do is be your friend.”
“Start googling,” I say, and think of my computer at home. “How do I get home?”
“Get a taxi,” she says. “And there’s a few buses that stop outside. Walk? How would you normally get home?”
“I can’t wear what I was wearing last night,” I say.
“No, you can’t. I don’t want people seeing someone do the walk of shame from my front door if I didn’t even get some,” Jess says. “It’d be cruel on me.”
“I mean, what do I wear?”
“Look around you, Toni. What do you see?” Her studio is mostly wood laminate on the floor with a rug, a futon with coffee table before it, a bed, the kitchen area, the counter we’re at, and rack after rack of clothing, which my eyes keep turning to.
“Yeah, I like fashion,” Jess says. “And I don’t like giving my clothes away but you’re my favourite person in the world, at the moment, so what do you want to wear?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Oh my god, Toni. You have words. Use them. Try and please string a cohesive sentence together without me dragging everything out of you. I know it’s hard, I know this is new, but what do you like? What style do you want? Who do you want to be?”
“I liked what Sally was wearing,” I say. Then try and force something more out of my mind. “I don’t know. It looked warm. Cosy almost. But, you know, it showed her off. She looked put together. And it was, I don’t know. It was of a time.”
“Sweater dress, boots, easy,” Jess says.
“Boots?” I ask. “What if they don’t fit?”
“Oh, I put on your heels last night. They are divine! And expensive. And we’re the same size. Which is the obvious reason you’re a woman. No man would have such dainty feet as you.” Jess laughs.
“We’re having a pedicure next weekend?” I ask.
“Yes! We are! You remembered.” And I think back to the start of last night, in Steve’s room, imagining someone nibbling on my toes. “You drink your coffee and I’ll pull some options out for you,” Jess says, as she stands and walks between clothes racks.
I’m drinking my coffee, all up in my mind about how this isn’t actually over when Jess says, “Come on, babe. I’ve picked two outfits for you.”
I stand and walk to Jess. On the bed are two sweater dresses, the same length, both full sleeved. One is white wool, and a little fluffy, by design. The other is a tight machine knit, black, with mirrored, horizontal stripes across the chest in orange, blue and grey.
“Which do you like?” Jess asks.
“I love them both,” I say.
“You can’t have both. I told you, you’re not raiding my wardrobe whenever you feel like it. This is just necessity. But a necessity I’m happy to give into, this time.”
“The white wool would look, well, pretty powerful with my bob” I say, thinking of the black, angular wig. “But the black one, I don’t know, it looks more ready.”
“You don’t have to wear the wig,” Jess says.
“What? Of course I do!” I say.
“No. Not at all. You pick the dress you want, don’t think of your hair and I’ll make you look like a total hottie going about her Saturday business.”
“The black one,” I say, thinking of Jess making my man hair into something. I do like the black one that bit more, anyway.
“Done!” Jess says.
“Do I just—”
“Yeah, you just!”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, you just get dressed, like any other woman on a Saturday morning. You just go about your day. You probably have some errands to run, and you probably need to look up a few things online. You probably need to catch up on sleep after a busy week at work and tiring night out. You just!”
“Yeah,” I say.
Jess picks up and hands me the black, knit sweater dress, then goes to a drawer, rooting around. “Some everyday panties,” she says, handing me a multipack of underwear. “Yours must be sickening by now, and some pantihose. The boots come later. Wash up, get dressed, and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
I clutch the clothes Jess gave me along with my own bra and I look in the mirror in the toilet, trying to take stock. This all just seems, I don’t know, normal? But vibrant, somehow? Like I’m energised but this is the kind of energy I was missing from my life, until now. Sure, I’m tired, and my brain has completely emptied, but why wouldn’t that be the case? It’s a Saturday morning, I had a great night last night, along with great sex, for the first time, I’m at my friend’s apartment and I have the rest of the day to unwind. I have the rest of the day to maybe process what’s happening, with no distractions.
As I walk out of the toilet, fully dressed, I stop and raise my arms to the side to show myself off to Jess. “Yeah, that’s it,” she says. “Just a normal, everyday Saturday every woman has. Now pass me the old panties and your nightdress.”
I hand them over and Jess busies herself with something on her bed with her back turned to me.
I sit down on her futon, mind completely empty.
I’m staring off into space when I hear Jess say, “Hello? Toni?”
“What?” I say.
“What were you thinking about?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Come-on. I thought we were stopping the whole reticent, obtuse, not talking thing.”
“No, really. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was just sitting. Feeling normal. More normal than I usually feel,” I say.
“That’s good, I suppose. Normal is good,” she says. She hefts a sparkly yellow, hardshell suitcase onto the floor. “I’ve packed your bag, well, my bag. I want it back. It has wheels. I hate to rush you out but I have a professional exam coming up in a few weeks and I really need to study.”
“Of course, yeah,” I say.
“These are the boots I’ve picked, just a little wedge on them. I don’t want you tripping over heels.”
“No, a hospital trip would not be good like this,” I say. I unzip one of the knee high black boots and set my foot in it, zipping it up again.
“Do you have a plan on how you’re getting home?” Jess asks.
“The bus? I guess. I think you’re on the same route as me.”
“Good good. But please message me when you get there. I want to know you’re safe,” she says, before coming into me for a hug. “Oh shit!”
“What?” I ask.
“I said I’d do your hair. Your wig is packed away.”
“Fuck! I nearly forgot.”
“You’re too good at this woman business, Toni. I didn’t even notice. Sit down again, it won’t take long.”
I sit and Jess messes with some mousses and gels in my hair, primping and teasing, turning my head this way and that. It really isn’t long before she says, “Yeah, that’s done.”
I stand and go to the toilet door to see myself in the mirror and I look like a perfectly normal woman. My hair isn’t that short, but it’s not long hair by any stretch. Business respectable, and lacking style, normally, but Jess has made it into a woman’s short tousled look in an almost 60s way, like I’d see on a model from those days.
“Right! We can’t have you staring at yourself all day. Time for you to go home and start googling, making plans, calling doctors, etcetera, etcetera.” And this time she does give me a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, which I reciprocate.
“I’ve packed your suitcase with your clothes from last night, you have your purse, your phone, your keys and your money. Anything I’m forgetting?”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Yeah, of course,” Jess says.
“No. For everything.”
“It was my delight. And you can get me a drink next time we’re out,” she says as we’re walking towards the front door.
Jess opens it, and I stop on the threshold for a moment, before taking a step outside, wheeling the suitcase behind me. Before I realise it the door is closed and I’m hearing a security chain being put in place.
I take the elevator to the ground floor, an elevator lined with mirrors, and seeing myself I look happy. Not smiling. Not grinning like a fool or anything. Simply content. This is fine. I look like me in the mirrors. Me going on forever in reflections reflecting back on each other.
Leaving the elevator I go past the mailboxes, and step onto the street. Me, a normal kind-of woman going home on a normal Saturday, I tell myself. I assure myself. I shout inside my mind. I guess I really am Toni, at least for today, at home, and tomorrow, too, probably.
I walk towards what appears to be a bus stop, to check out the routes and schedules, and while I’m making my way there people pass me by, mostly paying no attention. Well, that isn’t quite true, men look at me, I guess, glances mainly, but some of the women, especially women my own age, flash me a quick smile. It’s barely noticeable but it’s definitely there. The third or fourth time it happens I smile back, and by the time I reach the bus stop knowing I am on a route that brings me home I decide I’ll instead take the opportunity to walk. It’s not hugely far, an hour or so, but I like being smiled at. I like being seen. No-one’s ever paid a blind bit of attention to me before. Why shouldn’t I appreciate this?
Eventually I’m approaching my building but I’m a little sweaty, and I was definitely sweating last night. I probably stink. If I shower my hair will be ruined so I need some of the gels or mousses Jess was using. And I’ll need some proper deodorant. My tummy has been growling for the last thirty minutes or so, too, so I need something for breakfast.
I pop into the little store just a minute from my apartment block before I think of the workers who might recognise me. Then I decide Fuck it! They’re not my friends. I’ve never said more than Hello and Thanks to them, what do they care about me?
I walk towards the front of the store where the small selection of hygiene products are and look for the mousse Jess used. I can’t find it, but there are some that say they’re mousses. I pick one up that’s not too expensive, well, it’s expensive enough, along with a gel, a scented body wash, then some roll on deodorant. As I’m picking up a pastry and a banana I think about the roller on the deodorant getting stuck on my pit hair and know I’ll need a razor to get rid of it, but I can’t see any razors.
I walk up the counter with just me and the worker in here, a guy I vaguely recognise, assuring myself he doesn’t give a hoot about me, and quietly say, “Razors?”
“We keep them behind here,” he says. “Theft, you know?”
I place my items down and say, trying to remain calm, “Yeah, of course, makes sense. Some razors, please. Decent quality, not the single blades.” He turns behind him, takes a pack and places some pink women’s razors down after checking them into the till.
“You look very nice today,” he says, looking up at me. I smile, a proper bright eyed smile. This is the first real compliment I’ve had. At least from someone I don’t know, even if he is just being pleasant. “Back from travelling?” He points towards my suitcase.
“No. I was with a friend last night,” I say.
“Lucky man,” he says.
I blush. “Female friend.”
“Well she’s very lucky then,” he says, with a dip in his voice.
“Oh! Not like that. No... Just somewhere to sleep after a party.”
“I’m Ro,” he says.
“Toni,” I say. He smiles and begins packing my items into a paper bag, something he’s never done for me before. I watch him as he does it, and he’s stopping and glancing at me every few seconds, with a cute smile, and I notice I’m smiling back, and a little turned on. Well, more than just a little. A bit, maybe.
“I hope you had a very enjoyable shopping experience, Toni. It’s lovely to finally meet you,” he says handing me my items.
“Yeah...” I say, as though I’m dreaming. “You’re nice...” I take the paper bag and leave the store as if I’m walking on a cloud.
I’m not thirty seconds down the street, still in cloud cuckoo land, when I hear my name being called out. I turn to the voice and it’s Ro chasing after me. I stop, concerned. Did I forget to pay?
He slows down as he gets close to me and holds out a card. “This is the security company the store uses, along with a few of the other stores around. Some of the women around here have their number too, in case, well... It’s not the safest neighbourhood at times. If you feel unsafe at all, ever, or anything happens, just call them. They’re on a shared contract.”
“Oh! Wow, thank you,” I say. I didn’t even think about safety. Certainly not for women. I just thought about, well, me. I look up and see him smiling at me and think I should give him a kiss on the cheek, as thanks, but that’d be way too weird. I can’t do that.
He turns and walks back to his store with me left standing, staring at the number for a security company. I guess that’s a real risk, now. I should probably start thinking about it more.
I turn the card over to see if there’s more info, and on the back and hastily written in pen is the name ‘Rohit’ with a phone number next to. My eyes open wide and I desperately want to turn around and see if he’s watching me but I’m far too afraid. There’s no way he means... He was just being friendly. He’s definitely not watching me but then I think What if he is?!
I smile to myself, feeling like I could dance, and more or less skip my way to my apartment.
Walking through my door I see nothing has changed. It’s the same as ever. I don’t really know why I expected it be different just because I’ve changed. Then I think to myself if I have changed? Am I different? Do I really feel different? I don’t know what I feel. Happy, I guess.
I flop back into my ratty couch and think about how I feel different, and if I really am different, when my phone beeps. I should probably charge it. Plugging it in I see a notification. I pull it up, “Please message Jess when you get home. She worries. Then message me you’ve done it. Sally.”
I guess this is just what women do? Ro did say the neighbourhood can be unsafe. I message Jess that I’m home, I took the long way back to enjoy a walk. Then I message Sally that I messaged Jess. I suppose Jess really does worry.
I fire up my laptop then figure I should really, really shower. First I unpack the suitcase with my clothes from last night. I’ll have to figure out how to wash the dress. Probably dry cleaning. Nothing I own needs to be dry cleaned, but that dress is fancy, wow! I place my heels down next to my bed, next to my man shoes. Yeah, they’re definitely way prettier. And I take out what else Jess packed. My disgusting, stained thong and pantihose I throw in my laundry basket with a smile, remembering. I can’t believe I’m smiling over that. Then I take out the night dress I wore last night that Jess must have packed for me, along with the multipack of coloured, cotton panties.
Everything placed away, I carefully take off all my clothes, laying them on my bed, I’ll be putting those on again right after I dry, before taking my newly bought hygiene products and putting them in the little shower stall.
I’m normally a fast showerer, in and out, but this time the hot water feels soothing, like I’m washing away a lifetime of worries. Even as I shave my pits, with the small amount of hair washing away easily I don’t feel like this is all functional, like it’s just getting clean. It feels invigorating.
I turn to my crotch, running my fingers around there and I realise what a wild night I had. Despite water flowing over me for what must be at least twenty minutes my pubes are still caked in cum. My cum, sure, but it’d be easier if there was less hair, wouldn’t it? I pick up the razor and start cleaning away just a few stray hairs, but then I go further, and a little further. If I don’t stop now I’ll be completely hairless down there. I’d like running my hand through a man’s pubes I think.
I haven’t of course. Ever, I think, startling myself out of a daydream. I didn’t actually do anything with G last night, which I think back to. I didn’t actually touch him. I wouldn’t mind, though. Being honest with myself I guess I wouldn’t mind. Just to try it. Just the once. And Rohit is cute, I suppose. He’s... And I notice I’m leaning back against the tiled wall, massaging myself. I remember back to smiling at Ro. I have a handful of myself. It was like a dream. I said, “You’re nice...”
My god! I said, “You’re nice...” grinning like a fool. He must think I’m an idiot! Some kind of dribbling buffoon. I cringe with the memory in my mind shouting at me.
And now my dick is as soft as a wet noodle. I guess that’s that! I don’t deserve anything after saying, “You’re nice...”
I finish up my shower, quickly, put on my red and black striped bathrobe and leave the water closet.
Sitting on my couch, still thinking of acting like a dopey, smitten schoolgirl in front of Rohit I pick up the mousse to distract me. It says apply to damp hair, which is just about what mine is now. I take it to my toilet sink and look in the mirror above it, testing my hair, teasing it into place. I style it with its moisture to sort of how Jess had it. It’s not as good, nowhere near as good, but it’s OK, I guess, for a first time, just for at home. I’ll get practice at this.
Sort of happy with how it looks I rub the mousse in, twisting it into shape a final time, securing it properly. I hope I used enough. Or not too much. I have no clue really. I sigh thinking if I had been a girl as a teenager I’d already know all this.
Looking at myself I check all over my face. I really need makeup, if I’m going to do this. And my eye catches on my upper lip. At the shadow there. Some fuzz! How long have I been walking around like this? Was that since this morning? I don’t have much facial hair but it’s not none. And I last shaved yesterday! I’ve been walking around in a dress and hose and boots with beard hair on my face! I feel sick.
I groan and close my eyes, my head falling forwards. I really do feel sick. My stomach rumbles again and I know I should eat. I walk to where I left the banana and pastry, taking a side trip to look at the clothes laid out on my bed but I turn my head away when I think of me walking around with a moustache while wearing them.
I walk to the kitchen, make a coffee and sit down and eat my breakfast. My stomach gurgles the whole time and after I finish I’m still hungry. I don’t know if I’m still sick thinking of walking around with a beard.
I look at the clock and it’s mid-afternoon, well past lunch time. I guess I’m just hungry. No wonder I’m so hungry!
As I’m making some instant ramen I hear my phone ring. Looking at the caller ID it’s Sally. I pick up, “Hello?” I say, with a sigh.
“Do you know Light Avenue?”
“What?” I say.
“Light Avenue? It’s the café bar.”
“The gay bar?” I ask.
“Well, no. It’s not an LGBTQ bar, it’s just, you know accepting. They don’t tolerate intolerance, everyone is welcome. Friendly and safe...”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” I say.
“Can you be there in, say, ninety minutes?” Sally asks.
“Go out?” I ask, perking up.
“Yeah, 90 minutes.”
I think of my moustache. “I can’t,” I say, groaning.
“Oh no! What happened? Did someone say something? Did something happen?”
“I was walking around with a moustache!” I whinge.
“What?!” Sally says.
“Yeah, a moustache right across my lip, since this morning. And me wearing a dress, and looking like an idiot.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Sally says. “There’s no way Jess, master at disguises, would have let you leave her studio with a moustache.”
“I saw it!” I say.
“Sorry, if anything it’s a little fluff. Emphasised by whatever particular light you caught yourself in.”
“I can’t go out like this,” I say.
“If you said you were busy doing research online, or you were thinking things over from last night I would have said fine, and we’d meet tomorrow. But now I know you’re being down on yourself I have to see you. I’m not letting you mope all night.”
“But my—”
“Just shave it,” Sally says.
“I have no makeup,” I whine.
“There’s time enough for that, we’ll talk about it when you get here so meet me at Light Avenue in ninety minutes. You know where it is?”
“Yeah...” I say.
“You’re worrying over nothing. You’re gorgeous. Ninety minutes. I’ll be here.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. I did have a moustache on my face but my facial hair is blonde, so only those people on the street saw me. And Rohit... My stomach turns thinking of Rohit seeing me with a beard. I suppose he still gave me his number, I guess. I can shave it off if I’m going out again. Sally said we’d talk about makeup which will actually cover this kind of thing in the future. I decide I should eat my noodles before worrying about all this. Maybe I am just hungry?
Nowhere near ninety minutes has passed, even allowing for the coming ten minute ride to the bar when I’m outside my apartment block, freshly shaved, hair styled, in my dress, boots, and Steve’s jacket. He’s way way bigger than me so I guess it looks like I’m wearing a boyfriend’s jacket. I think of people thinking of me as having a boyfriend and it feels OK, at least with how I’m dressed now.
A taxi pulls up and I sit in. “Light Avenue, do you know it?” I ask.
He recites the address, in a rather friendly tone. “That’s it,” I say, with with a wobble in my voice.
Pulling out into traffic he asks me, “Have you been to this bar before?”
“No, never,” I say.
“My niece likes it. She goes there fairly often, says she feels very safe there. You’ll be fine,” he says.
I nod, and smile, feeling better about myself.
I pay the driver, and he says, “Have fun!” I thank him, get out, look up at the sign above the door of the building and pull down my dress before walking in. For a café-bar it’s much bigger than I expected. Much bigger than the outside would indicate. Much deeper I guess. The lighting is low once you get beyond the now retreating sunlight streaming through big glass windows at the front, intimate but not date-nighty, and the air is warm.
I’m about to walk into the hideaway of the back and find a seat when I hear my name. I look in the caller’s direction and Sally is sitting on a low couch with another couch opposite it, both perpendicular to a terracotta wall in an alcove. There’s a sturdy, dark, wood table between them and small, white candles set on it in a row.
Sally stands and hugs me. “Did you find the place OK?” she asks.
“The taxi driver was nice, he knew here,” I say.
“That’s good. What do you want to drink?”
I look at the table and Sally has an almost empty, big glass of red wine set in front of her, so I guess we’re drinking. “Just a beer for me, please,” I say.
I sit on the opposite couch while Sally gets the drinks and I keep looking around. There’s some people at the bar, and others on high stools with high tables, as well as some low partitioned, cushioned bench seats with tables and more chairs in front of them. Everyone in here is stylish, really. And an equal mixture of men and women. It’s diverse, not just in race but in, well, everything. It’s metropolitan, but not business-y or formal. I haven’t been in a bar like this pretty much ever.
As I’m people watching I notice I’m staring at one particular woman, further back in the bar. A trans woman, a good few years older than me. She glances at me, and I quickly look away before looking back but she’s returned to her conversation with the woman she’s with. I hope she didn’t see me staring, I think, as Sally places a beer in front of me and sits down with her fresh glass.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m early though, and you’re already here.” I glance back at the woman who caught me staring.
“Yeah, I had to come early to get these seats,” Sally says. “But how are you, Toni? Toni with an i! We meet again.”
“Yeah,” I say, and smile.
“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here,” Sally says, squeezing her whole body up.
“I am too.”
“How was your walk home?”
“Jess worries?” I say, thinking of having to message her.
“Yeah, she’s a worrier. For all her bravado she’s really quite delicate. You’ll get to know,” Sally says, waving her hand as though she’s dismissing the thought. “If you’re with her just always, always message her once you’re home safe. Do the same with me but especially her.”
I nod. Not really knowing what to think, but Sally’s staring at me, and I look back at her, confused. “So?” she says.
“So what?” I ask.
“You’re a woman, now. What’s new? What’s different? What have you noticed? How does it feel? Are you happy?”
“Nothing’s different,” I say, a little shocked at myself.
“Nothing?” Sally asks, sounding a little incredulous.
“I mean, I’m terrified every minute someone’s going to laugh at me and call me a freak, or worse. I’m constantly on edge and have to force every fear that’s bubbling up down into my toes. The whole thing is all wrong but I feel fine with it. I don’t know...” I say, trailing off.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Jess says. “The whole thing’s all wrong?”
“I’m all wrong,” I say.
“How?” she asks.
“Well, I’m not actually... You know. I’m not a real... Woman.”
“So? Anyway, don’t think that. You look fine to me.”
“It’s not just about looks,” I say. A thought I didn’t realise I was thinking.
“OK, alright, that’s beyond my ability. Did you have time to go on the internet?” Sally asks.
“No. I just showered and ate. I really did take a long walk home,” I say.
“Tomorrow then, or tonight if you can’t sleep, do some searches. There’s doctors and the like who can help. The woman’s clinic I go to has—”
“No. I can’t—” I say.
“Has therapists you can talk to,” she continues. “About things like gender, and sexuality, and what it means to be a woman like you.”
“I’m not a...”
“You’re not what? A woman? Do you really think of yourself as a some smelly boy?”
“I like the smell of some boys,” I say. A little joke, to change the subject.
“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable!” Sally says, rolling her eyes.
“What do you mean?” I ask, fear rising, but this a sharper fear, a less existential one.
“You were flat out denying you’re a woman fifteen seconds ago then you immediately pivot to saying you like how boys smell. All the while you’re sitting in a dress and boots, hotter than the sun, checking out every man who passes by. You’re as woman as me, if not more so.”
“I’m not checking out men!” I protest.
“Don’t deny it! I can see you. I’m doing it too. Everyone’s doing it. It’s one of life’s great pleasures.”
“But I’m really not,” I say.
“You were doing it last night!”
“What?!”
“Your eyes were sucking down Big-G!”
“I... Well...” She’s kind of right.
“You just did it again!”
“What?”
She emphasises with her head towards the man with a short and thick, but maintained beard, lumberjack shirt, flared, jet black jeans and black, detailed cowboy boots, but they don’t look like an affectation on him. He does look hot. Strong, I suppose. Masculine. And he has a package.
“You might as well be sitting in his lap!” Sally screeches.
“No. I just... I just looked him,” I say. “He was passing.”
“Yes! That’s what I’m saying. You’re checking out men. You’re doing it now. You’ve been doing it since you arrived. You were doing it last night.”
“Maybe. What if I’m gay?” I say.
“You’re sitting in a dress with your girlfriend. Jess fingered you to a screaming orgasm last night. But most of all, deep down, do you think of yourself as a gay man?”
“I need to use the toilet,” I say.
“Then go,” Sally says, pouting, but also laughing.
“But which do I use? The men’s or the...” I ask.
“I’m not helping you with this one. If you’re a man, use the men’s. If you’re a woman, use the women’s.”
“OK, fine! At least tell me where they are?”
“Nope, not saying a word,” Sally says, folding her arms across her chest, turning away from me.
“I got the message,” I say, and stand, and walk to the bar a little way towards the front.
It’s sort of early and relatively peaceful but I still stand a little way away from the counter until the most stunningly attractive, roughly thirty-five year old woman I’ve ever seen sees me as she’s mixing a cocktail. “Toilets?” I ask.
“At the back. To the left, hun,” she says, distractedly.
I try to focus on how hot she was, letting whichever toilet I use just come in a split second with the distraction, but as I’m walking towards the back, then down to the left I decide I’ll just use the men’s. It’s easier, it won’t offend anyone. It’s zero hassle. I won’t have to worry.
Getting to where the bartender said I look around and can see the women’s but can’t find the men’s. As I’m searching for them a woman opens the door from the inside and holds it back for me, with a smile. I guess I have no choice now. I go in, do my business, and quickly wash my hands. Thankfully no-one else is in there when I’m in there so I get away safely.
I walk back to our table, feeling relieved for that to be over with, and actually relieved, wondering what me and Sally were talking about.
“At the back, to the left,” Sally says.
“What?”
“Is where the women’s is. The men’s is at the back to the right.”
“I didn’t... The bartender sent me—”
“Yes, because she saw a woman. Because you’re a woman.”
“Why is everyone being so nice!?” I plead.
“Not everyone will be, not everyone is.”
“But...”
“Why do you think I picked this bar?” Sally asks.
“Because it really is an LGBTQ bar. And I’m—”
“No. It’s not. It’s a modern bar. With accepting people. I feel safe. Me! I feel safe here, and you should too. That’s what matters.”
“What about me?” I ask. “What about me feeling safe in me?”
“Do you think I’d hurt you?” Sally asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Well now I really am offended,” Sally says, with actual annoyance in her voice.
“Oh, stop that!” I say, sitting up in the couch. “I only met you last night. I have no reason to believe you’d hurt me, and you’ve given me none. But you might, even unintentionally.” I pause, but Sally doesn’t seem to want to interrupt this time. “Even unintentionally I’d be the one hurt, and I don’t want that, for me. This is all new to me, and I’m figuring things out. And anyway, I could know someone else for two days, and judge them completely wrong, and actually be hurt, be really hurt, or worse. I need to keep myself safe.” As I stop I realise I’m sucking in breath.
“Oh, wow, that was good. Our first fight. How do you feel?” Sally asks.
“What?” I ask, still with my chest pounding.
“You’re right. You have to look after you. But you also have to trust people. And you’re right not to immediately trust, to keep yourself safe. I didn’t think of how vulnerable you must be feeling, and how new that must be to you, when it’s a way I’ve felt most of my life. And it has been most of my life. The same for most women. I guess I’m a little jealous, and annoyed at you.”
“I do trust you,” I say. “And Jess. I’m scared too. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of what you go through. What women go through. What I might have to go through, if...”
“Please, please Toni! Look up a therapist! You’re going to have to learn all this so fast. Or you’ll learn a hard lesson. I’ll take you to my clinic if you want. They’ll be much better at this than me,” Sally says. “I can’t give you all the help you need. It wouldn’t be fair on you or me. I’m just doing my best, trying to be your friend.”
“You are my friend. Still? I hope?”
“That was a baby fight. But I want to avoid any more for tonight,” Sally says. “But it does bring up something Jess said to me.” She opens up her purse and takes out a pen, before grabbing some napkins. “Jess told me you asked her when she first thought you were a woman. Now that’s a boring question, because we’ve established you are a woman.”
“No, we—”
“For the purposes of this you’re my friend who’s a woman. I can’t help you with every bit of the trans stuff, because I’m not trans, and have never been friends with trans anyone, so most of the time I’m going to treat you like my female friend because that’s who you are to me.”
“I see some problems with this but I’ll go with it for a while,” I say.
“Detente, on it then. A temporary accord, for the sake of the children,” Sally says.
I nod.
“So I know you’re my friend and I’m going to be bold enough to say you thought of me as your friend pretty quickly. I want to know when you first thought that.”
“How do you mean?” I ask. I uncross my legs, lean in over the table, looking at the napkins and pen sitting between us.
“You asked Jess when she first thought you were a woman. I want to know when you first thought of me as a friend. I’ll answer the same question about you and we’ll both write down our answers and swap them.”
“Like that couple’s gameshow?” I say.
“Now I know you watch terrible TV,” Sally says. “But yes.”
“I thought you didn’t want another fight?” I say. “Because this seems like it’ll—”
“I bet it won’t,” Sally says.
“OK,” I say and pick up a napkin. Sally keeps hers hidden while scribbling then hands me the pen.
“Let me think,” I say.
“Take as long as you need,” Sally says.
I pause for a few seconds then write on the napkin, in big letters, In Steve’s toilet.
“Swap,” Sally says. I fold the napkin over and she folds hers over and we exchange them. “OK, open.” And I open up the napkin, but look away feeling sick. Like this is going to be the reveal of the trick. Steve is going to jump out and laugh at me for being a small dicked man, or some kind of tranny. That I’ll be stuck here, in a dress, with everyone knowing my shame. Everyone thinking me disgusting. That Sally will have written, I’m not your friend.
“Go on, look,” Sally says and I see she’s already unfolded my napkin but her tone and face reveal nothing.
I force myself to look and see written down, Toilet!!! with two hearts drawn after, along with some Xs and Os.
“See?” Sally says, as I feel a weight lift off me, and actually quite loved.
“Why?” I ask. “Why there?”
“No, you go first.”
I’m biting my lip, trying to think back to what I felt when I was in Steve’s. What I felt when I was in the toilet.
“I know it wasn’t when you looked in the mirror,” Sally says.
“No. It was after,” I say.
“Same for me,” Sally says.
“I was amazed at myself, in the mirror. I saw the person I want to be. And you and Jess shared in that with me. But it was more than that. It was support. And... I don’t know. I guess it just felt natural. I didn’t feel ashamed, or confused. I was really there with two friends. And the moment I actually felt I was with friends was when I sat down to pee.”
“What? Why?” Sally asks. “Was it this big I’m peeing with women thing?”
“No,” I say. “It has to do with why I was in a dress. Why do you think I was actually dressed like that?”
“It was the bet, I suppose,” Sally says. “And there was a part of you that secretly wanted it...”
“I think there was a part of me that wanted it,” I say. “But the most forward reason was, well, you saw how big, or really how small I am. You know, in the department...”
“Your little, itty bitty clitty?” Sally says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Oh...” Sally says. And thinks. “Oh, OK! You agreed to wear a dress, and thong, and heels, so people wouldn’t see your thingy and judge you?”
“Yeah, as simple as that. And I didn’t care with you. It just felt fine. It didn’t matter. You weren’t going to laugh at me or think any worse or lesser of me, or hold it against me. I really didn’t care because I could trust you. You were my new friends.”
“For fuck sake, Toni,” Sally says, shaking her head and giving me a slow blink.
“What?”
“You’re saying you’re now a woman, given everything that happened since the start of last night, because you wanted to avoid people thinking of you as less of a man.”
“Yeah. That’s it. You get it,” I say, and smile.
“I need a drink after that one!” Sally says.
“Let me get them,” I say.
“No, it’s your birthday,” she says.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“You’re right, it could have been last night. You need to decide, though, while I get a very stiff, celebratory drink.”
While Sally is at the bar I’m mulling over in my head if I’m a woman because I’m not a man, or if not being a man is enough to make you a woman. Before I’ve even really formulated the question properly Sally is back down. “A shot and a beer,” she says.
“What shot?”
“Whiskey, of course. A warrior’s drink.” She holds her hand cradling the shooters out to me while she places the beers down, I take one, then we clink glasses and both knock them back.
Sitting down she asks, “So, which day is your birthday?”
“Technically it is today but I decided I deserve a birthday weekend.”
“Why today? Why not last night?”
“Last night I would have done anything to keep all this going,” I say.
Sally nods, “I’m with you so far.”
“But today I realised it’s up to me to keep it going if I want, I realised I’m allowed to keep it going. And I can keep it going, maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“It’s not all drinking in bars,” I say. “And checking out men.”
“True,” Sally says.
“I have to go to work on Monday.”
“No work talk,” Sally says.
“Agreed,” I say, imagining myself being normal Tony on the bus to work on Monday morning. “Now you answer the question.”
“What?” Sally asks.
“When? Me. Friend. Toilet.”
“Oh. OK. Yeah, it was partly the mirror thing. That was when I knew you weren’t pretending at this. For real, I mean. There was no way you were playing a game, with that. Your reaction was all genuine.”
“It was,” I say.
“So then I knew you were a woman, which ties into the friend part. You’d just cum on my friend’s knee.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, but at least I don’t blush. I am cringing, though.
“No, Jess enjoyed it. She needed to get some, it’s been a while. And Jess didn’t care. She did enjoy it. Which made me happy. And because you made my friend happy, making me happy, you became my friend. It was just all around happy vibes. It was natural, and chill, and there was no edge to it. It was just friends, togetherness. Jess trusted you, so I trusted you and we were just being ourselves with no worries. Like, absolutely no worries at all.”
“So it’s literally because I got Jess off?”
“Well, she didn’t get off, really, but she had fun. So I suppose you could say you did. Sort of?”
“Who knew the secret of making women your friend was getting them off?” I say, feigning shock.
“That’ll rock the world if people find out!” Sally says.
“Is that how Jess made you her friend?” I ask. “When she...” I make the face I vaguely remember making when Jess made me cum. Then I cringe again picturing what I look like to everyone in the bar.
“Jess has never gotten me off,” Sally says, looking indignant.
“But you said—”
“We say lots of things. The one about bisexual Jess getting her straight friend off is saved for big occasions.”
“I guess I should feel privileged.”
“We’re retiring it now. For marriages, births and deaths only. And I hope there’s none of them for a long time.”
“It was a birth last night.”
“Oh, that’s a good bit to add to the story,” Sally says. “You’re being promoted to the straight friend who the lesbian friend got off role, and if we told people it was a one off birthday present it might add something. I don’t know, we’ll have to workshop it.”
“I wonder if I am straight?” I ask, thinking out loud.
“Well you definitely like men,” Sally says.
“No, I mean if I’m straight instead of bi. I can’t be a lesbian.”
“No...” Sally says. “Probably not with you screaming Big-G’s name. And I believe Little whore, or something like that.”
“What is Big-G’s deal?” I ask.
“He’s one of the nicest, most decent men you’ll ever meet,” Sally says, and as she says it she looks kind of calm. Almost like she should be backed by a meadow full of wildflowers and lambs. “Go get us another round of shots and I’ll tell you what I know about The G.”
“Fair deal,” I say and walk to the bar, thinking of Big-G.
At the counter there’s a bartender in black pants, white shirt and black tie, with little black waiter’s apron tied around his waist already waiting to take an order as I get there, “Two shots of whiskey, please,” I say.
“I think I need to see some ID,” he says with a smile.
“Oh. OK,” I say. I didn’t think of this, but besides anything else my voice gives me away. Obviously. And he knows. He must do. Everyone can tell. “Just a second...” I say, fidgeting with my purse.
“I’ve got all day,” he says, and I look at him and smile. He smiles at me, looking me up and down and I feel kind of weird. Not nice at all. I dismiss it. I’m just unable to get my damn purse open.
“Tom!” a stern voice says, causing me to twist my head around.
“Yeah?” the bartender serving me says.
“They need you in the back,” the stunning looking blonde woman from earlier says. She’s wearing tailored black slacks, a tailored white blouse, opened down a little, and has a silver stud in her nose. Earlier I thought she was one of the hottest women I’d ever seen but now she looks like one of the most formidable.
“I’m just checking this—” the bartender begins.
“Now, please,” the woman interrupts. “I’ll take this order.”
I’ve got my ID out as she stands next to him, seemingly moving him back and away with sheer force of presence. I hold out my license, “It really is me,” I say.
“I’ve been running bars long enough to know you’re old enough, just about,” she says, still looking quite stern. “Two shots?”
“Whiskeys. Please,” I say, afraid I’ve annoyed her.
She goes to shelves and pours, walks back, and brings the shots and two napkins down before me in a smooth motion. “Sorry about that. We have some new staff this week and now is the only chance we’ll get to show them the keg room before it gets busy.”
“Of course, thanks,” I say, but I’m actually quite unsure. “How much?” I really shouldn’t stiff this woman on a tip lest she hate me more.
“They’re already on your new friend’s tab,” the woman says.
I mutter, “Christ, Sally,” under my breath and put my ID away. Carrying the shots back to the table I wonder how she knew I was Sally’s new friend.
“Sorry,” I say to Sally, setting the whiskeys down. “She’d already put them on your tab before I could pay. I’ll settle up with you straight.”
“Not tonight, you won’t. It’s your birthday weekend. I’m buying. And you’re going to have a lot of expenses very soon, so don’t do anything stupid like buying a bottle of champagne on the sly to celebrate.”
“Oh yeah, expenses. Purchases! You were going to explain makeup to me, or at least my beardy lip,” I say rubbing it, wishing I hadn’t.
Sally spends the next ten minutes on various makeup products and basics to me. I’ve actually heard most of this before, I just hadn’t thought about it. There’s still a few nuggets in there, though. Finally, she inhales deeply and says, “But like I’ve said about ten times already, it’s all on youtube and you’ll just have to put in the practice.”
“This is going to be expensive,” I say. “Especially as I have no clue what suits me.”
“It will be, so put off buying anything until you absolutely have to, once you start buying there’s no going back. Get as many samples as you can. Go in with a suitcase, find a friendly cosmetologist, ask them to load you up.”
“Where do I go for these?” I ask.
“Some department stores are fancy, therefore expensive, so a pharmacy will be better. The literal store brands and brands you see advertised to teenagers won’t really do testers, so you’ll have to go a little upmarket, but not too much. The big pharmacies will have somewhat affordable stuff, and enough samples you could fill a truck with them. You know the giant one on Ross?”
“Yeah, they have a big enough branch near me. But I won’t be buying anything, though. You just said. Why would they give me loads of samples?”
Sally looks struck by something. She rubs the side of her nose as if it’s a compulsion and her eyes are wide as though she’s having flashbacks to Vietnam. She begins to speak like she’s far way. “The workers there are strange, strange women,” she says. “Some are total bitches, some are the nicest people you’ll meet. If one is nice, for whatever reason, they woke up on the right side of bed, sucked enough blood, you literally cannot know or predict until you’ve built a relationship with them... But if she’s the right one in the right mood, she knows if you get hooked on their particular brand of juice you will be buying that brand for the rest of your life. That company will make back from you the cost of what they give out in samples, and this is no exaggeration, literally thousands of times the amount with what you buy over your lifetime.”
“You’re making this sound like some big screen fantasy film where evil is women’s fashion.”
“That’s a good way to put it,” Sally nods, and rubs her jaw, still in ‘Nam. “Maybe you’ve been exposed to some of it with the latent woman in you, but now you’re part of the machine. Women are a goldmine for businesses. They prey on us. And we enjoy it. You’re two days into this and already asking about makeup.”
“I suppose. And I need clothes. Jesus!” I say, and rub my knee. “At first I thought this would be terrifying. Then I thought there might be some fun parts. Now I’m thinking I’m going to be destitute.”
“Don’t forget the waxing. And threading. Nails. Your hair. Razors. Perfume. Shampoos, soaps, face cleansers, moisturisers, and on and on. I think you end up taking some of the same medication as me, which is another cost. But you don’t have to worry about hygiene products, which is a definite saving, unless you have a night with Jess again.”
I laugh at that, then blush.
Sally smiles a sweet smile and tilts her head. “Awww! That was your first giggle. You’re so cute!” she says, like she’s looking at a puppy, but she’s still kind of distant.
“Please! I’ve definitely giggled before. That certainly wasn’t my first.”
“Don’t take this one from me, bitch!” Sally says, finally breaking out of her war PTSD.
“We’re onto calling each other bitch already, are we?” the blonde bartender from earlier says, standing above the table and holding a tray.
“Oooh, presents!” Sally says, doing a seal clap and bouncing in her seat.
“It must be someone’s birthday today. Their 21st I’m guessing.”
“How did you know?” I ask.
“Well, I haven’t seen you here before. And Sally seems to live here. So unless you really are a completely new friend the only logical conclusion is Sally was respecting me and the near infinite tolerance I afford her by not trying to sneak in an underage cousin. But now you’re 21, so she brought you straight here for your first drink.”
“That’s exactly it,” I say.
The bartender looks at Sally, and says calmly, “Sally has also promised her cousin’s parents that she’ll have her cousin home by twelve and won’t allow her to go home with any strange men.”
“Her parents didn’t mention the 12am business but strange men are always out,” Sally says.
“Men are out for Sally’s cousin,” I say. “At least tonight. And I don’t think I’ll even make it to midnight.”
“You say that now but I’ve met one or two 21 year olds, and some of them can’t be stopped, then they’re back in here crying. Or worse, they never come back. Do you hear me Sally?”
“I hear you,” Sally says.
“Now you ladies can tell me what you think of these.”
“New?” Sally asks, as the woman places the tray on the table as she crouches then stands with her knees cracking.
“Do you want to sit down for a bit?” I ask the woman, seeing her shake out her leg.
“Thank you, that’s very sweet. I’m really OK. I’m well practised at this. I’m just old,” she says, stretching out her other leg. “And really I came over to apologise for earlier. New staff are a pain in the ass and I had a face like a bitch. I don’t want to scare away a potential new whale.” Now she’s cracking her back. “Anyway, come up to me later and tell me what you think of the cocktails.”
“Steph?” Sally asks, stretching Steph’s name out and with a sing song in her tone.
“Haven’t I done enough for you?” Steph, the bartender, says.
“Remember I’m a whale,” Sally says.
“One who’s getting two big for her boots and might not be worth the hassle. But, yes? What? Dearie!” Steph says quickly switching between faux sternness, and innocence and sweetness.
“Can I store two bags in the back?”
“How big are they?” Steph asks, brows furrowed.
“Huge!” Sally says, stretching her arms wide.
“Are they gifts for me?” Steph asks, looking brighter.
“They’re gifts,” Sally says.
“OK, Trevor will take you back in a minute. He’s just getting ready for his shift. Don’t forget them later tonight!”
“I won’t!”
“I’ll throw them out if you forget them!”
“I promise you these will not be forgotten.”
Steph narrows her eyes and glares at Sally. Then turns away, looking fully professional again. “Enjoy the drinks ladies. And happy birthday,” she says over her shoulder.
“I can’t believe you’re telling people it’s my birthday,” I say.
“I told you Jess made me orgasm.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And I believed you.”
“People believe things.”
I shake my head and reach for my cocktail wondering if Steph brought them down thinking it really is my birthday.
“Now the gift cat is out of the bag I might as well tell you,” Sally says. “I spent this morning clearing out my closets, picking the nicest clothes that don’t fit me and might fit you.”
“Me?” I ask.
“Yes, who else?”
“Why didn’t you give them to Jess?”
“Are you looking that horse in the mouth?”
“OK, you’re right! Can I look?”
“They’re behind the seat, and nearly bursting. No unnecessary movement. You can look tomorrow when you’re hungover, feeling miserable and need cheering up.”
“Just the first few things? From the top.” I say.
“Really, really bursting. There’s three layers of plastic and it was all I could do to get them here.”
“Fine,” I say. I take a sip on the cocktail through the straw. I have no clue what it is, other than alcoholic. Very alcoholic. I never really drink cocktails, not that I’m typically in bars that serve cocktails. But it’s nice.
“What do you think?” Sally asks.
“It’s nice,” I say.
“You can give me more than that.”
“There’s a lot of alcohol in it,” I say, taking another sip, trying to figure out more.
“What juices are in it?” Sally asks.
“No clue.”
“So when Steph asks you what you think of her hand-crafted, self-created masterpiece you’re going to say it’s nice and it has alcohol in it and you don’t know what juice is in there? And she will ask.”
“What do you think of it?”
“It’s nice,” Sally says.
“Oh, you hypocrite!” I take another sip, almost without thinking and place it down on the table so as not to finish it all in one go. Unlike Sally’s which has been completely demolished. “You’re a whale here?”
“I suppose,” Sally says.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m here fairly often, and being here often I spend money here.”
“So you know quite a few people here?” I say, looking around the bar.
“To talk to. They’re not really friends. I don’t know them as well as you.”
As I’m looking around I notice a small old man, dressed in all black, with grey hair and an earpiece in his ear walking around sort of painfully to tables, talking to most, sometimes checking IDs. He notices me looking and smiles, so I smile back. Then he waves, and I wave. Then he’s back to walking to tables.
“Who’s that?” I ask Sally.
Sally turns in her seat to see where I’m looking then turns back. “That’s Trevor. You’ll meet him in a minute, unfortunately. I’ll get more drinks.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” I say, waving my hand over the one in front of me. “I still have my cocktail.”
“Well I’m getting one. I’ll need one with Trevor, so you’re getting one. It’s your birthday and we’re going to have fun,” Sally says as she stands.
“You can have more fun if like. I don’t usually have this much fun and I’m already feeling it.”
“I’ll put it in front of you and if you don’t want it you don’t have to have it.”
“No! Please? Sally?” but she’s already gone.
I’m watching Trevor when Sally comes back, expecting her to have a shot for me, but she actually has two each. “I can’t do this, Sally,” I say, and push the nearest shot to me towards the middle of the table. “I didn’t go out much as a boy. It was mostly Friday nights with Steve and them. I don’t have practice at this.”
“Well now you can practice,” Sally says.
“I’m not a boy any more, so I’m not giving into any machismo idea of matching you drink for drink. Just because you buy them for me doesn’t mean I’ll go at the same pace as you, and it certainly doesn’t mean I’ll drink them all.”
“Of course. If you don’t want them I’ll have them. No-one’s forcing anything, Just see how the night goes,” Sally says.
“He’s coming,” I say.
Sally looks over her shoulder, turns back, picks up a shot and knocks it back. Shot gone, she cranes her neck to where his face, of course, appears, and says, “Hi, Trevor!”
“Hello, Sally. How are you tonight?”
“I’m good, Trevor. How are you?” she says, all sickly sweet and polite.
“I’m in very good spirits, the same as every night, but not so great in the legs today. I still have to make the rounds though. Say Hello.” He stops for a moment as though he’s in pain. “No Jess tonight?”
“No, she has to study for an exam so she’s tired.”
“At her age? She’s too old for school!”
“No. They’re professional exams. For work. She’s looking for a promotion.”
“Good girl, good girl. Well wish her luck from me if I don’t see her,” he says. “And the most important thing is to get proper sleep. For both health and study, but fresh air is just as important.”
“I will, Trevor. Thank you, Trevor. Have you met my friend Toni, Trevor?” Sally asks.
“I don’t believe I have. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Toni,” Trevor says.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” I say. “But Trevor and me shared a smile and wave.”
“That was you?” Trevor asks.
“That was me,” I say, fully amused by Trevor. “You don’t remember me?”
Trevor stops for a moment, and seems to be thinking, eyes looking upwards. “Ah yes, of course. The girl with the friendly wave and pretty smile.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice this weekend.”
“A smile can give a lot of confidence,” he says.
“The other way around works too, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” He asks. And pauses again. “Maybe it does? I think that works. A bit of confidence can get you a pretty smile.”
Sally rolls her eyes at all this and while her eyes are in the back of her head Trevor winks and at me and seems to stand a little taller.
“You’re a flirt, Trevor.”
“Guilty!” Trevor says proudly. “Now Sally can show me where these big black sacks are then she leads the way. She knows it very well.”
“They’re behind the seat, Trevor,” Sally says. And he goes behind the couch and carefully slides out two rather large black plastic bags. He positions himself between the two of them, twists up the top, bends at his knee and lifts them with ease.
“Sally is getting away but if she’s too fast for you, Toni, I’ll direct you.”
“I think I can follow her,” I say. “And I have no doubt you can keep up.”
“It’s just past the toilets, so you know the way already.”
“At the back, to the left.”
I walk down to the women’s toilets, pausing for Trevor once or twice, who is playing it all up, and find Sally just around the corner on an empty corridor apart from a door marked private and an emergency exit.
“In you go,” Trevor says. Sally pushes open the door and we’re in medium sized room. There’s bare plaster on the walls, and it’s cluttered, with cleaning supplies, paint cans and brushes on shelving, along with light bulbs and tools. Broken chairs and tables are stacked up on top of each other. The room is a mess. A working mess, sure, but still a mess.
Trevor places the sacks down theatrically, with a gasp. “Safe and sound,” he says. “And you know where they are, so come and find me when you’re going home, and if I’m not already at home in bed I’ll bring you back here.”
“Thank you, Trevor,” Sally says.
“Off with you before someone clears away your drinks. Your friend won’t know her way around if I don’t give her the tour.”
“Have fun, Toni,” Sally says, wiggling her fingers in a wave at me.
Trevor nods his head as if counting, and I know something is going to happen. This is all too suspicious. Trevor is far too suspicious.
“Please don’t mention this room to anyone unless you’ve seen them in here. If you think someone should be in here we don’t know about then let me know. Or let Steph know.” Trevor says, demeanour almost completely changed.
I laugh with relief, or I think it’s relief.
“Oh, don’t laugh. You lot always see through me, no matter your age. Now, follow me up.” He opens a thin whitewashed, battered, old wardrobe door set into a wall and up a step but once you really look the door is pretty much fully person sized. It’s just hiding in plain sight.
Stepping through I see it leads up some stairs covered in cheap red carpet with gold flecking, and red painted walls and ceiling, thickly painted on.
Trevor gingerly walks up, so he’s not all play acting. Stopping a few steps from the top he reaches out, knocks on the opened door a little way above him, and calls out, “Anyone home?” before turning to me and saying, “Sometimes people forget to check in with someone downstairs.”
He waits a moment and goes in.
When I step in I see the same carpet, the same red painted walls and ceilings, and a hanging lamp that seems to be on a dimmer. At the opposite side of the room are mirrors with lightbulbs like you’d see in a classic dressing room for the theatre or a showgirls review, with low, spinning stools from the bar floor in front of them. On another side of the room are what looks to be individual changing rooms, with red curtains hanging from rods. In the corner is a fridge. There’s a random assortment of screw together armchairs and couches, along with cushions and throw pillows all over.
I look back down the stairs to where I came from and back into the room to centre myself, to remind myself this is real and to keep from hysterics, and as I do see to the right of me is a notice board, with a few posters, home printed advertisements, and notes pinned to notes, but most importantly I see that hand painted on the door are the words Trevor’s Room.
“Do you like it?” Trevor asks.
“I love it!” I say.
“Thank you. I decorated it myself. Years of memories and people went into it, and not just the looks.”
“But what’s it for?”
“Sit yourself down so I can rest my bones.”
I do as I’m told.
“Remember, don’t tell people about this room unless you’ve seen them in here. It might be difficult to keep up it with some people, even if you know they know and they know you know. I also know secrets are hard after what must feel like a lifetime of them. Slip ups happen, but just gloss over it and we might have a word with them if you let us know.”
“This room is for trans people,” I say.
“All kinds of trans people. Men and women, although the men tend to use it less. Sick of listening to women, most likely. Personally I think you’re great, always have. But it’s all kinds. There’s some kinds of your lot still being discovered, and discovering themselves, and if I find them, and they’re not lunatics, I’ll probably bring them up here, especially if they’re struggling.”
“You’re a treasure,” I say. “And are you a boxer?”
“I was,” Trevor says. “A lot of security were.”
“No, are you still a boxer?”
“I try to train a little, keep in good health. How did you know?”
“You have shin splints,” I say. “From skipping. And boxers skip a lot, on hard floors.”
“Aren’t you a sharp one!” he says. “But I’m sharper, and you’re trying to change the subject from you and your kind. Standard deflection from someone still not comfortable in who they are.”
“Why?” I ask, lifting my hand to the room.
“I’ve been around the LGBTQ community for almost two of your lifetimes, at a guess. I’ve always loved it. Every minute of it. And most of all I’ve loved women like you. I’ve worked security in LGBTQ bars in multiple cities, across the world, and you’re the most vibrant, interesting, heartbreaking creatures I’ve ever met. I’ll never be bored around you. And I mean that in the best way. Not only that but you’re always teaching me things. I’m always learning with you.”
He grimaces, rubbing his legs, then continues. “I could go on forever but let me get the introduction out of the way. If you want to come up here check in with me, or Steph, or whoever’s in charge of security at the time, then the on duty manager, then anyone at all on security. Then we’ll want to watch the door in the hallway because there’s no cameras up here. And that goes for anyone. Don’t take pictures up here, don’t take a selfie even if you know you’re all alone. If it’s just you and your best friend there’s still no recording. Don’t take a picture of the noticeboard to remember something, if you need something to write on and there’s nothing up here go downstairs and ask someone at the bar”
“If you ever feel unsafe, in here or in the bar, even on the street outside, find me if you have time, if not find Steph, if not literally anyone in security. Nothing too bad ever happens here, mostly, but we’re a big bar, we can’t see everything, or really guarantee anything, and we’d prefer to be informed and ready even if it’s nothing.”
“You’re the head of security!” I say.
“I’m not,” he says.
“If you give an order it happens,” I say.
“Well, that would be correct. So don’t get on the bad side of me.”
“No. I will not.”
“Anything else?” Trevor says to himself. “The fridge... In the unlikely event you put food in the fridge please take it with you at the end of the night. I really don’t like cleaning it and I’m the only one who does. But yes, you can put drinks in there. Yes, you can bring drinks from outside the bar in here, but please don’t abuse it, the bar is still a business. It’s one of the few ones with morals, in my opinion, but still a business. That’s the general rule, you’re all mostly smart women and men, and know right from wrong, so don’t be completely silly. Don’t abuse what we’re trying to do for people who need it.”
“Mostly, though, don’t be afraid to use this room. It’s hidden away, but it’s hidden away for you. If you need a bit of peace on a night out you can come up for fifteen minutes, or the whole night. If you notice your nail polish is chipped and want to fix it up in here, that’s fine. Most people use it for the noticeboard, you’ll find out a lot from it. If you want to chat with me because you have a thing for old farts, or need someone to listen, I’ll find a few minutes. That’s what I’ve been doing my entire working life, just talking to people, and listening. But mostly come up here because you might meet a new friend.”
“I think I have met a new friend,” I say. “I could talk to you for hours.”
“You are a very nice young woman, and if you want to talk about anything there’s not much that needs me right now. You look like you have a lot to ask.”
Sucking on my teeth, considering it, I say, “I should really get back to Sally, if not much is happening she’s probably bored.”
“You haven’t been out with Sally much, have you?” Trevor asks.
“I met her last night,” I say.
“Let me check on her.” He leans down to his mic hanging on a wire and says “Blonde Sally?”
I giggle and Trevor is staring off into nothing. Thirty seconds go by and he nods. “She’s in the smoking area, catching up with some old acquaintances and having bundles of fun.”
“Do I get a call sign?”
“You have to be either very good or very bad to get a permanent call sign, and you remain to be seen.”
“I know which Sally was.”
“So you should go down to catch her in full flow,” Trevor says. “Confirm your hunch, because I’m not saying.”
“What was it like when you first started working in gay bars, Trevor?” I ask. I pick up a cushion from next to me and hug into it as Trevor smiles at the decision I’ve made.
I sit for what seems like hours listening to Trevor tell old war stories from his career, hearing things I didn’t think possible, with him just taking the odd break to say a few words into his mic, when I hear him say something about Blonde Sally.
“Is she OK?” I ask, realising I must have been ignoring her for an age.
“We don’t snitch on people. If someone is in trouble we’ll help, but as a general rule we don’t tell friends who did different things what the other friend has been doing. And more importantly you shouldn’t worry if you hear a name you recognise. We could just be laughing at someone who lit their last cigarette backwards.”
“But she is OK?” I ask.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s been told her next drink has to be a glass of water or she’ll regret it in the morning.”
“Will you tell me where she is? So I can find her? And try to get her home so I can go home?”
“I’d guess she’s out for the night, now. You should go home if you need rest. Go up and say Goodbye to Steph first, though, please.”
“Where’s Sally?” I ask.
“Back of the smoking area. The very back. It’s quite big, and busy at the moment, more of terrace really. But if you don’t do the smart thing and go home to bed then at least have a wander about and chat to people. You never know what interesting people you’ll meet.”
I make my way out to the smoking area, in a rush, and it really is jammed. And noisy. I think of Trevor telling me to chat to people but I can’t imagine it out here, not like this. I push my way into it while getting jostled around until I make it to an alcove at the back, where Sally is, of course, knocking back a shot and swaying.
“Sally,” I say. “Sally?”
She turns to look at me but instead of saying anything, although it looks like she’s trying, she just smiles, holds her hands in the air and begins to dance.
“Sally, I want to go home,” I say.
“And you’ve come to say goodbye! Give me a hug!”
“I want you to come home too.”
“I can’t go home with you. We’re both straight!”
“Sally, please. Just tonight. I won’t ask any other night, just tonight. It’s my birthday,” I say.
Sally begins to sing me Happy Birthday, slurring most of the words as she’s spilling the random drink she picked up from the table, and a few of the people she was just talking to join in half-heartedly, apart from the one guy bellowing the song.
“Happy Birthday, to my favourite person. My favourite person who is having their birthday,” she says, hands back in the air again while she slowly spins.
“So please, let’s go home.”
Sally sighs a crackling sigh, obviously after a smoking a lot, and says. “OK, because it’s your birthday I’ll finish my beer and cigarette and meet you at the door.”
“Fifteen minutes, please. Promise?” I ask.
“Promise. One beer, one cigarette. Fifteen minutes.” Sally is waving her arms around like a drunk airplane now, then stops, looks at me with half closed eyes and a serious look. “Maybe two beers, but no longer than two fifteen minuteses,” she says. Which I do not believe at all. I’ll try again in a thirty minutes.
I tug my dress and down and a guy stands up in front of me. “Happy Birthday,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, not even looking at him. I’m looking to figure out a path through the crowd, and if it’ll be easier the next time I’m out here.
“Is it really your birthday?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I say, standing still but half practising my jinking past people. Then I am actually pushing past people, getting inside, grabbing Steve’s jacket which is stuffed down between the armrest and the wall where we were sitting, I really have to tug to get it out, and I make my way to the now empty front of the bar and perch myself against a bench seat, waiting for Sally. And I know, I really know I’m going to be back in the smoking area soon, trying again to convince Sally to go home.
“You can’t sit there, hun,” Steph is saying to me from behind the bar. “Up here, to me.”
I walk, without hope, to near where Steph is standing behind the counter, right up to a red rope blocking off a little cutaway area with a few stools and some tables hidden away inside it.
“Go past the rope. Then sit. Up against the bar!”
I squeeze past the rope then place myself on top of a stool.
“Once I can break away from here I’ll take you home in the minibus,” Steph says.
“What about Sally?” I ask, raising my head to look up at Steph.
“I’ll take her home when she’s ready. It’s a pain in the ass to get to her place but she usually sleeps in the back while I take other people home first. Most people sleep on the bus. On a good night.”
“You take people home? You do this often?”
“If they’re in a bad way. And yeah, every night of the week. There’s a rota of drivers.”
“So I’m in a bad way?”
“It really is your first night out and your birthday, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “First everything.”
“So what actually is the celebration? You accepted yourself a year ago this weekend? You first went out in public? You came out to special people a year ago? I don’t think you’re on hormones a year, although maybe, you are pretty. It probably is just a one year celebration though. You’re too energetic and open to be older, although that could be your actual youth. It could be a two year celebration, at a push.”
“I came out this morning,” I say. “I guess I was born today.”
“And how long have you been dressing? How long have your friends known?”
“I didn’t know yesterday morning.”
“You’re confusing me. Yesterday morning, Friday morning, you weren’t trans anything?”
“No. Well I suppose I was. I was always, I guess.”
“No. You’re wrong. That’s not an answer someone who was never trans gives on their second day of being trans.”
“Before yesterday evening I’d never trans anything’d. I’d never thought about it. Never wore any of these clothes, never nothing. I guess it was all repressed because I don’t think I could have picked up all this without listening from some deep, hidden away level.”
“It could have been all repressed, but no actual actions or thoughts? Not even of men when you were alone?” Steph asks.
“No,” I say. “But let me go on.”
“Yeah, please do,” Steph says, and she’s completely focused on me now and looking a little intrigued.
“Last night I lost a bet in my friend Steve’s apartment. I had to put on a dress, which I did. Then I met Sally and Jess for the first time there. We had fun. Lots of fun... And Jess told me to sleep at her place. So I did, not wanting the night to end. The dress, and the fun, not that fun I mean, it was just new friends, and I felt OK, good. And it was fun, but I thought it was just enjoyable, new, not actually trans yet.”
“So I woke up this morning at Jess’s and had no clothes to wear home apart from that really nice dress I was wearing but it’s a kind of date night dress, really fancy, and I’ve never had to dry clean anything but that gorgeous dress is a mess now. And Jess gave me this outfit then I walked home.”
“You walked home in the dress Jess gave you? The one you’re wearing now?”
“Yeah. And women smiled at me, you know. Just in passing. No-one ever really smiled at me before. It felt good.”
“I bet,” Steph says.
“I showered, I ate, I noticed fuzz on my lip which is disgusting because I was walking around with literal fuzz on my lip. People actually saw me like that so I’ll buy some makeup tomorrow, but anyway...”
“Sally phoned me and said come down here. I did, and I was having a great night, but I’m really tired. And I want to go home, but Sally won’t go home because she’s really drunk but I’m not going to leave her. She means the world to me and I want her to get home safe, but she’s drunk, so I’ll be back out there again and again trying to convince her but I don’t really like drunk people. Or I’m not used to drunk people. I haven’t been around crowds of them”
“You’re really tired, and you don’t like crowds of drunk people, and you’re now a trans woman?”
“Yeah. I’m trans, I guess. But I’m not really a woman. And I don’t think I can be. Not a real, you know? I just won’t be. And I know I’ll learn to accept myself, with time, and therapy, and medication. But what if I don’t? What if I can’t be happy? What if I always look like and actually am a boy?”
“I do not want to cry about this. I cried last night, but Jess was there and I wasn’t in public. I don’t want to think this, and I don’t want... I just don’t...”
“Oh sweet Jesus!” Steph says. “Now Toni, please listen to me. I know there’s a lot going through your mind right now but you stay here and I’ll bring both you and Sally home as soon as I can fish her out of there. It could take a while, but you’re safe here, and Sally is safe here no matter how drunk she gets. And we will get you home. If Sally, for some insane reason does come out here don’t go off with her. I will take you both home. Only me. And Trevor will be keeping us safe.”
“Have I done something wrong?” I ask.
“No. God no! You’ve done nothing wrong. I just want to make sure you and Sally get home OK.”
“I’m a bit thirsty, can I go get a drink?” I ask with a sniffle.
“What do you normally drink?” Steph asks.
“Just a few beers.”
“OK. One will be up to you in a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
I rest my head in my hand, mind screaming at me, and close my eyes and a minute or two later I hear the gentle rattle of someone carefully placing a bottle on the counter. “Thanks,” I say. “And for being so quiet but I wasn’t really falling asleep.”
“You’re very welcome. Happy birthday!” the woman says before she turns and walks back down the bar to where the people are still having fun.
I take a few sips and it gives me some energy, being so cold, so I slowly tip away at it.
When Steph comes back she’s with Trevor, who draws some black, velvet, floor length curtains across the opening between the main bar area and the front bar we’re in.
“Toni, will you indulge my questions for a bit while I have a drink with you?” Trevor asks.
“I asked you so many questions earlier it’s only fair,” I say.
He pulls a table out from against the counter in the cutaway, moves some stools around and soon we’re all sitting around it.
“Just to be clear, when you told Steph you never thought a trans thought before last night you weren’t exaggerating? And you’re not hiding anything because you’re ashamed? We won’t be angry and we won’t ask you tell us what if you were. That’s for a therapist you trust.”
“No, I’m not hiding anything, not that I know,” I say. “But I am thinking about it a lot since last night. Like, I liked looking at girls, and maybe I was looking at them deep down thinking I wanted to be one? It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?”
Steph puts down two glasses, one in front of me and one in front of Trevor. The bottle opens with a squeak and pop as the cork comes out and she pours some very big measures.
“But you never thought of yourself as them?”
“No.”
“And did you have girlfriends?”
“A few.” I take a sip of the whiskey, and it’s really nice. Smokey and smooth, but that’s what everyone says about whiskey.
“And what happened when you fooled around? When they touched you, you know?”
“I am very small down there, so I wouldn’t let them.”
“Did you get hard?”
“Not really, but I don’t even now. I suppose I did last night, with... Well... I don’t know...”
Trevor is nodding at Steph as he asks me this, while Steph is looking a little less frazzled.
“Did you ever kiss a boy, or even think of boys?”
“Never,” I say. I take a big gulp of whiskey this time and feel it fire across my chest. “These are all questions I’m asking myself, but I don’t know what my answers mean. And Sally and Jess aren’t trans so they can’t really help. I know it’s a lot to expect answers so quickly, but it’s eating me up, really badly. Last night was just so, I don’t know. It was a big night. Like I can barely think of it.” I sigh and take a small sip of whiskey, just to feel a burn again.
“Will you not hold me to what I tell you? I’m not an expert in this just a curious security worker with some experience, and promise me you’ll go to a therapist when we find you a good one.”
“No, of course I won’t hold you to it. Everyone’s figuring things out. And I’ll try to get to the therapist but this will all be so expensive.”
“Don’t worry about expense, for now. Just worry about who you’re going to be. I think you’re on track to all this already, but a stab in the dark is you did repress all this, for whatever reason, and that’s for the therapist to work with you on. You might have low testosterone, you might be intersex of some variety, or you might have been a normal man. Combine all that together with the lid being blown off in one big experience last night, when you had been pushing all this deep down inside you, now include the fastest transition I’ve seen in a long time it just means you’re someone we want to make sure is OK, and who we’re paying special attention to.”
“Am I normal?”
“No-one in this entire bar is normal, Toni,” Steph says. “Don’t worry about that. In fact we’d probably kick them out if they were.”
“And I can drink to that,” Trevor says, knocking back half the whiskey before Steph tops up both our glasses again. “But you’re perfectly normal for the kind of person you are, just a bit complicated.”
I think to myself I can be complicated even if it’s less than ideal.
“Now just a few final questions. Then we can chat while we wait for Sally to exhaust herself,” Trevor says.
“Sure,” I say.
“Did you take any drugs last night?” Trevor asks.
“No, I just had a few beers and some white wine.”
“Definitely no MDMA?”
“No, definitely.”
“Did anyone there?”
I think back but I don’t even really need to think, the answer is obvious. “Not ever when I’ve been around them. It’s not that kind of group, really.”
“That might change,” Steph says, pretty much to no-one. “For some of you, at least.”
“Have you taken any before?” Trevor asks.
“I’ve smoked weed a few times, but nothing else.”
“Do you think anyone slipped you anything? Like do you know them well enough to know they didn’t? Think hard on that one. Did anything taste off?”
“I trust them all, but one person did act differently, kind of.”
“OK. That’s important. Who was that, and in what way did they act different?” Trevor asks.
“There’s a guy called Big-G, I’ve known him a little while but he definitely changed.” Trevor leans back on the stool and seems somehow more interested at this.
“Big-G? Sally and Jess and Big-G, Big-G?” Steph asks.
“Yeah, that’s him. Sally really likes him. I like him too.”
“How did he change?” Trevor asks.
“He was always really gruff, and strong. Like he’d bark at people, but last night I noticed it was only really at men being douchey.”
“Big-G barks at the bad men,” Trevor says, with a smile. “Toni’s far too sharp for her own good. And in all the wrong ways.”
Steph laughs. “Big-G’s a guard dog?” she asks.
“Yeah, a little like that,” I say. “He was always really nice to me when it was just me and him but I didn’t understand that. He’d get quieter. I actually felt singled out. Then as soon as anyone else was around he’d be back at his barking.”
“And did he bark at anyone aggressively last night? Or ever?” Trevor asks.
“No, it was always funny, like he was relaxed, or playing,” I say. “He toyed with Steve more last night.”
“He toyed with Steve or barked aggressively at him?” Steph asks, and it seems as though she’s curious about this guard dog idea.
“Neither. He was spurring me on as I teased him. He interrupted Steve a few times, but mostly he just piled onto something after I went at Steve with it.” I say, taking a drink. “Having fun.”
“You’re going to have to update Big-G’s file, add a few pages,” Steph says. “And do me up a Powerpoint on guard dogs. I feel I know but I’d like some bullet points.”
“Do you mind if I give him a call, Toni? Ask him to come down for a drink, if he’s around.”
“Big-G? That’d be great!” I say.
“You have Big-G’s number?” Steph asks.
“I have so many people’s phone numbers,” Trevor says. “And it’s always good to have a non-affiliated but friendly guard dog’s number in your contact list. Did I never teach you that?”
“I’ll remember it,” Steph says.
Trevor takes out a phone, an old style one without any smart features and almost as soon as he’s held it to his ear he’s talking. “Yeah, Trevor from Light Avenue... You’re what? ... Really... Why is that? ... Yeah, a few more details, please... Do you mind if I...?” Trevor stays quiet for longer than before, and as I lean in to try and hear what Big-G is saying I notice Steph is too. “No. The front door... There’s someone on it... OK, yeah. See you soon. Bye-bye.”
“You know? You kids are alright.” Trevor says.
“I don’t know what’s going on, now,” Steph says.
“It may be taking some of them longer to get there, but when they do they’re so much better at it. They’re basically playing games with us without realising. It’s at an instinctual level.”
“Trevor, you’re going to have me drinking and driving if you don’t speak up,” Steph says.
“It’s Sally who’ll need a few more pages in her file, while Big-G is getting a bigger folder. It turns out it was Big-G who told Sally to bring Little Miss Virgin Birth here...” Trevor stabs his thumb towards me “...to this lovely establishment. Because she’d feel comfortable here. Sally’s been under strict instructions to phone young Gary-”
“Gary? No wonder he goes by Big-G!” I say.
“Yeah, his name’s Gary. You don’t know everything, do you?” Trevor says, and sticks his tongue out at me while making a face.
I shake my head and reach for my whiskey.
“So anyway, Sally was told to phone young Gary if anything went wrong or Toni felt upset or worried or scared. I don’t think Toni had even fled the smoking area by the time Big-G was hurrying down here, the whole thing explained by Sally in seconds. Now Sally’s upset she was mean to her friend, and can’t build up the strength to face her. Big-G is going to find both Toni and Sally and sort it all out, taking them both home with him if he has to.”
“Fuck! They are playing games with us. Toni’s finding friends like that before she’s even in a dress. And they’re regular folk?”
“Big-G isn’t a civilian,” I say.
“A civilian?” Trevor says. “A civilian!? You must be on drugs!”
“I think he’s straight, but a little kink. Really open minded at least,” I say.
“What am I then, Mrs. I Don’t Do Drugs?” Trevor asks.
“You were civilian but now you’re paramilitary.”
“OK, close,” Trevor says. “What about Steph?”
“I don’t know if I want to hear,” Steph says.
“I won’t say anything then,” I say, and take another drink.
“I don’t know if I should give you more whiskey but I am interested in seeing what happens. But go on, what am I?” Steph asks.
“Even if you don’t hold a rank, you can be treated as if you do. And that usually comes from being part of the resistance. High up. And there’s always a chance a woman is a member of the resistance.”
“I don’t know whether to bar you from this establishment for endangering it, or give you the keys to it because you’ll obviously own it some day.” She tops up my glass, pretty much filling the tumbler to the rim. I pick it up, being sure to keep my hand steady, and slurp a little down.
“We’re obviously telling, Toni,” Trevor says. “She’s been open with us so I think she deserves it. But I think we should tell Big-G, too.”
“Why Big-G?” Steph asks.
“A guard dog crossed with a pointer? And one who’s doing it because it’s the right thing to do? A civilian? as Toni put it.”
“I understand guard dog. What do you mean by pointer?” Steph asks.
“A hunting dog that points in the direction downed animals are in is the technical explanation, I think, but I mean he’s finding and pointing out people who might be hidden away. Although I suppose he’s more of a retriever because he’ll actually bring them right to your feet.”
“OK, sure. I’ll let you take lead on this. You have the history on places like this,” Steph says.
“I was never an academic, I just know folk tales.”
“And Toni let you tell her some, on her first day.”
A woman’s head pops through the split in the curtains. “Sorry, Trevor. Your radio’s off.”
“I’m having a drink,” Trevor says, lifting his glass.
“That’s not happened in a while.”
Trevor shrugs. “Anything big happen?” he asks.
“No, the usual. Nothing that’s not being handled.”
“You’re here about Blonde Sally?”
“Yeah, in the toilet check.”
“She wasn’t asleep?”
“No. Crying. With seven ladies in waiting around her.”
“Lucky number tied as usual?”
“There was someone fanning her face, which was the tie-break”
“There always is with seven,” Trevor says. “I don’t even want to know who won the pool. I do want to know if the fan was a purse, magazine, hand or something else. That’ll come up again. What’s she doing now?”
“She’s cross legged on floor, refusing to come in here in case she’s in trouble. Demanding her friend come out so she knows it’s OK. Eyes closed and silent protest now, sleep very soon, if not already.”
“Do we know what she wants to be OK?”
“Just generalised blubbing,” the woman says.
“That’s all the info, Toni. Now it’s your turn,” Trevor says.
I stand and push the stool back. I take a few steps, holding the table for as long as I can to pick up confidence and make sure I’m not too drunk. As I approach the curtain the female security guard holds it back and I see Sally sitting on the ground, looking like a mess.
“Oh Sally! I’m so sorry!” I say.
Sally’s head bounces down, then she raises it, opens half of one eye and looks like she’s about to burst into tears, or possibly throw up, as she wails, “I’m sorry, Toni, it’s all my fault!” I reach down to hug her.
“No, it’s not,” I say, lifting her up with help from the security guard. “Trevor kept me on the tour for so long I couldn’t find you.” She rests her chin on my shoulder and I feel her face all wet on mine. Her body is almost limp in my arms. I start walking backwards.
Sally snorts. She has her feet under her now, mostly, with the security woman doing most of the lifting while I steer. “Trevor didn’t even show me the smoking room for two hours.”
“Bench behind you,” the security guard says. “Sit her down, then her lie down.”
I place her onto the bench as she’s wobbling around.
“Oh no! He’s here now too,” Sally whimpers, arm raising towards Trevor, as if to ward him off.
“Sit back and close your eyes and you won’t see him.” I say as she slumps sideways.
“Let me lie down next to you, hun. I want to get away from him too. He’s awful.” I say, and the security guard nudges me out of the way and with her hand cradling Sally’s head lays her down on the bench, and starts to stroke the top of her arm. She holds a her finger up to her lip, telling me to be quiet.
What feels like an eternity passes with no-one saying anything despite Sally being blind drunk before the security guard says. “Yeah, she’s fine now.”
“Thanks,” I say to her.
“How did Toni do?” Trevor asks.
“Fine, yeah. It was easy. Sally was happy to see her, which helped. And before you ask we don’t know who the He she mentioned was, just some boring guy she met, we think.”
“We’ll need your help when we’re getting her out, Ana.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Anastasia, would you ask someone to put a six pack and a bottle of whiskey in the minibus, please?” Steph says.
“No problem,” she says. And she walks out pulling the curtains closed.
I’m not even fully settled in my seat before I hear tapping on the window like keys. Trevor stands, and pulls back the curtain on the front. He unlocks the door and let’s in Big-G.
“Hi, Gary, come on in.”
“How’s Sally?”
“She’s asleep on the bench,” I say. “She’s fine.”
“How are you?” G asks me, putting an arm around me and pulling me into him.
“I’m OK,” I say.
“Trevor? How is she really?” G asks.
“It’s been a non-stop emotional wave for hours.”
“Since last night,” G says.
“Why are you all so worried?” I ask.
“Let us care if we want to care,” G says. “I’ve known you a while now, and you’ve gone through more emotions in the last thirty hours than I saw in you for the six months prior.”
“He’s good,” Steph says, and Trevor nods.
“I’ll sleep on your couch, tonight, Toni, but before that you’ll sit next to me on it. And you’ll cuddle up to me. And we’ll drink a few beers while you just sit, being held, not having to experience anything, nothing new, nothing to distract you, just sitting. And if you fall asleep I will carry you to bed, but you will have some peace and rest,” G says, squeezing me into him. “Is that OK with you?”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“And then, tomorrow, you’re taking things seriously.”
“Sit down, G,” Steph says. “We’ll let Sally sleep a bit then take you all home. I’ll pour you a drink.”
Friday night at Lads Night In was explosive, in a variety of ways, with Tony discovering the Toni part of himself, or more now herself, along with two new, female friends, Jess and Sally. The day after was an emotional roller-coaster, where people actually smile at the new Toni—no-one ever smiled at boy Toni—and she discovered a wonderland bar where everything ended in tears. But tears for Sally, not Toni! Before Big-G took Toni home to be held and simply rest.
With Toni’s life finally filled with joy and fun, NO BORING!!! is it all going to stop when the big man, Big-G, says it’s time to take things seriously? Or is Big-G correct and will treating things properly as the new Toni be as fun, fun, fun as the partying and drinks? And will Toni end up back in Light Avenue?
--------------------
As I wake I reach over and check my phone. It’s 8am on a Sunday and I’m at home in bed, wearing a nightdress for the second time, with a man sleeping on my couch. At least I hope he is. Big-G said he’d be here when I woke up.
Last night was strange, I guess. My second night as Toni with an i. My first night out in public and it ended in tears. But not for me. It was Sally wailing that she’d been mean to me. The people in the bar terrified for me, because I’d been trans for such a short amount of time and they felt like they should look after me. Then G sitting with me on my couch for an hour after we got home and just, well, holding me. It was ups and downs but it was fun. My life had been missing ups and downs. My life was just flat out boring, in hindsight, but nothing about the past couple of days has been a straight line.
I stand and stretch my eyes wide, clearing out the grogginess, wondering why I’ve woken so early. Normally it’s midday before I’m out of bed on the weekend, and normally I’m not out late in bars, with drama and drinks. Yeah, it was fun, I guess. I do hope Sally’s OK...
I walk into my living room and Big-G is sitting on the couch watching a news station, blanket folded up carefully next to him with the pillow I gave him placed on top. He looks... I don’t know? Zoned out? Or zoned into something far away.
“Why am I awake so early?” I ask with a groan. “And why am I not hungover?”
“Because you’re excited. And happy,” Big-G says, eyes still on the TV.
“Then why are you awake?” I say.
“Because I knew you’d be awake and I didn’t want you to hear me snoring,” he says, but I don’t believe him.
“I need a coffee.”
In the small kitchen is a brown paper bag with eggs and a few other items in it. I guess G went to the store. I make my coffee, then realise I didn’t ask if G wanted anything, so yell into him but he’s fine, apparently.
My mind turns back to the paper bag and I think of Rohit, the worker in the store who gave me his number yesterday. Nothing about this has been boring.
I’m back in the living room and sitting down on the seat thinking of Ro. “You know a boy in that store gave me his number yesterday?” I say to G.
“No. We’re not doing that!” G says.
“Not doing what? Me talking about boys?” I say, with a smile.
“I said last night, when you were a little bit of a mess, shaking...” He turns to me and pinches his fingers together, an inch apart. “... today you take things seriously. There’ll be plenty of time for boys and fun once we make sure you can continue the fun for the rest of new Toni’s life.”
“Why are you being like this?” I ask, both perplexed and a little annoyed.
He mutes the TV and turns to me fully, swivelling on the couch. “I’ve seen this before,” he says. “Not with close friends, but people I knew. Someone comes out, it’s a bundle of laughs, for a while, but then something happens and it’s not fun any more. They’re frightened and scared and it takes months, sometimes years, sometimes never to help them gain even a little confidence back. They’ve lost too much time from their life and they regret it and resent it forever. Sometimes worse than that.”
“Jeeze,” I say. “OK.”
“Do you want to make your list while or after you drink your coffee? Either is fine,” he says, lifting up and placing a pen on a notepad back down with a small thump.
“What list?” I ask.
“The list of things you need to do. Because there’s a lot. Some things you’ll do on the spot, some you might not get around to for months. Some you’ll need to do soon enough but you’ll forget them if you don’t write them down. That list!”
“OK, fine! I’ll start writing a list,” I say. I take a sip of my coffee, place the cup down and pick up the pen. I stare at the page for a few seconds then write at the top HAVE FUN!!! NO BORING!!!
“You can talk aloud to me,” G says. “Just say it straight out. I won’t judge anything you come up with. I’ll offer advice if I have to, and if I can. But just talk to people. You need help with this, and some people in your situation never get help, so use it. And I promise, you will have fun. You will even have fun today. A lot of it.”
“I have been having fun,” I say, and think, and remember it like I’m living it again.
“Yeah, since Friday evening,” G says. “What about the previous 26 years?”
“Are you saying I wasn’t fun?” I ask, teasing him because even if it was boring for me, well, he’s being mean to old Toni.
“No, you weren’t fun,” G says. Which actually hurts me.
“Then why did you go to Steve’s for so long?” I ask. “I mean I was there and if I was a drain on everything?”
Big-G rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand kind of aggressively, or at least with force and says, “Please, no! Toni! You’re trying to force this into you having more of what you believe is fun. Old you wasn’t fun. But I liked you. And before you begin trying to toy with me not everything is about having fun. Not everything is a thrill a minute. Some things are just pleasant. Some things are simple everyday contentment. You feel comfortable with people, and things are normal and you don’t have to think. Sometimes you just want to relax and have a beer without worrying. And I could do that on Friday nights. Now, please, what do you have to do?”
“Fine, fine,” I say, and I can hear the grouch in my voice, but I do begin to think, a little. “I have to text Sally and see if she’s OK.” I take my phone from the table and text her, but I figure she’s sleeping off a monster hangover and won’t be awake for a while. Although I’m not too worried because I am certain Steph, the manager of Light Avenue, and Trevor, the security guard, got her home safe after they brought me and Big-G home.
“Right, done!” I say.
“Who else do you have to text?” Big-G asks. “Who might be worried about you?”
“My parents never worry about me. I suppose I could see how Jess is doing.”
“Who else? Who else might be worried about Toni? The new Toni?” G asks. “Who hasn’t heard from her in a couple of days?”
I think back to who knows the new, well, me, and think over the past few days. The people from Light Avenue know I’m with Big-G and anyway I don’t know their numbers. I’ll text Jess in a minute, I have texted Sally but I’m the one more worried about her. Then I think back further, to Friday night. “Alan and Steve?” I say to G, meekly.
“Yes, they might be very worried about you. They saw something from you they probably never expected to see.”
“OK. But not Steve!” I say.
“Why not?” Big-G asks. “Why wouldn’t you think he was worried about you?”
“He was acting like an asshole to me! He was mocking me and teasing, and saying things like, It’s your life, dude! in his big douchey voice.”
Big-G nods, and looks a little less angry with me. “That’s your decision, and as long as you actually consider things I’m happy too. But just let it rest with you why Steve might have been acting like an asshole. Your life is your choice, but don’t throw away people just because they’re a bit shocked. Shock does funny things to people.”
I nod at Big-G. He’s making a little bit of sense, which is annoying, but in a way it’s kind of nice. I pick up my phone and send the easy message first, to Jess. “Me and Sally went out last night. It was a lot of fun. Sally cried, but I didn’t!! Still fun, for her too. She’s fine. Really, definitely, guaranteed at home, so don’t worry. I know she’s at home. Probably really hungover. Big-G is here and being mean, making me write a list. I can’t wait to see you again. How’s the study going?”
Then I turn to the Alan text, and I’m not sure what to say. And just saying, I’m fine, after all that happened would be weird. I bring up the last messages we exchanged in the app and they’re all really brief. I press to make the cursor appear and write the letter ‘I’ and pause. I suppose I should just tell him what I’ve been doing. “I went out last night,” I write. “with Sally. Met some new, really nice people. You’d like them. Looking forward to seeing you. Toni.” I stare at the message for a while, wondering if just writing my name with an i is enough, well, to let him know. Then I hit send trying not to think about it.
I place my phone on the table and pick up my coffee, but as soon as I’ve taken a sip my phone beeps. Jess must have messaged me. I open the app but it’s from Alan, already. I pull it up, feeling my tummy flip. “I’m free all day if you want to have coffee. Can’t wait to hear what adventures Toni has been getting up to. Message or call literally any time, day or night, even just to talk.” And at the end is a Love You Lots and three heart emojis.
I put my phone to my chest and I don’t know what I’m feeling, apart from like I could cry. I rub my eyes and feel my face squeeze up. Alan’s one of my oldest friends.
“See! Taking things seriously can be a lot of fun,” Big-G says. “Now come on. Plenty of time for tears. Back to the list.”
“Alan was so lovely to me,” I say.
“Yes, of course. Now come on, list!” he says, tapping the pen on the pad. “What would you normally do on a Sunday. Do you have to do laundry for work clothes?”
“No,” I say. “I have three weeks worth of work clothes and normally I pay someone to wash and iron them. I’m fine for another two weeks.”
“Do you think with your new exciting life, one that isn’t just you working, going to Steve’s on Friday night and watching TV all weekend you’ll be able to afford to pay someone to do your laundry?
“No...” I say.
“Do you think the place that does your work clothes will be able to dry clean Friday’s dress?” Big-G asks.
“Yeah, probably,” I say. “I didn’t think of that.” I do think of the cum stains.
“Write it on the list!” Steve says. And soon, with me thinking aloud and G helping I have a massive list of things I have to do. One that could take me years.
I keep reading and re-reading it, knowing I’ll be adding things and it will absolutely grow when eventually Big-G says, “OK, breakfast. You’ll eat eggs will you?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say.
“And you can sort out those big black sacks Sally gave you while I make them. Then get showered, and dressed. You can’t spend all day in a nightdress. At least not today. I’ll prepare breakfast then let me know five minutes before you want it.”
I go to my room and start to pull clothes out of the black bags Sally gave me in Light Avenue last night. At the top are a few dresses, a couple of summer dresses and a couple of heavier autumn and winter dresses. Beneath that are a few tops, a few sweaters, and some coloured cotton camis in their wrapping for beneath. There’s one Minnie Mouse nightdress, which makes me laugh. In the other bag there’s a couple of pairs of jeans at the top, three skirts, some fancier, dressy tops, and beneath that a heavy, butt length, navy coat that looks really expensive.
I immediately try it on over my nightdress and it fits like a dream. This will do me for months! I hadn’t thought of it until G walked me through it but a proper coat would really have been one of my most expensive purchases.
I’m admiring myself when I hear a knock on my door and G calls out, “You decent?” I yell at him to come in. “Nice coat,” he says, walking through the door.
“OK, our shopping trip, what’s not in the bags?” he says, pen held above the notepad he brought in.
“Shoes!” I say with a moan, and a little excitement.
“OK,” G says.
“Panties, bras,” I begin to list off, with Big-G writing. “Socks, pantihose, makeup, and..? I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either but do you really need socks? I get the panties thing but socks? Are they really that different? And you know you’ll need to save.”
“I suppose...” I say.
“Do you have any man t-shirts that might fit me?” G says. “A sweater or fleece or something? Or literally anything? I’ve been in these clothes since yesterday and unfortunately I develop an aroma quickly.”
“I think I have some things. Definitely some of the work branded gear they handed out that was too big for me. I’m always down the list when they’re giving stuff out.”
“That’d be great,” G says. “And do you mind if I shower?”
“There’s some towels in there.”
I pull out the spare clothes I have and hand them to him.
“OK, I’ll get showered and you pick out what you want to wear. I know that takes some time,” he says with a sigh, as he leaves through my bedroom door.
It doesn’t really take any time. There’s not as much clothes from the bags, given their size, as I thought there’d be. I pick out a tight, faded and slightly flared pair of pale, blue jeans, a string top for beneath and striped dark blue and pink fuzzy sweater. I try the jeans on quickly to make sure they’ll fit and notice a problem. A problem that sickens me. A useless lump of flesh between my legs problem.
I realise it’s probably one someone’s had before so I’m quickly on my phone and there’s a couple of suggestions. A few of the suggestions I don’t want to try and one that simply says more, and maybe smaller underwear. If that doesn’t work I’ll have to try the looser jeans, but the double panties thing seems to work out.
I’m standing in my manly, black and red striped bathrobe when I hear Big-G come out of the toilet. I stick my head around my bedroom door and see he’s dressed in his jeans and one of my company’s branded fleeces, hair damp. “Everything OK?” G asks.
“Yeah, fine I’m ready to shower, too,” I say. So I do, and unlike yesterday it’s not the long, wash away 26 years of worry shower. I make a go on my legs, just starting into them despite there not being much hair. My pits are fine and I’m not taking even more away on my crotch, but I do shave my face. It just feels easier in the shower instead of looking in a mirror. And I groan again thinking of Big-G seeing me with morning stubble.
Soon, I’m out, in my bathrobe and darting from toilet to bedroom. I dry, and yell to G, “Five minutes,” before teasing my hair into place with the mousse and getting dressed. My hair isn’t great but it looks more feminine than male, if not obviously so.
By the time I’m out G has breakfast set on the table. It’s just scrambled eggs, hot sauce and some herbs but it’s nice, it really works well together. “You’re a good cook, G,” I say, finishing up.
“Thanks, my dad taught me,” he says.
“I’ve never really heard you talk about your family.” I look at his face for some clue but it reveals nothing. “Am I prying?”
“No, not at all. I love them. I talk to them every few weeks. We travelled a bit when I was younger but it was relatively normal. My dad worked as a cook a lot, never a full chef, but he was good...”
“The eggs?” I ask.
“Yeah,” G says. “And my Mom worked every job under the sun. We weren’t well off but we were happy. I never wanted for much, even if everything I had was second hand.”
“That’s good, it sounds lovely.” I think of my parents, who never laughed or smiled, or cried, or ever really cared about anything. Yes, they cared about me and my sister, but it always felt like they were performing a duty, not that they said that. Then I think of who I am, in this exact moment. “What am I going to tell mine? Fuck. I didn’t think of that,” I say.
“Do you want to tell them?” Big-G asks.
“No!” I say.
“When will you next see them?”
“Not for months, longer, maybe?”
“Then say nothing. Worry about it then. You have enough to worry about now.”
I nod, pause for a second and say, “Are we going to have fun now?”
“Are you not having fun?” Big-G asks. “Was breakfast nice?”
“Yeah...”
“Did you enjoy checking out your new clothes?”
“I did, I suppose. But I could be having more fun. Extra fun.”
G stands, picks up the plates and says, “I’ll wash up, you finish getting ready and we’ll go. Make a mini list and then we’ll do the More Fun! things.”
After getting dressed and pulling and tugging myself to no avail to be more of a woman I’m standing in my bedroom all ready except for my shoes. I don’t have any girl shoes that work, and apart from my boy shoes I have nothing else. I suppose my white trainers are kind of androgynous. They’ll have to do. I don’t really have a choice. I put them on and am ready to go. But I’m not sure.
G is waiting by the door but I hold back. I turn my foot to him and say, “These trainers are kind of androgynous, right? Like, they’re not boy or girl?”
“They are entirely white,” G says. “What does that say to you?”
I nod, and my phone goes off. I pull it out with G sighing. It’s a message from Jess. “Glad you and Sally had fun. She’ll sleep all day long, I’d guess. Study is horrible so message me everything you do, I need some contact with the outside world. Listen to Big-G. He’s amazing!”
And the text reminds me of something. I hold up a finger to G to wait then I begin to type a message back to Jess. I hear G moan with impatience. “Trevor from Light Avenue said to wish you luck with your exams. He said sleep and fresh air are key. He told Sally to tell you but I doubt she’ll remember after all of last night.”
I put my phone away, pull my new, navy blue coat closed and say, “Right, we can go!”
“Are you sure?” G asks. And I nod and begin to walk. We’re about to step in the elevator when my phone goes off again, “Hang on, G.” I say and take it out.
“Trevor loves to wind up Sally. He’s so much fun. And such a sweetheart. Don’t believe a word he says though. There’s more to him than he lets on.”
I smile at Jess’s message. She seems to have Trevor figured out. “OK, let’s go, G,” I say. “Stop holding things up!”
“You’re such a woman!” G groans.
“Thank you!” I say. And we step into the elevator, ready for adventure.
Me and G walk and talk, not going any particular direction other than towards the city centre, where the big stores are. We’re not really chatting about anything in particular, which is nice. So much of the past couple of days has been directed at something. He was right about everyday things just being pleasant. As boy Toni I’d be pounding out steps, desperate to get somewhere, to the next thing. Then when I get to the next thing I wouldn’t care about it and it’d be the next thing after that. Now I’m happy to just walk, and feel the early autumn sun on my face, and chat with G. And when we walk we fall into an easy pace. I figure G doesn’t like being held up, but he’s in no rush. If he’s making even a little progress he’s happy.
We walk past a supermarket parking lot when G says, “Come on. We can get some of your things in there.”
“What? That’s a supermarket. A cheap one. The clothes they have will fall apart within about three months.”
“Do you really think you’ll be wearing those clothes in three months?” Big-G asks.
“What! Why wouldn’t I!?” I ask, all indignant. “Do you think I’m faking all this?”
“Christ! No, not at all. Have a think, Toni,” he says. “You’re brand new at this. Your style might change, it might not. Friday morning you were completely the old you. You wouldn’t even dream of buying clothes like this. In three months you might have totally different taste after letting it stew for a while. Do you really want to be saddled with expensive purchases you’ll never wear?”
“I don’t like that you make so much sense,” I say, actually a little bit annoyed at him. I’m getting annoyed at him being right quite often, now.
“It is genuinely a burden,” G says, with a hint of regret in his voice.
Soon we’re inside the clothing section and G is steering me around. He takes me straight to lingerie section, like he has an extra sense telling him what I should do but don’t want to do. I freeze up. “I can’t,” I say.
“Why not?” he asks.
“This is, well, it’s under-things. I can’t be in here,” I say. “People will think I’m a creep.”
“Will they think I’m a creep?” G asks.
“No, because you’re with a woman,” I say.
“Exactly,” G-says, and pushes me towards some bras. “You do know your size, don’t you?”
I find a white and a black bra that will fit me and the crappy forms Steve bought me as part of his plan, cheap and basic bras. Then pick up a load of packs of cotton panties in various colours and patterns, and some pantihose of various thicknesses, all dark.
Just as I’m finding a rhythm G drags me to the shoe section. “I have to get some underwear for me,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll have fun picking out shoes, but don’t go batshit. You’re on a budget.”
I parade around the shoe section trying to figure out what I actually need. I want to go straight to the heels but I know G will blow his fuse if I don’t get some immediately practical stuff to wear, and I’m probably not confident enough in heels yet to wear them out and about. I don’t even know what goes with what. Eventually I pick out a pair of peach fabric ballet flats with embroidery on the fabric, a pair of black, fake leather, ankle-high boots with buckles fastening them to the side and studs on the back, and a cheap pair of skate shoes with pink and yellow detailing, and yellow and green laces.
I’m taking a pack socks off their hook when Big G arrives back, holding a pack of boxers.
“I hope you’re not getting them,” he says. “I thought we agreed you don’t need them.”
I hold up the package of socks with butterflies and ladybugs on them and say, “But they’re so cute!” as I place them on the pile on my arm.
“Yeah, no arguing with you,” G says. Then places his underwear on my pile too and shoves some cash in my hand. “Let’s go.”
I’m feeling nervous in the queue for the cashier. The woman will surely know what I am and what I’m buying. She’ll think I’m a freak or something, or call security, or worse. They’ll call the cops. I’ll go to jail. They’ll lock me up! We get to head of the queue and my heart is racing when Big-G pushes me forward to an open position.
I place my pile down on the counter and the woman smiles at me as she begins ringing things up. “It’s so good your boyfriend comes shopping with you. Mine will just sit watching sports all day,” she says, with an eye roll as she scans my panties through.
“He’s not my—”
“She dragged me out here to get new boxers. Threatened to throw my old ones out,” G says, as I hand the woman my cash. “Then I couldn’t stop her.”
“They’ll wear them until there’s nothing left,” the woman says, handing me the bag. “Men! But I guess they’re worth it. Have a nice day!” And it’s over in a flash, with new customers coming in behind me.
“See? Easy as pie,” G-says. “Towards, Light Avenue.”
“We’re going to have fun?” I ask.
“There’s a department store near there I need to pick up some homeware in. I need to do things too, you know? The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Doesn’t it? Are you sure?” I ask, trying to sound incredulous.
“If you don’t buy anything there you might be able to afford to stop into Light Avenue for a bite to eat, and spend a little time having fun.”
“Yes. I like fun,” I say. “Fun, fun, fun.”
After a bit more of a walk I’m standing inside a fancy-ish department store’s doors, near the makeup section, with purses and leather goods off to the side.
“I’m leaving you here,” G says. “I won’t be long. Please don’t wander off. I really won’t be long!”
As he walks away I decide I won’t look at the makeup as the women at the concession stands seem really intimidating, just as Sally said. Perfectly severe faces and sharp style, nine out of ten of them seemingly blonde. Instead I go look at some of the purses, thinking about what I’m wearing. I feel like brown would work better with my outfit, so I begin to peruse, talking a few down off the hooks and trying them out. A few I take to the mirrors, slinging them over to my shoulder, turning and twisting.
I’m having fun when I see something that immediately catches my eye. It’s a light tan purse, with a leather strap with darker, stained stitching on it. Embroidered on the front in greens, purples, blues and greys, and every other colour, is a frog sitting on a rock by a brook, with forest off to each side.
“What are you looking at?” Big-G asks. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at it that G is already back, but I don’t know how to answer him.
“OK, fine, don’t talk,” he says. He leans forward and grabs the tag. “That’s not too bad!” He takes the purse off the hook and says, “Come on.”
“What are you doing G?” I ask.
“Getting me a gift,” he says.
“You’re getting you a gift?” I ask, confused. Why would he need a purse?
We reach the cashier and he places the purse on the counter before spinning me around, clamping an arm through mine to stop me from turning. I hear a beeping and some rustling. Then Big-G says, “Would you mind cutting the tags off and giving me the receipt. Don’t put it in with the purse”
“Sure thing,” the woman says. A few second later G spins me around again and hands a department store bag to me.
I look into it, not being sure why G is doing it and yes, the purse is in there. “But why, G?” I ask.
“It’s something my mother would love and wear to death, exactly her style, and my style too. And it will make me happy seeing you wear it.” I look at the cashier and she’s smiling, it’s a genuine smile. “And it really wasn’t that expensive,” Big-G continues.
The cashier, still smiling, says, “It wasn’t. Very affordable. But it’s still lovely. Just right for you.”
“Oh, thanks, G,” I say. And I give him a hug.
“My pleasure.”
As we continue down the street I feel like I’m walking on air, and I hold a tight grip on the handles of the department store bag, as though it and the purse inside will float off into the sky with me holding on. Never letting go. Both of us lost to the galaxies.
A few minutes later, with things still feeling like a dream, we walk into Light Avenue and my heart begins to pump. I look around but don’t see Steph or Trevor. G drags me to the counter where a man in the simple Light Avenue uniform is standing. I don’t recognise him, but why should I? “What can I get you?” he asks. “The kitchen is open for another hour if you want food.”
“Toni, what’ll you have?” G asks.
“A Coke,” I say, still looking around, searching.
“Will you eat half a grilled cheese?” Big-G asks.
“Yeah, I will, thanks,” I say.
“A beer, a Coke, and a grilled cheese and fries,” Tony says.
The bartender dots the order into the till, readies the drinks and hands them over as G pays. “Find a table and we’ll bring you the food when it’s ready.”
“Thanks,” G says. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me into the deeper part of the bar. As we walk past the alcove me and Sally were in last night I’m seeing a lot of things I don’t recognise. There’s a lot more nooks and crannies than I remember there being, with areas off the main thoroughfare. In fact there’s an entire, long bar area that has no staff behind it that I can only vaguely recall.
“This place seems to have changed overnight,” I say to G.
“Yes, some things, and people, can change very quickly,” he says, as he sits me down on a comfy bench, while sitting himself down in the chair opposite me.
It dawns on me he was talking about me changing. “That’s mean!” I say.
“Fun, fun, fun!” G says, putting my Coke in front of me then taking a drink from his beer.
I take out the black boots from the bag, which I realise actually have a bit of a heel on them. It’s low and long, but it’s noticeable. I rip the tags off, take off my trainers and slip my feet in, wriggling my toes. Then I take out the purse Big-G bought me and begin swapping things out of the one I’m still using from Friday night.
“Oh, it’s so nice!” I say. “Thank you so much, G.”
“Feeling better?” G asks.
“Much,” I say. “But I don’t know how, you know? Nothing has been bad. But somehow I just feel better and better.”
“Yeah,” G says. “Get used to it. But don’t let the bad times, which will come, take over. There’s a lot of good in the world. Even just normal Sundays with friends eating fries. That’s all the world is most of the time, if you’re lucky, and that’s how it should be.” He clinks his beer to my Coke on the table and then our food arrives. “If you’re still hungry after we can order more.” And we start into a late lunch.
With the grilled cheese gone we mostly slowly talk and munch on the occasional fry. Big-G is telling me a little more about his parents. They were kind of hippy, 60s and 70s people, but not that old, obviously, G is much too young for that. More they were free spirits, making do, having fun. He’s an only child and it’s obvious they love him to the ends of the earth, and everywhere they went both his parents and him had lots of friends. The way he describes some of his homes it seems like he was meeting new people every day.
Eventually the conversation goes quiet and Big-G says, “I’ve told you all about me, and my family, and why I like that purse. You tell me your reason.”
“Don’t laugh?” I say.
“Why would I laugh at a purse I bought because my mother would love it?” G says.
“OK... You know the story of the frog getting kissed and turning into a prince?” I say. Big-G nods. “Well, when I saw the bag it reminded me of me. Except instead of turning into a prince I turned into a princess. And there’s an enchanted forest around me, full of wonders and amazing things. And, I don’t know, I just feel blessed. I was bumbling around in a boring routine but now I can see the forest, and there’s so much life, and fantasy, and...”
I look up and see Big-G smile like I’ve never seen him smiling before. He’s like a little boy really looking at space for the first time. He coughs. “The next time I phone my Mom I’m telling her that story, then she’ll be flying straight here and demanding to meet you,” he says. “So I am never telling her that story because you and my Mom would drive me nuts.”
“Oh, don’t be mean to your Mom,” I say. “Or me. Tell her the story.”
“Of course I will,” Big-G says.
I place the purse on the table and take out my phone. I take a picture of it and message it to Jess, to break up her study, along with how G bought it for me and what we’ve been up to.
I’m just finishing up when I notice Steph is standing above me holding a tray. My heart begins to race and I suddenly feel very warm. “I’m so sorry for last night, Steph,” I say. “I really shouldn’t have—”
“Sorry for what?” she says.
“For causing so much drama and being all... Well...”
“Oh please,” Steph says. “Last night wasn’t drama, far from it. We were just worried about a new customer who’s going to be here a very long time. We told you both the story about the bar.”
“Yeah...” I say. “So no-one’s angry?”
“If anything we’re angry at ourselves for assuming we’d seen it all. You’re just kind of new to us. And that’ll be good in the long run, we’ll do better in the future,” Steph says, craning her neck side to side to stretch out. “Now if you wouldn’t mind scooting up I’d like to sit down.”
I slide up on the bench. Steph places the tray with the cocktail on the table next to us and sits. “OK, the main reason I wanted to see you! The main night shift gets on at about 8pm. Or at least whoever’s driving the mini-bus that night. You can assume for at least the next month, from 8pm onwards someone from here will take you home. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“Why? I don’t plan on getting messy.”
“That’s not it,” Steph says. “As you explained last night your whole situation...” she sweeps her hand up and down in front of me “... was very sudden. We want to make sure if you’re in here you get home safe. So if you’re in here, and it’s past, let’s say 7pm, you wait for the bus”
“Are you saying..? That I’m not..? That I shouldn’t..?”
“No-one’s saying that,” Steph says. “There’s always things to be concerned about, reasons to keep your wits about you, but as you said yourself you didn’t even go out much as a boy. If a fresh-faced 21 year old was coming in here often, and we knew, we’d do the same for them.”
“You’d really do that?” I ask.
“Yes, of course. This isn’t some Toni only measure we’ve put in place, you’re not that special. We’ve done this for lots of people and it’s no real commentary on anyone. And if it gets you in here more often that’s good. We like seeing your pretty little face.”
“I have a very pretty face,” I say.
“And you’re so modest!” Steph says. “Hear from Sally?”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t expect so.”
“Do you know anywhere near here I can get makeup samples?” I ask.
“There’s a few places, but the best of them? No. Trevor would know better than me,” Steph says, picking the cocktail up from the tray on the table next to us. “Ask him. But first take this cocktail. I’d like to know what it’s like.”
“Sally is much better at tasting this stuff than me,” I say. “I really can’t tell any flavours or even what juice is in it.”
“It’s non-alcoholic so you don’t have to come up with excuses. There’s not enough on the menu, and making non-alcoholic drinks that people order one after the other all night is a real challenge. You said you’re not a big drinker, so it’s an important point of view.”
“OK, I will,” I say, as I pick it up and take a sip through the straw.
“Nice purse,” Steph says.
“If you ever need a smile ask her why she picked it out. It’s very cute,” Big-G says.
“How are you Gary?” Steph asks, standing up. “You had a few hours of sleep, at least?”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks for asking.”
Steph stretches out her neck one last time then says, “Go and find Trevor and ask him about the makeup. He’s in the smoking area. And find me later, when you’re free. I want to know what that cocktail’s like.”
Steph walks off, after giving G a squeeze on his shoulder, and G says, “Do you want to go find Trevor?” when his phone vibrates on the table, then mine. I pick mine up and it’s a message from Sally. “I’m so sorry about last night. I got wasted and made a fool of myself. Please tell me you’re OK with me, and we’ll organise our pedicure for next weekend. If you still want to. If not you and Jess should go.”
I lower my phone thinking of what to say. I did think Steph and Trevor would be angry at me but why would I be angry at Sally?
“Sally?” G asks.
“Is it obvious?” I say.
He holds up his phone. “Me too. She’s in one of her hangover miseries. Are you OK here?”
“You’re going somewhere?” I ask, beginning to feel nerves flutter.
“Not if you need me, or want me to stay, but I was going to go see Sally. I can usually get her out of the hangover dumps.”
My eyes open a little wider and I say, “No. I’m fine. Go find her! And tell her I am completely OK with her and she has nothing to worry about. I’ll text her the same.”
“Don’t text her yet, do it in about ninety minutes, or later. I’ll have found her and it’ll be better received.” He stands, and walks around the table, leans into me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll just grab my boxers from the bag. And you’ll be OK. I’ll stay if you want. And if not I’m only a call away even if you just want to talk.”
“No. Go to Sally,” I say. “I’m sure you don’t want to come makeup shopping with me. And thank you. For absolutely everything. Everything! I mean it.”
G smiles and is gone.
I sit, finishing my cocktail and people watching. There’s so many different kinds of people in here. People you’d never expect to see, not for a gay bar, or LGBTQ bar, or an LGBTQ pretending to be a straight bar that accepts everyone but is really focused on LGBTQ people, which is a kind of secret, according to Steph and Trevor. One they wanted to let me and Big-G in on. And most of these people seem happy and content. Which, I guess, is what I am now.
I take out my phone and am about to text Alan but instead decide to phone him. It rings a few times then I hear his voice. “Oh, Jesus, Toni. Tell me everything!” he says, and there’s so much excitement in my chest. This is one of my best friends.
“Do you want to meet me for a drink?” I ask, giddy.
“Hell yes!” he almost shouts. “Where?”
“I have to get some makeup samples. I don’t know how long that’ll take but not longer than about two hours. Do you know Light Avenue?”
“Some friends have talked about it but I’ve never been. There’s first times for everything, though, as you well know. I’ll be there in exactly two hours! I can’t wait. I’m going to hang up straight away and get ready.”
“I’m so—” But he actually has hung up. I guess he really was excited.
I gather my things and make my way to the smoking area, where I notice another bar, outside, after passing a third small one in a little empty room. How did I not see these things last night?
I look around for Trevor and notice someone sitting, with his legs crossed, reading a newspaper with a stack of more newspapers on the table along with an empty coffee cup and glass of water. “Trevor?” I say. He folds up the newspaper carefully, with a smile on his face, and places it on the table. “I’m not interrupting am I?”
“It’s never an interruption when it’s a friend.”
“Thanks for last night,” I say.
“I had a lot of fun,” he says, which I’m a little surprised to hear. He was still working. This is a job, no matter how much he enjoys it. “Sit down.”
“I enjoyed it too,” I say, with a little nervousness. “But it’s a quick question, is there somewhere near here that does makeup samples? The best place to go? Steph said you’d know better than her.”
“Steph is correct,” he says. “Go out the front door, turn left, walk about six or seven minutes up. There’s an independent pharmacy. You can’t miss it. Now go! Get beautified!”
I smile. “Thanks. Is there somewhere I can leave these bags?” I ask.
“There might be someone up there. But your bags are safe, don’t worry. If you want you can leave them in one of the changing rooms.”
I nod, and am soon standing outside the door marked private around the corner from the women’s toilet. I give a quick look around to make sure no-one is watching, then I’m inside the store room, past the shabby door inside there hiding this all away, and walking up the red carpeted stairs to Trevor’s Room.
At the top of the stairs I give a knock and say, “Hello?”
“Hello?” A girl reading a magazine says.
I walk in. She has long black hair and is wearing kind of spooky clothes. It’s not a costume and the dress isn’t goth. I don’t know how she’s dressed. Kind of like how Enya sounds, but less dramatic, more everyday.
“I’m Natasha,” she says.
“Toni. What are you reading?”
She laughs a sarcastic laugh. “Oh god, literally anything! I work in a candle shop nearby and between that and my shitty housemates making noise all night I’ll come up here and read whatever I can find for a bit of peace and quiet.”
“Sorry about your housemates. I live alone, thankfully. Although I’m not sure I can afford it any more.”
“Tell me about it? Did Trevor send you up?” she says with an eye roll.
“No, he did say someone was up here. I’m just storing my bags while I run outside.”
Natasha uncrosses her legs, leans forward and says, verging on conspiratorially, “I’m not sure about the doddery old man thing all being an act. I don’t doubt what he says about working in gay bars for forty years, but he can’t keep his stories straight.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a little weak at the thought Trevor might be playing games. He does play games, but it’s the thought of him doing it with me...
“Has he told you how important it is to spread your wings? Not to become too reliant on routine and comfort?”
“No?”
“And some people he’ll tell them this is an LGBTQ bar, other people he’ll say something completely different to, pretending like he’s letting them in on some big secret. He’s nice, but not all there, is just what I’m saying. And no-one I’ve talked to has actually painted Trevor’s Room on the door in nail polish. Ever. This place is just quiet, that’s all.”
I place my bags into one of the changing rooms. “I’ll be back later,” I say.
“I’ll probably still be here reading,” she says, with a sigh.
I walk out, out of the bar, turn left and a few minutes up the road deep in thought. Eventually, after some doubling back, I find a grey stone building with the classic pharmacy sign hanging out front. There’s no branding above the frontage, just an old family name. Walking in there’s carpets on the floor, which I find unusual for a pharmacy. It’s a little aged, but not unclean. It could do with some modernising. There’s a few plaques hanging high on the wall with a bit of dust on them. There is definitely all the usual pharmacy stuff, including makeup counters. It just doesn’t seem bling.
I walk up to one of the counters, at random, not that many of them are staffed. At the one I chose there’s a short, chubby woman standing at it, with simple, everyday, normal but nice makeup, hair tied up in a high ponytail, wearing a black and pink smock with black leggings. “Can I help you?” she asks.
“I was sent here to get some samples?” I say, a little nervous.
“Have you worn much makeup before?” she asks.
“Literally once in my life,” I say, blushing.
“You’re coming from Light Avenue, aren’t you?”
“Is that bad?” I ask, thinking of what Natasha said to me about Trevor.
“No, not at all,” she says. “We get a lot of business from people there, which makes sense with it being what it is, I guess.” She tilts her head side to side as she’s saying this to me, looking at how the light catches on my face, I guess. “When did you last shave?”
“This morning,” I say.
“What time?”
“Maybe around eleven.”
“Blonde? Wispy?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Do you mind if I bring someone on a ridealong, I want to try something with you.”
“What’s a ridealong?”
“They’re new staff and we’re training them in, I want to teach them some things.”
“That’s not a problem,” I say.
She walks off for a few minutes and I inspect the various tubs, tubes, pots, vials and so many things I have no clue what the difference is between them. She arrives back with a young looking woman, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, and turns to her and says, “Skin tone?”
The young woman says something in a language I simply cannot decipher.
“Hair? Facial and otherwise? Eyebrows?”
Continuing on the trainee says some of the same words the older woman had said as well as some new ones.
“Correct,” the older woman says. And they keep going with this for a few minutes while I stand feeling operated on.
“OK, thanks, you can go back to what you were doing.” And the younger woman leaves.
The remaining woman picks up an unbranded, white paper bag the younger girl was carrying and says “OK, that was great. Thank you. Now do you want me to go through the basics of putting this on?”
“A friend said it’s all on youtube, literally everything, millions of hours,” I say.
“Your friend is correct. And you can pause and rewind youtube, unlike me. Now what was new about you, I have done it a few times but not that often, mostly on younger girls, is the BB cream.”
“What’s BB cream?” I ask.
“It’s like foundation, but a lot lighter. It’s softer, much less cover. It’s easier to get a natural look with it. It has a sun screen in it far more often than regular foundation and it’s just less heavy on you. You have soft skin and not much hair so I think it will work. If it does, please come back and tell me. It’ll be important.”
“The friend said I should go with just a little bit more expensive stuff, not the cheaper or teenage aimed stuff.”
“For foundation she’d normally be incorrect. The teenage stuff is made a little heavier to cover acne and bad teenage skin. It provides more coverage for...” She rubs her face like she has a beard. “And for really heavy stubble there’s some stuff that’s designed for that, and scarring, and covering tattoos. You do not even need to go near that barring a catastrophe.”
“No catastrophes, please,” I say, with some nervousness.
“There’s loads of samples in the bag, enough for weeks, and all different things. Find what suits you then slowly build up what you need. You might need some other things, some things that can’t really be sampled, so we’ll walk around and pick them up. You have a little money to spend?”
“I do. Some,” I say.
“Before anything makeup you need care. Some cleansers, moisturiser, and all that. Just get whatever until you find what works for you. You have Normal skin, by the way. Not dry or oily. That could change if you come on or off hormones. Do you wear sunscreen?”
“If it’s really sunny...” I say. It’s not a complete lie.
“Always, always wear sunscreen, especially if you work outside. Do you?”
“No,” I say.
“OK, the BB cream should be enough if you’re in an office all day, for the next few months anyway, but if you’re not wearing that, or a foundation with SPF in it, put on sunscreen. You will thank me when you’re fifty.” We walk around the store picking various things up with her putting them in a basket when finally we’re near the checkout. “Do you need anything else?” she asks.
“I literally have no idea,” I say.
“I mean from the pharmacy, or in general. I’ve touched on most of what you need and there’s a few things that are just bonuses in the bag. Of course some women don’t wear makeup, almost ever. Or never. Just please do the facial care. And wear sunscreen.”
I think if I need anything else and something occurs to me. “Do you have ear plugs?” I ask.
“Cheap or expensive?”
“That’ll fit any ear,” I say. “For sleep.”
She says to the woman behind the checkout desk, “Foam earplugs,” then to me, “I hope you remember me when you’re having fun with youtube. And please, please, come back and tell me how you got on. And spend money, it’s how we can do this,” she says, just generally waving but I’m not sure what at.
“Thanks,” I say. And soon, after a rather large bill despite all the samples, I’m carrying two bags back from the pharmacy to the back of Light Avenue, and up the stairs to Trevor’s Room.
Natasha is still in there, still reading, and I feel like I’m interrupting, but I bought them so there’s no point wasting them. “Have you tried earplugs?” I ask her.
She looks up from her magazine, “What do you mean?”
“For your noisy housemates... You probably have,” I say. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. They might not work or they’re uncomfortable.”
“No, I haven’t,” she says. “It didn’t even occur to me but it’s obvious.”
“OK, don’t be annoyed,” I say, fishing around in the paper pharmacy bag. I pull out the earplugs and hold them out to her. “They were cheap. They might work?”
“You are so precious,” she says in a subtly deeper growl. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, I was getting makeup samples and it occurred to me.”
“If you ever need candles or are just bored, or something, I don’t know. Maybe you want to listen to whooshy music? The place I work in is down the street about fifteen minutes. You can’t miss it, it looks like how this stupid costume looks.”
I look at her dress again and remember what I thought before. “Like Enya sounds,” I say.
“Oh, fuck you, Enya. Just fuck off! I used to like her stuff, really, but non-stop, over and over?” She pauses. “At least we’re not selling rocks randomly picked up off a beach as healing crystals or some bullshit.”
I laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t realise Enya was a touchy subject.”
“No, I’m sorry to Enya. Sorry Enya!” she says, looking to the sky. “She likes cats, apparently. And lives in a castle. That makes her good in my books.”
“I’ll be downstairs if you want to go for a drink,” I say.
“In the noise? No way. But if you want to get away from it I’ll be up here a little while more.”
I smile at her, put away my shopping with the rest of it and go back to the main room to wait for Alan.
Looking around I don’t want to bother anyone. Well, not anyone. I wouldn’t bother anyone. I only know Steph and Trevor and they’re actually working. Instead I sit at the long bar I didn’t fully realise was there last night, up on high, cushioned stool with a back. It’s quiet with only two other groups sitting at the long counter.
“What can I get you?” a tall-ish woman, with short hair asks me.
“Draft beer, please.”
“Any particular kind?”
“Something low on alcohol?” I say, after a few seconds of thought.
She pauses for a moment and thinks. “What kind of beers do you like? Fruity? Dry?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“OK, I’ll try this one on you,” she says.
I think of this bar actually being really fancy, far fancier than the basic small places me and Steve would go to, just for an hour or two, and ask “Is it expensive?”
“Not particularly,” she says, placing a glass of beer in front of me. “Do you want me to open a tab for you?”
“Is cash OK?”
“Cash is always OK,” she says. So I hand over some money and she’s soon back placing my change in front of me.
I pick up the beer, taste it and say it’s really good. She tells me the name so I know, and something occurs to me. Which for some reason I just blurt out. “Why is everyone so nice here?”
“All our customers are nice,” she says, with a smile.
“The staff?” I say, hoping I managed to pull off my fake annoyed scowl.
“The honest reason is the pay is good and the training is good,” she says. There’s an evenness to her voice and simplicity to the words so I believe her.
“Why would good training help? To get a better job?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “If you manage to last a few years here, even as a basic bartender, you can walk into pretty much any other bar in the city as a shift supervisor, at worst. Some places you’ll be a manager. Some places will even let you run the entire thing. The reason most of us figure is because they teach you how to do it well here. Really well. I know it does, I’ve been here four years. And other bars know it so it looks good on the résumé.”
I nod, and take a drink. “I’m sorry, that’s your tip,” I say. Pointing at my change.
“No, it’s not,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too much,” she says, again smiling.
“Isn’t that for me to decide?” I ask.
“Normally it would be, for most people, but you don’t go out much and you actually have no idea how to tip,” she says. And I can see she has customer service painted all over her face, but there’s a glint in her eyes.
“Does everyone in here know me?” I ask, raising my arms in exasperation.
“Yes. All the staff, at least,” she says, still smiling and having fun. “But it would have been obvious you haven’t gone out much to any bartender worth their salt the moment you ordered, certainly not in places like this. If someone took advantage of you it’d be pretty scummy.”
“OK, what’s the correct tip? That you’ll accept?” I ask counting out how much of my $20 is left.
“Poor service, this much,” she says, moving the change to one side. “Average service...” She drags a bill over. “Good service, which should be the norm...” Another bill is dragged to the side, and two coins go back. “Exceptional service?” The rest of the coins go back and more bills come over. “If they’ve done something you’ll rave to your friends about how nice they were, and how you should all go, you buy them a drink. A drink which they clock into the till and maybe have when their shift is over. Some places they’ll drink with you, but that’s not too common any more. Got it?” she says.
I nod.
“I deserve this, agreed?” she says, showing some cash in her open palm.
“Yes,” I say. “Absolutely!”
“And don’t get all caught up in the moment and try to buy me a drink. Drunk people will get emotional and start buying everyone everything and no-one remembers they did. While guys will buy bartenders drinks and if they’re hitting on us, and it’s obvious if they are, and we’ll think they’re fools. Girls will buy things too, but now we’re getting into foggy, rainy night territory of socio-politics when it’s just me and you and I’m polishing the same glass for hours. But you’ll figure it out.”
“Will you watch my drink while I run to the toilet?” I ask.
She lifts it up and places it behind the counter. “Safe as Fort Knox.”
I stand and begin to walk to the toilet. At the end of the counter I see Natasha has been approaching. “Are you coming down here for a while?” I ask.
“Going home to try your earplugs,” she says. “I might finally get some sleep.”
“I hope you do,” I say, and we wave at each other and go our separate ways.
Soon, after I’ve pee’d, I’m back at the bar, with the bartender putting my drink back in front of me. “Your friend bought you a drink,” she says. “Just let me know when you want it.”
“What friend?” I ask.
“The one you were talking to when you got up.”
“Thanks,” I say. Natasha didn’t have to do that. The earplugs were about three bucks. The drink is there now, so I guess I might as well drink it, but I don’t want people doing things as an exchange.
I pull out my phone and am browsing, slowly drinking away when I remember I need to message Sally that things are OK between us. I hope G soothed her nerves, but even then I have to say the right thing. I’m staring at the screen, worrying about how to phrase it, when I realise I just need to say what I need to say. “I’m sorry too. You said no more fights earlier in the night then we both did silly things. But they weren’t bad. Everything’s OK. And I want to see you as soon as possible.”
I no sooner put my phone down when it buzzes again. It just says, “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” And I think the exact same thing so send I love you too back.
I finish my drink, wanting another but the bartender somehow knows, with one freshly poured, placing it in front of me. I smile at her, then notice Steph who taps her on the shoulder. They walk away a little and converse for a couple of minutes, before the bartender goes out the door at the side of the bar. Steph comes to me after checking in on everyone else. “How are you doing?” she asks.
“Good,” I say. “That bartender is really nice.”
“Yeah, she’s very good at what she does. We’ll be losing her soon. She has a great job lined up.”
“She showed me how to tip,” I say.
“Did you notice she gave you weird change?” Steph asks.
“What? How do you mean?”
“A weird mix of coins and bills. The non-obvious mix.”
I shake my head. I didn’t notice. “Wow. She really is good.”
Steph nods. “And you should know this already but you never have to tip me. Ever. But if you want to buy me something nice I like chocolate. Literally anything chocolate. I’ll go as loopy for a Snickers as I will for fancy Belgian stuff, but not too often because bar workers tend to eat like crap if they can.”
“What about Trevor? I ask.
“He likes smiles,” Steph says, when I feel an arm on my shoulder.
I turn around and Alan is standing there. “Hi,” I say.
His eyes are wide and he almost pulls back from me. “It is you. I went everywhere looking for you. You look the exact same but so different. I don’t know what to say. I’m really lost for words.”
“Just sit down,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.” It isn’t. It shouldn’t be.
I slide a stool back for him as he’s taking off his jacket, then he’s sitting down and saying, “It’s a huge deal. How long have you known?”
“Not as long as you,” I say, blushing.
“I didn’t know anything,” Alan says. “I only knew Friday night. I had no clue before then.”
“I didn’t know until Saturday,” I say, feeling completely foolish.
“How could you not know? Look at you! There’s no way this hasn’t been on your mind for years.” Alan looks me up and down as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I’m getting embarrassed by Alan’s gushing and say, “I really didn’t know. It was all repressed or something. And then, boom, Friday night happened. And Saturday morning I thought, Why not keep doing this?”
“Did you always like men?” he asks. But it’s not mocking. It’s not even really curious. It’s almost like he’s challenging me to come up with something, anything.
“Alan, please, you’re embarrassing me,” I say.
“OK, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll try to calm but down but Toni you frightened the shit out of people.”
“You mean you and Steve?”
“Well, yeah,” he says. And now it’s like he’s on the defensive.
“How is Steve?”
“Let me get a drink,” he says, and picks up a cocktail menu. He looks at it for a few seconds. “This one looks nice, what do you think?”
“I don’t know, I guess. I don’t really drink cocktails,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” Alan says. “I know that.” And he looks around the bar in wonder. “This place is fancy, I should have come here before.”
“It’s a nice bar.”
“And you came here last night?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“And you enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes!” I say. Do I really need to tell him that? I’m back here again. And he’s with me now!
“Fucking good. At last! Fucking hell, Toni.”
“What?” I ask. I can feel the tension in my voice coming through my throat.
“Let me get a drink. What are you drinking?” I tell him the name of the beer as Steph is stepping forward. He looks to her and says, “Can I get two of what Toni’s having? Please?”
“Some ID?” Steph says, and I look at her a little surprised, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Alan.
“Of course,” Alan says, and takes his wallet out of his pocket, then his license out, and hands it to Steph. She looks at it for a few seconds, back and forth between the card and him.
“Thank you,” Steph says handing the card back. “One or two beers? They’re low alcohol, if that’ll put you off.”
“No, not at all. Take for two, and Toni can have hers when she wants it, if that’s OK?” Steph nods. “And can I open a tab?”
“Not on your first night in here, no,” Steph says. “We’ll take as we go.”
Alan has a grip on my leg until his beer arrives, when he gulps down a bit and loosens up on me. “What were we saying?”
“You were saying it’s good I enjoyed myself, At last.”
“Yeah. Fucking hell Toni, you had us all worried.”
“Why?” I ask.
“How do you feel now? Put aside any scared or frightened about the newness but how do you feel, as Toni?”
“Pretty good?”
“You’re fucking glowing you look so happy!” Alan says, with his eyes nearly popping out of his head.
“Stop being weird,” I say. He is being weird, I tell myself. I know it.
“How am I being weird?” Alan asks.
“So happy, this, and At last, that. It’s weird. I’m just me,” I say.
Alan nods, a little shock on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is just new to me. And I am happy for you. And I am excited.” Again with the eye popping.
“I’m still me!” I plead.
“OK. Maybe I need to get to know you better before we start on the big stuff. I’m Alan. You must be Toni. Have you been up to anything interesting lately?”
“I went shopping today,” I say. That was easy. Simple. To the point.
“Did you get anything nice?” Alan asks.
“How’s Steve? Really?” I ask. I need to know. He was such an asshole to me and I want to know if he’s still being a dick.
“Weirder than all this,” Alan says, but it’s not the exuberant tone in his voice any more.
“Tell me about it, please.”
“Well if it’s weird for you that I’m excited, it’s just weird for him because he thinks you’re a dude.”
“Yeah... Does he not know about trans people?” I ask. Even I knew about trans people. Obviously.
“He does, but he doesn’t think. And you are happier. Which is making me happy,” Alan says. “And things are different, which is making Steve agitated. He’s been talking about Lads Night like nothing happened. And something happened, Toni. Please don’t deny it. Allow yourself to be different, and excited, and upset. Hell even be angry!”
“You’re treating me funny. I am a little angry!”
“Good!” Alan says. “Because you never got angry before. You’d just get pissy or mopey and annoy everyone.”
“Well everyone can fuck right off then!”
“Damn right! Fuck them!” Alan says, and he takes another big gulp of his beer. “This is why you’re different. Apart from looking different, and it’s not the clothes making you look different, it’s that you’re set better, you’re actually feeling things. And you didn’t until the other night. And if you did you ignored them.”
I take a sip of my beer and start to listen to the sound of the bar.
“Don’t ignore your feelings, Toni. I don’t want you to become a happier you without me,” Alan says. “Talk to me.”
“It’s weird that you’re treating me differently. And don’t say I am different!”
“OK... You tell me what’s different.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Then we’ll sit and we’ll drink. And that’ll be fine, because I’m sitting and drinking with you. And I want to sit with you,” Alan says.
I take a drink, put the glass down and sniff. “People are being nicer to me,” I say.
“People were always nice to you, Toni. You’re a nice person. You were always a nice person. People want to be nice to you. Steve can be an asshole sometimes so even nice people treat him badly. And he deserves it. You did it Friday night.”
“I did not!” I say, getting het up.
“You were teasing him about pulling your thong aside and, you know...” Alan makes a popping sound with his lips.
“He deserved it, though,” I say.
“Yes, of course he deserved. He absolutely deserved it. But do you still think it wasn’t mean?”
“No,” I say.
“Oh please, Toni. He was uncomfortable with what was happening and you teased him. And you kept going, pushing him.”
“Yeah, but he was being mean first!”
“So? You see? You were being mean, he just deserved it.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say. And I turn around in my chair. “How do I look? Be honest, please”
“So, so happy. Glowing. And I’m happy too. I get to see who one of my best friends is and she can only be an even greater version of who she was,” he says with a smile.
“I really am,” I say, and I realise I’m smiling too.
“OK, now the weirdness is over, I hope, or at least toned down, I need a cigarette,” Alan says. “Is there a smoking area here?”
“You don’t smoke!” I say to Alan.
“I do when I’m out, and when was the last time you and me were out?”
“Three weeks ago,” I say.
“At night?” Alan asks, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, OK, you’re right. Can I come with you? How about we move outside?”
“If you’d like to,” Alan says. So we pick up our drinks, coats, and my bag, and walk outside to the find a table. I pass Trevor who’s doing his old man, check IDs and check vibes routine. And past the outside bar, towards the back where Sally was being drunk last night. It’s completely different when it’s not so busy. Like there’s actually air to breathe outside here.
We find a free table and sit ourselves down. Alan pulls out a pack of smokes, takes a cigarette out and lights it. Inhaling deeply he lets out a plume of smoke, looks at me and smiles.
“Can I have one of those?” I ask, pointing at the box.
“You don’t smoke,” Alan says.
“How do you know?”
“Because you don’t.”
“Please, I just want to try. Just to be able to say I’ve had one once. You know, actually trying things while I can,” I say.
He looks at me disapprovingly, opens the box and hands me a cigarette, “Who am I to stop Wonder Woman?”
I light it, trying not to cough, which I don’t. I actually don’t cough. And just as I exhale wondering what all the fuss is about my head begins to spin and I feel dizzy and floaty. I lift my hand to my head and say, “Woah!”
“Head spins?” Alan asks.
“Yeah,” I say grabbing into the table, but things are coming back to normal, slowly.
“That hasn’t happened to me in years,” he says, as I take another drag, somehow liking the feeling. “Now, please, don’t get addicted. Do not ask me for another one.”
“No, I just wanted to try, to say I have,” I say.
“What else do you want to try?” Alan asks, getting back to the good stuff.
I take another drag, trying to look all mysterious and sophisticated, and I’m sure I do look like that when I speak up. “Well... A boy gave me his number yesterday. G didn’t want to talk about it but I’m guessing you do,” I say, taking another drag.
“Was he hot?” Alan asks.
“He was nice...” I say.
“Yeah, but did he make you want to jump his bones? Was he hot!? Come on! Details!” Alan says, clapping a rhythm.
I feel like a teenager gossiping and talking about crushes, and about a foot tall with Alan being like this. “I thought about him in the shower...” I whisper, not to be coy rather this is uncharted territory.
“Oh, you’re going to have so much fun,” he says.
“What’s it like? Being with a man, I mean...”
“I’ve never been with a man as a woman,” Alan says, plainly.
“Oh come on, Alan,” I say.
“Just relax and enjoy it. Don’t feel pressured into anything. Take it comfortably and you’ll know what to do. I’m not saying anything else.” He crosses his arms and looks at me kind of suspiciously.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “This all makes sense.”
“What does?”
“You’re Toni, my female friend. My girl friend. It’s just natural and works.”
“I still look like a dude, though, really. Everyone here is nice, but I’m not changing reality just by putting on clothes,” I say.
“That’s what I would have thought, but no. Not at all. I thought I’d see old you kind of nervous, maybe a little excited. Maybe too excited but this is all normal. And it’s not at all wrong. You’re not Tony with a y any more. Your a woman who’s one of my best friends. Toni with an i. I’m already forgetting about the old guy, sort of. Or replacing him with you in my mind. You’re you, nothing else.”
“Well, Tony with a y has to go to work tomorrow,” I say, cringing.
“But you’ll have one more drink?” Alan asks.
“Yeah, one,” I say. Then we have three, just chatting like normal. No arguments or weirdness. No mention of Steve, even though I want to. No Lads Night. And then it’s getting a little bit late and I’m forcing myself into the back of the minibus to make my way home, kinda light headed, with the bartender who’s driving, smiling at me in the mirror the whole way back home.
Getting home I get undressed, change into the Minnie Mouse night dress that makes me laugh, and begin to get ready for work tomorrow. I lay out my shoes, chinos, too weird, bulky man underwear, shirt and jacket.
Lying into bed I’m forcing all the thoughts out of my mind, about getting up and showered tomorrow, about getting the bus, as Tony, and being Tony at work, and people treating me like a nobody and no-one knowing or caring about who I am. And hopefully, eventually, the day passing quickly so I can get home and be me again.
I just know it’s going to be a long, long day of misery. Five, long, long days. Until the weekend again and I’m free to be Toni.
Toni’s weekend is over, which means it’s back to being boring old man Tony at work, right? She’s had a lot of fun from Friday to Sunday but doesn’t know if it’ll be enough to see her through to clocking out at the end of the week, when she gets to live her life again.
It really is a case of putting her head down and getting through the week, the same as it ever was, except now there’s something to look forward to at the end of that tunnel. Has Toni been changed, though? Is it possible for her to parcel away all that happened? Can man Tony simply get on with a normal five days of work when woman Toni is itching to get out? Or is Tony now more Toni than even they realise themselves?
---------------------
I wake bright and early, ready to face into the day. I’m back to being Tony with a y, today, at least until I get home from work. There’s nothing to it. This is what pays the bills, and I’m going to have a lot of them, so it’s a case of pushing aside my worries and just facing up.
I shower, finishing off my legs, my one gift to myself, clean up my pits and scrawl at my face with a different, blue razor, then I’m out of the shower, walking past the makeup sample bags I was given yesterday and staring down at my man clothes laid out in my bedroom.
It’s simple work gear, I never meet clients so just basic chinos, shirt and sweater. No tie. I do make an allowance to myself though. No, not the panties, that’d be far too risky, but the socks with ladybugs and butterflies on them. They’re just socks. Why would anyone care about socks? Except for me, I suppose.
Then it’s some toast and soon I’m getting off the bus and walking into my office building. I pass the security guards, wondering if anyone notices anything different about me but no-one says anything if they do.
My morning is basic, check my emails, nothing new, then it’s onto proofreading reports we’ll be sending out. I’ve read hundreds of them and made a few suggestions that have mostly been ignored. Mainly it’s been typos and grammar issues I’ve found that get corrected for the final document.
I wait until after most people take their morning break and are returning before I decide I can take mine. I’m locking my laptop when Greg, my immediate boss comes walking up to me with a face like thunder.
“Do you know Mr. Mayer?” Greg asks.
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
“Well, he wants to see you.”
“What for!?” I ask, nothing good has ever come from someone meeting him, not in my department.
“I don’t know. He asked to see you. And now, if you please!” Greg says, smirk on his face.
It feels like there’s a lead weight in my chest as I take the elevator two floors up, afraid to trust my legs on the stairs. I walk into his waiting area where his secretary says my name, which I confirm, then asks me to have a seat.
I wait for about fifteen minutes, with my tummy beginning to gurgle, from lack of food or nerves I don’t know, when the secretary says I can go in. Straight in.
I stand and straighten myself up, knock on Mr. Mayer’s door and go in with his secretary staring at me. Inside a formally dressed woman is sitting to the side and behind Mr. Mayer’s desk, with Mr. Mayer in an expensive grey and white striped shirt, with his salt and pepper beard and extremely maintained hair.
“Tony, have a seat,” he says. “I’ve asked Therese to join us from HR. We have a few concerns looking over your file and work history that we’d like to clear up.”
“Of course, whatever I can do...” I say, sitting down. It’s looking really bad for me with HR becoming involved.
“OK, straight to the point. Have you ever felt bullied or unsafe in the workplace?” Mr. Mayer asks.
“What, no?” I say.
“This is a zero tolerance workplace. Any harassment or bullying of staff is absolutely not condoned, and will be dealt with immediately.”
I think back to being made clean the kitchen, wash up after people, scour coffee cups and mugs, and generally sweep up, but if my job is at risk maybe now is not the best time to mention anything that could come off as sour grapes.
I shake my head. “Nothing, no...” I whisper.
“We’ll set that aside, then. I’ve reviewed some of your work, just a quick skim through, and it’s not terrible,” he says. And now I’m waiting for the But. “But it is not great. And after a conversation with Therese I’m wondering why that is...”
“I... I don’t...” I stammer out.
“But whatever about the long term, whether it takes a department switch to a new supervisor, maybe to some other work focus, or something else down the line to bring out what you can show us we’ll have to get to work on proving to people you can be as good as, if not better, than all the other employees here.” He pauses and looks towards the woman, Therese. “Now it’s your turn,” he says to her.
“OK, Tony,” she says with a big smile. “The business’s health insurance plan is coming up for review. It’s an opportunity for us to negotiate and add new parts, remove parts that don’t apply, and generally tailor it to what we need as a modern business, with a diversity of employees. As you know we have offices across the country so some elements are there to serve less, well, forward thinking administrations, even if they don’t quite apply here.”
“Sure, I understand,” I say.
“What me and Mr. Mayer want from you,” at this point she stands and hands me a large print out, “Is a review of this policy from someone in your position. I’m sure you know you’re in our lowest pay bracket, although that can change, you’re relatively young and you haven’t been here for too long a time, rather long enough a time you should feel comfortable and have all our benefits.”
“Yes, of course. I do,” I say, as I look at the cover page of the thick document and riffle through a few of the sheets of paper. “Is there anything in specific you want me to focus on?”
“We don’t want to direct you,” she says. “Whatever comes to mind when you read through. Whatever applies to you and people who’d have just joined the business or are on a low-ish salary is what we’re hoping for, but you’re not limited to that. If you notice anything else, or have heard anything from anyone else include it.”
Mr. Mayer shifts in his seat. “Tony, we make mistakes in hiring people, of course. But when I said your work hasn’t been terrible I read through your recent drafts on documents and some of the suggestions are quite good, in fact, but not in the final report. Hence the question about any mistreatment. As a business we need to value all our co-workers, for what they bring, no matter what we think of them.”
I’m not sure quite what all this is about, but I guess it’d make sense they want the opinion of someone on the lowest of low wages, they do take new graduates who’d be on near to the same wage as me. And I’m not essential to any project, so I can be spared at the moment. “When do you want this done by?” I ask.
“Today I just want you to read through the document. You’re to focus solely on this for the next few days. If anyone asks you to do anything else say you’re under my orders. If they push you further call me. Susan outside, my secretary, will sort them out. Tomorrow morning, 7am, I want you to meet with some people, an informal get together of people who I want you to ask their thoughts on the health plan. After that I’ll talk with you again and we’ll set out exactly what I’m expecting for the next few days.”
“Sure, of course,” I say.
“Now if there’s anything else?” he asks. “Therese?” She shakes her head and he looks at me. “Tony?” I shake my head too. “OK, get to work, please. This is an opportunity for you, Tony. A fresh start and your first time doing something directly for me.”
I nod, fully understanding the gravity of the situation if not every consequence. This could very well be a test to see if I keep my job. “Of course, I’ll do it as well as I can,” I say.
“That’s all I ask of anyone,” Mr. Mayer says.
As I’m walking towards the door, feeling light headed, he speaks up again, “And Tony, if you ever get me in an office gift exchange, Christmas, whatever... Socks, please! You can never have enough socks.” I laugh, but I’m not quite sure why, and soon I’m back at my desk.
I’m reading through the document, forcing myself to pay serious attention. This really is a big opportunity and perhaps my last opportunity. It’ll decide my future here, I know that. And I really don’t want to be looking for another job while my personal life is being entirely rearranged. In fact I don’t know if I could rearrange my personal life if I was struggling for a job.
The document has obviously been worked on before, just someone else reading through it with a pen. There’s careless swipes from when some absent-mindedly dotted at something, or ran their pen over it as they turned around. It’s a complex document, with a lot of referring to other sections, sub-paragraphs and clauses changing other elements. I’m incredibly focused on it, I have to be, when I notice my boss Greg standing above me.
“What time is it?” he asks.
I look at the clock on my laptop, “3pm?” I say.
“And have you been to lunch?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine, really. I need to get this—”
“Yes, I know, you’re reviewing something for Mr. Mayer, but if you don’t eat your work will be as poor as it usually is and that’ll look bad on me. Get something to eat. At the least a sandwich.”
I take the elevator to the cafeteria, with the health insurance document tucked under my arm, and get a coffee and ham salad sandwich. I sit down and take a bite of the sandwich, looking around the cafeteria, wondering what the people around me, or people like them, there’s workers from loads of different businesses in the building here, would make of trying to decipher a document like this. It is incredibly dense.
I finish my sandwich and start into my coffee when another pen dot catches my eye, right next to Gender Affirming Care. I look around to see if anyone’s watching me, cross my legs and hunch over, beginning to read.
I must have read the entire part, and all the subsections and referrals five times over when I realise I’ve been sitting here far too long with my coffee now ice cold. I rush back to my desk and it seems Greg was waiting for me. As soon as I’ve sat down he’s out of his office.
“You can just go home, Tony,” he says.
“I still need to read th—”
“You might need to read something but you’ve spent nearly two hours on a late lunch. Go home. You’re wasting your time here. My time now,” he says.
I try to protest but his look at me says he’s having none of it. I acquiesce, agree to his demands and pack up. When he leaves I shove the document from Mr Mayer and Therese in my bag, before leaving the building and getting the bus home.
Sitting on the bus I receive a notification. It’s a message from Jess, “How was work, hun? Everything go OK? Nothing to worry about?” And it’s like she’s read my mind.
I message her back, really needing someone to talk to. “I’ve been given a special project. I have to do a review of our health insurance. Reporting to one of the higher ups. I think they want to see if they can work with me or if I’d be better off somewhere else, you know? Not working there. It’s a big deal. I’ve been worrying all day.”
Jess messages me back immediately, either already at home herself or on her way there. “Try and give yourself time to be you, Toni, you need some space. If you can find that I’m sure you’ll do a good job.”
I think of the makeup samples at home, and getting changed into normal clothes, and maybe just going for a burger, but I push those thoughts aside knowing this really is my last chance. “Yeah, I will,” I message Jess, a little bit of a lie. “I need an early night, though. I’m wanted in first thing to meet with some people about the health document tomorrow. I really need to know what it says if I’m to talk with them and I’m nowhere near finished it.”
“OK. Get comfy, take some breaks, but just do your best. That’s all anyone can ask.”
I message Jess back a simple, “Thank you,” and then I’m right by my stop and making my way to my apartment.
My plan was to finish work as normal, switch on youtube and watch some makeup tutorials but that’s out the window now, although I do do something for me, sort of. I look up the care plan we have from work’s website, with the document next to me, and begin to search out all the medical systems and accesses provided by our insurers that involve trans healthcare.
It is a total pain to work through. Nothing is clear. Everything is hidden away and some of the web pages that are supposed to contain information don’t even exist, despite there being direct links. I did start this for information purely about trans care, but I’m quickly extending my search out to anything. It’s nigh on impossible to find what I need. Then I’m looking nationally, and it’s even worse again. Some things apply in some areas but not in others. Some of our offices could be on the border of two or three different insurance districts and depending on address, despite being in the one office, you might have access to some, all, and in one case I even found a situation where you could have access to no approved healthcare.
I don’t know if this is what Mr. Mayer wants from me. He asked for gaps in what’s provided, for renegotiations, but if people can’t even access what exists already, or don’t even know about what’s available, then what’s the point in demanding more? No-one gets it in the first place, unless they’re really forced by dire circumstances to navigate all this.
It’s getting really late and I realise my plans have been whacked out of line completely. Not only have I not dedicated my time to me, and then not just to looking up the trans healthcare my workplace provides, but now I’ve been wading through a document and website that looks like it’s purposefully made to keep things hidden.
I’m starting to develop a headache and I know I need to stop. I don’t know if the pain in my head is from all the reading and confusion, or because it’s late, or because I need to eat. I think of what’s in the fridge. I didn’t do any shopping at the weekend so go and check. There is some eggs and bacon, the items G bought.
I send G a message, just to say something to anyone, to hear from someone not trapped in health insurance documents. I tell him I’m planning on making the eggs he made, along with the bacon he bought that we didn’t eat, and ask if he has any expert cooking advice. I’m considering cracking open one of the beers Steph brought from Light Avenue on Saturday night when G texts back. “Butter! Very patient and slow with the eggs at first. Then as they’re getting solid a burst of quickness. They’re ready before you think they’re ready.” Simple, direct, and straight to the point.
Soon I’m sitting at my little table with some eggs and bacon on a plate, and one of the beers next to it. I take a picture of it and message G with a, “Thanks, Chef Ramsay.”
I’m halfway through it, and it’s actually pretty decent, by my standards if not G’s, when he messages me back with a picture of Gordon Ramsay with text over it of, “Eat your fucking dinner before it goes cold, you sausage!!!”
Finishing up, as I’m doing the washing I realise my eyes are drooping. It’s late, but not that late. I wonder what has me so tired as I’m rinsing a fork and then I smile to myself. I guess I have been busy lately. Then I laugh. I’ve been so fucking busy.
I dry everything and put it away, then I pack up my work stuff into my backpack before laying out my clothes for tomorrow and get changed into a nightdress, all the while smiling. I follow all the instructions the woman who gave me the makeup samples said about the skincare as I wash my face.
I walk into my living room, ready for bed, and laugh again. It quickly turns to proper hysterics and I can’t stop. Who am I? What the fuck is happening? What am I doing?
I feel great!
When Steph left the beers on Saturday night she also left a bottle of whiskey and told me to save it for a special occasion, or for with a special someone, as a birthday present. I can’t think of an occasion more special than this. Or a person I’m more happy to be with than me. Just me, all on my own. And comfortable with myself. Maybe for the first time in my life.
I take a glass from the kitchen and open the whiskey. I pour myself a small measure and sit on my couch, take out my phone and just randomly flick through the various sites I’d normally spend hours on, looking at funny videos and pictures, but never really laughing at them. Not out loud, certainly, but now everything feels so light and simple, and I’m laughing like I’m insane.
I finish my whiskey and think about pouring another but instead I go to bed, hugging the bedclothes around me. Sure, another drink might be nice, but I’m not worried about tomorrow. I’m not scared of tomorrow. It could be good or it could be bad. I don’t know. And that’s a joy of life. It wasn’t great for me before but a surprise night brought, well, me to me.
I’m wide awake early the next morning, completely forgetting how quickly or not I fell I asleep but it was easy, no tossing or turning. It’s not too early, but early enough that despite having a meeting before normal work hours I can just lie in bed and rest for a while. My mind feels like an ocean, waves of peace, sunshine and a gentle breeze. Stretching for thousands of miles.
After a few minutes of silence, both around me and in thought, I know what I have to do. I take my phone from the table at the head of my bed and message, Steve, “Hey, what’s up? How are you?” I don’t sign off with Toni. I think it’s because I want to leave the onus on him to say anything.
A little over an hour later I’m walking into work as the sun is just about shining fully. It’s the earliest I’ve been in the building in years but it’s not quiet at all. I find the room Mr. Mayer mentioned, knock on the door and let myself in. It’s a meeting room with a big oval conference table, open in the centre, different sections of table pushed together. There’s a few people already sitting around, chatting amongst themselves, and Mr. Mayer is standing with a coffee near some dispensers in the corner. He beckons me over.
“I’m in the right place?” I ask.
“You are,” he says. “Coffee?”
“Please,” I say, and he pours one out asking if I want anything in it. Normally in meetings I’d be the one handing out coffees and keeping invisible.
He hands it to me and begins to talk. “This is an informal group, nothing really official. LGBTQ employees who just want to get together and talk. It’s typically about any problems they might have, about news applicable to them, any grievances they don’t quite want to make official yet or just want advice on. Ninety percent of the time it’s just gossip. It’s a bit of stress relief, really. A place to unwind and talk shop with no pressures and no after work alcohol.”
Mr. Mayer keeps talking and seems not to have noticed me drop then barely catch my coffee again when he said LGBTQ employees, and I don’t think he can actually see the two very sharp knives currently stabbing me in the temples. “Anyway,” he continues. “With you looking at the healthcare plan I thought you’d be great to listen to any concerns or issues they might have.”
I take a deep breath. “Sure, yeah. OK. Of course,” I say. “I’m not sure if I have anything to say, yet, though.”
“Just listen. You don’t have to say anything,” he says.
I sit down on a free seat in front of the conference table, with my heart pounding. Why has he picked me for this? Surely it can’t be the sock comment from yesterday? No-one can figure out what I am purely from ladybug socks, right?
A woman seems to be talking to me, that I didn’t notice, and I apologise for not hearing. “I was just saying you’re new here, or I haven’t seen you before. Don’t worry, everyone’s friendly,” she says.
“Mr. Mayer asked me to hear some concerns from people, about the healthcare plan,” I say.
“Benjamin? He’s lovely. If he asked you to be here then you’re very welcome,” she pauses and seems to be sizing me up, almost retreating into herself before saying, “Have a nice weekend?”
“Yeah, I was out with some friends.”
“At your age I bet it was wild, it certainly was when I was in my twenties. Where’s everyone going to now? I don’t think I’m quite Mom enough yet to be totally out of touch.”
“A place called Light Avenue,” I say.
She seems to relax a little at that, then says, “Are they still running the minibus? Not that it was actually a minibus in my day. Just the biggest, ugliest looking mini-van thing with the most seats on the market.”
“Yeah, still the same,” I say. “It took me home. My first night in there, too.”
“Oh you did have a good weekend then. The minibus was great. I met my wife on it,” she says as she wiggles her fingers showing off a ring, looking lost in a thought. Then she smiles to herself.
“How was your weekend?” I ask.
“I’m glad to be in work,” she says, shaking her head. “Even with the early starts. Nothing here is as tiring as multiple birthday parties, every damn week, with a five year old. There must be hundreds of kids in his class. And the cost of gifts!”
“Everything is so expensive!” I say.
“You’re too young to be pointing that out. The price of things for you now is the most affordable it’ll ever be.”
I laugh, almost in dread, as Therese calls everyone’s attention. “Thanks for coming everyone,” she says. “Sorry to call the meeting forward a week but a couple of things came up. The big news is we’ve signed a deal with the LGBTQ gym chain. I thought people would want to know straight away.”
A few people clap their hands together and there’s one or two boisterous cheers.
“Now, we can’t keep this gym private knowledge. Everyone in the various offices we have around the city will know and have access to it. You could meet anyone there, but they do have a reputation so you shouldn’t run into anyone being an ass.”
“We’ve also got an agreement for a couple of classes, if the machines and weights aren’t your thing. It’s not everything we wanted but most classes they run are covered. If you’re planning on taking one or two a week you shouldn’t have any problems.”
A man from the other side of the room speaks up, “Did we get the pool?”
“You won’t let me build the suspense, will you Marcus?” Therese says. “Yes, we got the pool. And full family membership. Along with four guest passes a month if you apply through the company. You can buy up to 12 a month with the gym. The pool does have a few more rules. They’re not open generally at every hour, but most of them. There’s a few private hours for the kids, and nephews and nieces of members, swimming classes and the like, and a few hours set aside for trans members, but trans people are, of course, free to use it during general hours, not just during the special times. That’s simply an accommodation for people who might not feel comfortable and want a bit of privacy, which I’m sure we all understand.”
I look around as she says that and most people have no reaction beyond a few nods in acceptance, or agreement.
“When can we sign up?”
“Yeah, I never get any rest, or appreciation...” Therese says, and there’s some laughter. “I’ll take a list of names here and send the first email with our employees to the gym after lunch. You will need your company ID when you first see them, then they’ll issue their own membership ID which you need to get in. Make sure you look stunning for your photo. But, yes. You could be sitting in a steam room come 7pm this evening.”
This time there really is an outbreak of clapping around the room.
“The other reason for the meeting is Tony,” she says pointing to me. “They’re doing a review of some of the health insurance. If anyone has any concerns or issues they don’t want to or haven’t pointed out to me or someone else in HR they can message Tony. Just ask them for their email address once I stop droning on. Do you have anything to add, Tony?”
“No, not really,” I say, and pause for a second in thought. But all this is about proving my worth. “Except for the HR point. I’m sure you know the document very well, everyone in HR will, but if you want to research it on your own. Or just look things up on online it’s convoluted. Confusing even. Some of the links and webpages are dead. And I’m—”
“That’s a fair point,” Therese says. “But to start any new process, even if we don’t need precise details, you do have to go through HR and we have a good understanding of what’s available.” She turns away after saying that, changed just barely from her happy, open personality to more of what I’d encounter in a normal workday.
The woman next to me, with the kids’ birthday parties, speaks up. “No, Tony is right. Sometimes you don’t actually want anything. You just want to know. Maybe planning for something long term, or even just thinking. Me and Stacy weren’t planning on having a child, not really, not in the short term but we wanted to figure out options. We looked at the plan and couldn’t figure out anything about IVF, or pretty much any pregnancy options for two women. Going to someone in the company would have been a commitment, or at least felt like it, and too big a step. We spent months pulling our hair out looking at various sites and dead pages, downloading PDFs. I think it did actually discourage us for a while.”
“OK, that’s good to know and we’ll keep it in mind. Thanks Kris,” Therese says, but that’s seemed to open the floodgates. So many voices are talking about policies and healthcare plans, and their problems with it, that I’ll never remember all the points.
After a minute or two more of this Mr. Mayer speaks up, slightly loudly. “OK, thanks everyone. We can all email these concerns to Tony. That’s why I have them assigned to this task. So if everyone can quieten down Tony can call out their email address.”
That does seem to settle people down and I call out my my first and last name, enunciating the dot in the middle of the email address.
“Is that Tony with an i or a y?” someone asks, and I can’t help but laugh, and I spot Mr. Mayer smiling too.
“A y,” I say.
“OK, I think that’s that for today. As soon as you all finish off the coffees and pastries, and chats, you can do what you’re supposed to be doing here, which is working and not tormenting Therese, or Tony.”
He motions at me with a finger and I walk over to him, “OK, come with me Tony.”
I grab my things and we go to the café on the first floor with Mr. Mayer ordering another two coffees.
We sit down at a table, with people having morning snacks and light breakfasts all around us. “How much coffee do you drink?” I ask Mr. Mayer, then realise that could be taken as petulant, but he laughs.
“Most of my job is drinking coffee with people, sometimes something stronger. It’s rare I ever finish one. I’d never sleep at night if I did,” he says, then rotates the cardboard cup around in front of him. “You seem more relaxed today. I’m glad. Do you think you’ll be back to the group again? It’ll open a lot of doors for you.”
“You know, don’t you?” I say, feeling my face heat up and everyone in the café staring at me.
“In my position I only know what’s written in plain English, documented and signed, sitting before me. But because I’m good at what I do I know a lot more than that, unofficially, never to be spoken of. Including when some employees loan their friends the official work fleece and are out shopping with them.”
“Oh...” I say. “I didn’t think of that.”
“And don’t think of it again,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’ve done nothing wrong. At least not in this office. It could make things difficult in some of our other locations but I won’t let it here.”
“I guess, yes, then,” I say. “I probably should go back to the meeting.”
“I’ll tell Therese to add you to the mailing list. Don’t worry, no-one will say a word about anything you bring up there. At least not attached to a name. And you don’t have to say anything at the meetings. You’re in now.”
“Will you be there?” I ask.
He seems to know what I’m really asking when he says, “I’ve been with my husband so long he’s stopped finishing my sentences and instead just tells me to be quiet. He uses less business appropriate terms, however.”
“Was that rude? Asking that...” I ask, feeling like I’ve been intrusive.
“No,” Mr. Mayer says plainly. “It does give me an idea of where you’d fit into this business better. Everything I’ve seen so far is helping me on it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your style,” he says, but I’m just wearing chinos and a shirt, so he can’t mean that. Then he continues. “I’m not sure if you’re doing it completely deliberately yet but you’re pointing out things other people might not see. People talk a lot of mumbo-jumbo about blue sky thinking and thinking outside the box but that’s typically because they haven’t had an original idea in decades. Then they call us in.”
“Consulting?” I say.
“Yeah. There’s something holding them down, or dragging them back. Something they can’t kick off that’s stopping them from doing what they could have been very good at a few years before, or had the potential for but never quite reached.”
I stop and consider things. “I’ve never worked with anything raw, like direct documents, or processes or interviews. Not with an actual client,” I say.
“You’ll get there,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’re literally doing it for us now, internally.”
I think back to how I seemed to annoy Therese by bringing up a problem that’s under the HR department. “Did I make an enemy of Therese?” I ask.
“No. She’s professional. And she’ll appreciate it come a few hours or days. The people who don’t appreciate it, and I include our clients in that, typically go out of business or get fired.”
The talk stops and I sit, drinking my coffee, watching Mr. Mayer simply hold his paper cup, when something occurs to me. “I don’t want to complain...” I say, then pause. There’s no reaction on his face but he seems receptive. “But didn’t you just out me to a room full of people. When, I’m, you know, not out. Not at work.”
“If someone did that it would get them fired,” he says.
“But?”
“But first off, how senior am I in this business, nationally?” he asks.
“Quite?” I say.
“Try Very. I can get away with a lot. It is extremely unfair. Secondly, what did I actually tell people about you?”
“You said it was a group of LGBTQ people, straight to me.”
“And sometimes I bring non-LGBTQ people to the meeting, to speak on something. They’re always people I trust not to be prejudiced or loud mouths. But it’s good you’re thinking. You might have to make some decisions. Someone simply saw you in a department store because they recognised the company logo on a sweater and I genuinely don’t know any more than that. I can’t guarantee everything about that room or group, certainly not what people see around the city, never mind any potentially life-changing choices people could have before them. And I can’t stop gossip or anything like it, just try to deal with it when it comes up. But part of that group’s purpose is to discuss the intolerance people face and the barriers put up by simply being who you are, both in the wider world and in the workplace. There’s a lot of value in that but it doesn’t mean the barriers don’t exist. There’s few enough people who don’t face barriers of some kind. For a person who you could be they’re potentially even greater.”
I nod, feeling a reality I haven’t felt before. Not just since I put on a dress but ever.
“It’s something to keep in mind and think about if you haven’t before. There’s only a few people here who know anything about an employee in a department store buying a purse. I’ll still put you on the mailing list, unless you don’t want me to. Me and Therese are the only people who have access to names on it. If you want to come to the meeting again, when it’s next on, I’m sure you’ll learn a lot. If you don’t come no-one will know you’re getting the emails unless you tell them but you’ll be informed. Which is what I would like, but there’s no pressure either way. Is that OK?”
“Yes,” I say. “Put me on the list.”
“OK, anything else to add?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine, and thank you.”
“Alright, I have to go not drink coffee with some people far less pleasant to be around. Finish up when you’re ready and report upstairs.”
I nod and he leaves. I pick up the paper coffee cup he left, lid still on it, and yes, I find it completely full.
I finish up and take the elevator to my floor but when I get to my desk my laptop is missing, although nothing else. I go to Greg’s office door, which is open, and knock, feeling eyes from the other people in the area on me.
“Come in, Tony!” he shouts.
I walk in and stand opposite him. He looks at me expectantly, almost urging me on. “My laptop is missing. It was there—”
“It’s been updated for work-from-home,” he says, pointing to a brand new laptop bag that’s sitting on a cheap office chair sitting to the side of the room, on top of a stack of Harvard Business Reviews.
“Work from home?” I ask.
“Yes, you’re working from home for the next week, while you’re on the health insurance review for Mr. Mayer. We don’t want people finding out and bugging you with all their problems. I’ve been told you’ve consulted with one group already, and you should include their feedback, but we don’t want this spreading to everyone in the department who wants the Mayo Clinic for their athlete’s foot. This is about your work.”
I remain still, not really knowing what to say.
“You do have somewhere you can work at home, don’t you? Table, chair, wifi? Please tell me you have a home.”
“Yes, I do,” I say.
“That’s good. We won’t be giving you the full kit-out with desk and monitors and fancy seat made by some high-tech German rip-off artist that no-one actually needs. I don’t expect this to last longer than a week. What you need to know is that I will phone you every morning, before twelve, to get an update. No-one else will phone you, this is about giving you time to focus and do a proper job. Maybe the change will get some good work out of you.”
“There is something I should have brought up about the insurance,” I say, thinking of the work.
“Please don’t interrupt me, Tony,” Greg says, despite him seemingly having paused, then he continues. “Apart from my one call no-one else will be onto you. Not even I will phone you a second time, no video conferences, no Teams or Skype, not that I know which one we actually use. Unless the office burns down you will be largely uninterrupted to do what you should have been doing for years. But even if the office does burn down you’re so low on the priority list after literally everyone else you can expect a call next summer, long after your wages stop being paid. Answer emails first thing, emails later in the day can wait until the next day unless they’re from me or Mr. Mayer and you deem them urgent, although I’m not sure you’re quite capable of making that decision.”
“Are these rules in place for everyone working from home?” I ask, a little taken aback at the litany I’m receiving.
“Are you being smart with me?”
I shake my head rapidly.
“The reality is if you follow the few simple instructions set out no-one cares if you spend the rest of your time with your ass out the window talking to the local pigeons via butt cheek. Especially if you somehow manage to do good work. Monday you spend finalising the report. Next Tuesday, after lunch, you come back into the office and present it to me. Printed out. I want to check your work before it goes to Mr. Mayer. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Now there was something you said you wanted to bring up, already. As if you actually got work done on your two hour lunch break yesterday.”
“It’s about the insurance coverage and by that I mean the physical locations, not procedures or doctors.”
“Go on,” Greg says.
“I was checking over—”
“I don’t care how you got there tell me where you are.”
I nod, and straighten myself, surprised that I’m actually in a man’s shirt and pants, and feeling a little weird about it. “There’s a part of the country, possibly more places, I don’t know, where there’s literally no coverage. The document says things like If not applicable then nearest in direct distance, but some of the locally contracted health groups I checked seem to exclude that on a strict address basis.”
“On a general website or in terms and conditions? PDFs, and the like?”
“In the actual, proper documentation, with the legalese,” I say.
“OK, Tony, sit down and explain it me, as best you can, this time in detail but not with your life story, just the coverage,” Greg says. As I sit he picks up the phone making a call and asking for a taxi to be pushed back by twenty minutes.
A taxi which I’m sitting in, thirty minutes later, on my way home after Greg saying That may be the first bit of exemplary work I’ve seen from you. But being Greg he had to add If it checks out.
I get home, with my new laptop bag and updated work laptop and check my emails. There’s a few from people who were obviously at the meeting this morning and I quickly begin checking into their concerns.
I take a few breaks, to eat a little and watch quick makeup videos on my own laptop, but I feel like I’m getting good work done.
It’s the early afternoon when my phone goes off, Steve’s number, direct to me. I don’t give myself time to think and just look at it. “Lads Night is cancelled, Sam and Alan broke up so I don’t think they want to see each other and Big-G says he has some work function. There is a good game on first thing in the bar we normally go to. If you want to come.”
I message back, without much thought, just thinking of the soccer, that I have to check with some other people first and I’ll let him know as soon as possible and he messages back, “I’ll be there either way. You can come if you want. I don’t care who you come as.”
I try to put his snippiness out of my mind and get back to work but it’s completely tilted me. I message Jess asking what time our pedicure will be and if I need anything special for it, trying to shake Steve’s text from my mind.
“We’ll meet at 11. You don’t need anything but if you want to show off your new toesies then some sandals.” And she includes a link to the nail shop’s website. I check the website and all the packages are more expensive than I would have thought, but I guess there’s a premium for having to deal with feet.
I try to go back to work but I still can’t get Steve’s message out of my mind so I figure I’ll try out a few of the makeup techniques I watched. I shave for the second time today and take out some of the products from the pharmacy bag. I’ll just go with some lip gloss, the BB cream and mascara. After cleaning random pokes from the mascara wand from around my eye, which is quite difficult and stubborn, I look in the mirror and it doesn’t seem super obvious. My lips are a little bit shinier and my eyelashes look thicker but I don’t notice much difference. Although that could be the low light in my bathroom.
I sit myself down in front of the laptop again, determined to get some work done but it’s just not coming. I can’t do this, and I’m not sure of any alternative. And just as I think of that I think of Light Avenue, and how I’d like to get dressed and go out. I have the makeup on so why not more? Maybe I’ll feel normal again.
My hand is shaking as I take my phone out and dial Greg’s number. He picks up after a few rings. “Yes, Tony,” he says.
“Sorry to bother you, Greg. Something’s come up. Is it OK if I finish a little early today?”
I hear what sounds like wind down the phone, and then nothing, and then Greg says, “Was my line about hanging your butt out the window for the pigeons not memorable?”
“Yes...” I say, unsure.
“Tony, please listen, no-one cares what you do as long as you take my morning phone call and get the work done. If you work all night and play video games all day, that’s fine. If you spend the next week redecorating your home I do not mind if you can produce a good report. If you outsource the report, and it’s good, I’ll know it’s not your work but I’ll be impressed with your moxie as I’m firing you. But the big question is do you deserve and-or absolutely, vitally need some time off and will you still be able to get the report to me next Tuesday? Now don’t answer that, just think about it. This is a chance for you.”
“Thanks, Greg,” I say, his point made clear, and my days filling up.
“No-one died they?” he asks, a little hesitantly
“No, not at all,” I say.
“That’s good. I don’t want to be unnecessarily insensitive.” I break out in a laugh at that, unable to keep it in. “Now hang up,” he says. Which I do.
I sit, staring at my laptop for a few minutes. It hadn’t fully dawned on me the freedom I’d been afforded. I didn’t even change into my clothes once I got home I was so focused on proving myself. I do have to do a good job. And I will. Steve’s message doesn’t even bother me any more but now I want to go out. I feel like it’s a big test, for myself. Whether I can live a freer life. Another test in days of tests.
I feel a sickness rise again as I realise that freedom is probably exactly what Mr. Mayer arranged for me. He knows I’ve just come out and is giving me a bit of space, for a few days. I’m being treated, I don’t know, gently. Like I’m delicate. It’s nice, and good, I suppose, but I don’t want all this just because of who I am. I don’t want to be different.
I pick up my phone and message Steve, after his shitty message. “If I come it’ll be as me, Toni.” Then I put down my phone, probably too hard, walk into my bedroom and get changed.
Once I’m dressed, with my hair done, I realise I have no floor length mirror in my apartment, which is definitely a pain in the ass. Every other time I’ve gotten dressed someone has either given me clothes or seen me in them before I go out. This time it’s all me.
I get my phone and turn on the front facing camera, angling the screen so I can try and get a good look at myself. All the parts I like individually, it’s a tight-ish white jersey top with a white cami beneath it, a knee length, light cotton skirt with an Indian style pattern on it and some elephants, black pantihose and the ankle high black studded boots I bought with G. It all looks wrong. Like I’m too square and the skirt is a mess, it’s just crumpled.
I take a picture and send a message to Jess, “How do I look? Be honest.”
She messages back within a few minutes of me angling the camera again trying to find a view of myself where I look OK. “You look like absolutely fine. No-one will give you a second glance apart from me when I’m meeting you later for a drink because it’s obvious you’re going out. I’ll meet you in Light Avenue after I finish work. Should I tell Sally? It might get her out of her funk.”
“Please, yes!” I message back, not feeling great about the Fine part but kind of OK that Jess wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with me. I don’t know why but my tension has ramped up. For a few reasons I guess, but Steve’s text is straight back in my mind. I try to push it out of my head and focus on the happiness from meeting Jess and maybe Sally this evening.
I grab my coat and am soon standing outside. I was planning on doing some shopping, mainly for sandals but really for anything else I could pick up, or that catches my eye, but now I just want to go somewhere with people I know I can trust.
A taxi pulls up in front of me and I climb in the back. “Light Avenue?” I say.
“Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir,” the driver says and I shake my head, close my eyes and feel like shit all over again. Even worse than feeling simply shit I soon notice he’s taking a convoluted way to get Light Avenue, even if it is the general direction.
We go past one corner and I say, “You can stop here.” Then I pay him, thinking I really want to kick him in the head as he smiles an overly cheerful, patronising smile at me. Getting out I double back on where we came from and walk to the a candle shop that’s painted in a way that definitely reminds me of Enya, somehow.
I walk through the door and an actual bell rings as I go in. There’s woman in a floaty, lush white dress with streaks of pink and purple through it standing behind the counter unboxing candles. I guess Natasha isn’t working today, but still I’ll browse. I look around, checking out the candles. Some of them have labels and plastic wrap around them. Others are in glass jars with metal lids and extremely high price tags on them. Others still are simple and plain, often with a few descriptions on the sticker but lots of reference to church candles, or religion, or ceremonies.
One grouping of candles catch my eye, sitting on a low tiered shelving unit, out at the front. Each is maybe four or five inches high, stout, with a white wick, and free-form, naturally wavy patterned rainbow colours.
“The ear plugs worked!” I hear.
I look around and Natasha is coming out from behind the counter, wearing the same style of floaty Enya-like dress as the last time I saw her but this time in peach, not purple. “I’m glad,” I say. “You’re getting sleep?”
“Not only am I getting sleep but I can actually focus on reading at home,” she says. “See anything you like?”
I shyly point at the stubby rainbow candles.
“Everyone likes them, one of our biggest sellers. We have some really fancy ones, big, pricey ones. Get one,” she says and reaches over and picks out one of the smaller candles I was looking at.
“Maybe...” I say.
She twists the price tag on the string around to show me the cost and smiles a proud smile.
“I do need some things in my apartment,” I say, thinking of it being bare apart from basic furniture and appliances.
“Twenty percent off, too.”
“Really?”
“Staff discount,” she says.
“I can’t ask you—”
“Why wouldn’t you take it? You want the candle and it’s cheaper because of me, just get it.”
I smile. “OK,” I say. “You’ve convinced me.”
“You would have bought it anyway,” she says as she walks back to the counter, clocks it into the till and swipes a loose laying staff card against the barcode scanner.
As I pay and Natasha places the candle into a little white paper bag I speak up. “Can I ask you a question?” I say.
“As long as it’s not about candles. I hate candles and I hate this shop,” she says.
“You make that abundantly clear every morning, Natasha,” the other woman, now taking more candles out of a box, says.
“I just don’t want you to forget,” Natasha says, then looks at me. “Shoot.”
“How do I look? Really? My clothes, I mean,” I say, squirming on the inside.
“Genuinely?” she asks. I nod. “OK, give me a look.”
I stand back and pull open my coat, before doing a very slow, very nervous spin.
“Hrrrm...” Natasha sighs.
“That’s not good. What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t fit,” she says.
“It’s the wrong size?”
“No, not that kind of fit. I don’t know... First off the top isn’t very flattering, you’re... We’re...Rather square? You know?” she says, while making a straight up and down motion with her hands. “Unfortunately... And it’s plain, and white, and tight, and does nothing to give you any shape. And the skirt is too light.”
“Do you mind?” the other woman asks, putting the box she was unpacking down.
“No, sure,” I say, not quite understanding why I want to pile on the assault.
“It’s too summery,” she says. “It’s not that warm out any more, people are getting into bundle up mode. Next summer, or a warm spring day, try it again. No coat, bare legs, sandals, flip flops even. Feeling the sun. I can’t wait, personally.”
“It’s not terrible,” Natasha says. “You look better than all our lunatic customers, even the relatively normal ones.”
“Lunatic customers... Right...” I say.
“That’s a compliment. Everyone’s some kind of lunatic.”
“Yeah...”
“What about Susan, here?” Natasha says, waving at the other woman.
“Those are work clothes,” I protest. “For the Enya store.”
“I like Enya,” Susan says. “And stop being nasty about my style. I like what I’m wearing.”
“I’m so sor—”
The woman thrusts her thumb towards Natasha, “Not you, her. Every damn day she’s whine and moan. I will fire you some day, Natasha. I guarantee it.”
“Sweet release,” Natasha says.
“You gave her the staff discount?” Susan asks Natasha.
“I did,” Natasha says.
“Good, she obviously needs cheering up. Come back any time, browse candles, get fashion critique, insult my queen Enya.”
I laugh and Natasha asks me. “You going up the road?”
“Yeah, Light Avenue. Bunking off work.”
“Good woman!” Natasha says. “I might do the same.”
“You will not!” Susan says.
“Anyway, that’s my call to get back to it. I might be up there later. I can’t guarantee it though.”
“If you don’t I’ll be back some day,” I say. “Probably a weekend.”
“I’m looking forward to it. An actual normal person in here,” Natasha says, while Susan glares at her.
After a few minutes walk I’m back in Light Avenue and standing at the bar, waiting for a short, stocky man with scraggly black beard to finish up with the person before me’s order. He looks about the same age as me, and I don’t know, kind of eager. Bright? Happy? Fun, even?
He comes towards me with a smile and I say the name of the beer I like then he asks me if I’m Toni.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Who doesn’t like to drink much?” he asks.
“I don’t know if I can claim that as true any more,” I say, with a grimace.
“Everyone has a big night every so often, that doesn’t mean you’re stuck to it forever,” he says, with a hearty, deep laugh.
I wonder if he realises how close to reality that could be for me if I didn’t go home with Jess on my Friday night and I laugh too. “No. I suppose I don’t want to be drinking loads, but I do like coming in here, and I don’t want to drink water all night.”
“Good, that’s exactly what I was hoping to hear,” he says. “If you’re not meeting anyone would you mind chatting to me for a bit? Some advice?”
“No, not at all,” I say, and I move up a little on the front bar to where the few counter seats are, taking my coat off and placing my purse and candle bag down. “What’s up?”
He raises a hand, then pours me my low alcohol beer, placing it in front of me. “I’ve opened a tab for you but if you want to settle on the spot that’s not an issue. No pressure.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Do you need my card.”
“No. Steph says you’re fine,” he says before darting down to the open area of the bar to take another order and serve the couple waiting.
Order finished he comes back up and just stands in front of me, smiling. A little cheekily even. “What?” I ask.
“Just looking at you,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, I want to add What have I done? but this isn’t an I’ve done anything situation, I think.
“I’m sizing you up,” he says.
“Ew, don’t be creepy,” I say, with a laugh.
“Are you creeped out?”
“A little,” I say, looking down at my beer but smiling. He knows full well I’m lying about that. He can practically see me wriggle.
“I’m trying to figure out what cocktail would look good in your hands,” he says. Then he goes to serve another few people, this time coffees, leaving me to think. But I can’t really think because my cheeks are distracting me. They’re actually hurting from smiling.
As he comes back I try to straighten out my face, and say, plainly, “So you make cocktails?”
“I do. And I’m good at it. Which is why I wanted your advice.”
“You don’t want to give me advice?” I ask.
“What advice could I possibly offer you?” he says.
I’m struggling to stop from smiling again. “OK. What do you want to know?”
“Fine, serious business. Tell me to go away if you want. What I’d like to know is why you don’t drink?”
I scratch my head and twist my face up a little as I think. “It’s not that I don’t like to drink, it’s more...” I tail off, still thinking.
“You don’t like feeling drunk?”
“No. I’m fine with being a bit drunk, even very drunk with the right people which I suppose is what it actually is; I don’t like where people get drunk. Busy bars and big bars filled with wild people aren’t really my thing. I can manage if I’m not out of my mind, but things go flashy if I’ve had a lot, like tunnel vision, and I feel the walls and the people closing in and I get panicky. If I’m relatively sober I can manage it, and manage myself. If I’m completely sober I wouldn’t even be in the place.”
“OK, that makes sense,” he says, nodding to himself and seemingly thinking. “I think I know what drink to make you, and what you say actually reminds me a lot of why I started making cocktails.”
“Go on,” I say, resting my elbows on the counter and crossing my hands as I rest my chin on them.
“OK, Jackson history. Hello, my name is Jackson, it’s lovely to meet you Toni,” he says. I smile but this time it’s an easy smile, no hurting cheeks. “When I was a teen all my friends were kind of wild, and they weren’t really friends. They tolerated me. I guess they liked me and I did like them, it was just weird. Like I was along for the ride. I’d get invited to all the parties, so many parties, but I’d just end up sitting in a chair somewhere being annoyed. I started mixing drinks for myself as a way to get away from people. Then I shared a few, and people liked them. So I did it more. And then I’d be invited to parties by older kids, then college kids, all to mix drinks, so my friends had even more parties to go to. Before anyone realised I’d become the unofficial bartender in my school.”
“Like a vocation,” I say.
“How do you mean?” he asks, quizzical look on his face.
“It was your calling to be a bartender,” I say.
“I’ll let you decide that, if you buy the cocktail I want to make for you.”
“You can put it on my tab already,” I say, banging my hand against the counter. “Are you going to put on a whole show for me?”
“The show is extra,” he says. “The cocktail is low alcohol, though.”
“Is it weird to order that in a bar?” I ask.
“For some people it would be. Steph’s been saying we need more zero alcohol drinks but I’m not sure that works. For some people, absolutely, but I don’t think many who sometimes drink actually want nothing with booze on an easy night. There’s not a huge cost difference between any of the various strengths, so there’s no attraction there and in fact some people feel they’re being ripped off, which puts them off.”
“I can understand that,” I say, nodding.
“Also, alcohol adds a little kick. People miss that if it’s not there. So, anyway, tell me about yourself while I gaze at you,” he says.
“Are you flirting?” I ask. I think he is but why would he be? Although all this is nice.
“Are you flirting?” he asks back, confidently. “I can understand why you would be. A man who mixes great drinks. Great conversation. Looks good in a shirt? A tuft of manly chest hair sticking out? I’m irresistible. You can feel it if you like.”
“I think I can resist a little while longer,” I say.
“As long as it’s only a little while,” he says with a grin. And this time I really am wriggling. My whole body. Everywhere.
“You’re thinking of me, aren’t you?” he asks. And now he has an even bigger grin.
I change the subject. “Work has been kind of weird,” I say, then I realise I’m not out at work. And I’m talking about boy Toni, as a girl, while, yes, I guess I am flirting, with a man. And I could just launch myself out of my chair and kiss every part of his body right now. But I don’t. “I don’t know if I’m being fired, or given a chance at bigger opportunities, or both.”
“What do you do?” he asks.
“The company handles everything business, and corporate, from tiny places to massive multinationals. Accounting, finance, IPOs, and on, and on, where I am it’s usually helping launch businesses into a new sector they’re looking at, rejiggering soft systems, or helping established companies that are flagging in certain areas.”
“This cocktail is going to be so right for you,” he says. “I want to see you drinking one of these in a high powered suit looking fierce and formidable.”
“You are flirting.”
“Do you want the cocktail?” he asks.
“Yes...” I say, feeling a little colour come to my cheeks. “I do.” And he does put on a show, not a huge one. But enough that I can watch him being very dapper.
Eventually he lays down a Martini style glass, bigger than what I’d normally see, with a napkin beneath it.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“Something bubbly, to tickle your pretty nose. A little bit of gin and some non-alcoholic gin. Some fruit syrup I’ve made of my own concoction to add a little colour and flavour, but not too much. A little fizzy soft drink. A few dashes of magic, and love.”
“It’s a bit early to be talking about love, isn’t it?” I say, trying to act coy.
“Maybe? But I sense a hint of it in the air.”
I take up the glass not knowing what to expect, then have a small taste, not quite enough to fully experience it but I need to have more, so I do have some more. Then my eyes open up, “Oooh, this is very good,” I say. “And don’t tell Steph but I think I prefer it to her ones.”
He smiles a broad smile and cocks his head, and the day progresses, and I drink another beer then Jackson makes me another of the cocktails all the while he’s serving other people. Still he keeps coming back to chat with me. And I really do like him, in a lot of ways, including in a very nether-regions, dangerous way, but I’m allowed to enjoy things. Nothing’s going to actually happen.
Eventually the bar begins to fill with people coming in after work and more bartenders start appearing. Jackson gets busier so I spend my time just watching him as I slowly sip on the cocktail.
Suddenly I hear a voice over my shoulder, Sally’s voice. “I told you she’d be checking out men. You owe me a drink, Jess.”
I sigh, turn around and smile at Jess and Sally. “Yes, this time I was checking a man out, I guess,” I say, half hoping Jackson didn’t hear me but half hoping he did. I guess, I mean he’s just flirting. He wouldn’t really...
“Can we drag you away from your new friend to find a seat with us?” Jess asks.
“OK, give me a minute,” I say. And I wait a minute or two until Jackson is back to me again. “I’m sorry to leave you but my friends demand my attention.”
“Of course,” he says. “But I’d like to see you again.”
I feel flutters at the top of my tummy, grab my stuff and grab Jess and Sally by their arms and we go to find somewhere to sit.
We find a different set of couches from the one I was at on Saturday night and we all sit and settle ourselves, but no-one says anything.
No-one says anything for seemingly ages, until Sally finally says, “Well?”
“Yeah. Well? What are you going to say to him?” Jess asks.
“To who?” I ask.
“The small, cute bartender,” Jess says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Sally tilts her head and one side of her mouth curls up. “Now this might be new to you but that adorable little guy asked you out.”
“No, he didn’t,” I say.
“I’d like to see you again? He definitely asked you.”
I look at Jess who has a comforting look on her face and nods in confirmation. “What do I do?” I ask. “What did I do?”
“What do you want to do? Although I already can see what you want to do. But I’d like to hear you admit it,” Sally says.
“Yeah what are you plans for tonight?” Jess asks. “Abandoning us?”
“Yeah, he’s nice,” I say.
“And you wouldn’t mind his hands all over you?”
I look around conspiratorially, then lean in. “It’s more about my hands all over him,” I whisper.
“OK,” Sally says. “I’ll have a red wine, Jess will have a white wine, you have whatever you want. And by that I mean whatever drink you want.” She looks at me with faux disapproval when she says that. “And ask if you can get him a drink too. Then just trust your instincts.”
“I have absolutely no instincts,” I say.
“You’ve got some fairly primal ones as I’m looking at you right now,” Jess says, and Sally pokes her in the ribs as they both laugh.
“OK, I can do this,” I say as I stand and make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.
I turn away from the couch and begin to march up to the bar as I hear Sally call out, “Go get ‘em, Toni!”
As I arrive up the not-Jackson bartender is standing at the typical serving spot. He smiles at me, then steps back and calls out Jackson’s name, and Jackson is soon standing before me. “Can I get you some drinks, Ma’am?” he asks.
“Two red wines and one white,” I say. “House wine is fine, please, Jackson.” And I smile.
He stands, looking at me for a little while longer than is quite comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. Thrilling, maybe?
“Coming right up,” he says, with a big smile.
My eyes are trained on him the whole time he’s preparing the drinks and as he sets them down in front of me.
“Can you manage with those?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you. And can I buy you a drink,” I ask, feeling my heart racing.
“A tip for exemplary service and being a good talker?” he asks.
“No, not quite,” I say, and now my heart really is pounding.
“Oh? Like that? I’m not unhappy with that,” he says. “But on one condition... I can drink it with you after my shift ends in thirty minutes or so.”
“I’d like that,” I say, picking up the glasses, deathly afraid I’m going to drop everything as I walk back to the table with Jess and Sally.
I place the glasses down, white for Jess, red for Sally and me and sit back, sinking into the couch.
“Well?” Sally asks.
“He’s coming down to join us in about thirty minutes,” I say, feeling very far away.
“Oh, no! He’s not coming down to us,” Sally says. “He’s coming down entirely for you.”
I stare off at nothing just feeling the whole world wrap around me. And a little like I could vomit. Jackson is coming down for me.
Toni is in Light Avenue, yes! on a worknight, and what has she agreed to? Worse, what has she done to herself? Nothing other than invite the barman who was flirting with her to join her for a drink. What he wants from her she can’t even begin to fathom but considering the flirting it must involve man and woman things. What’s she going to do?
And worse, how does she continue her life after that? If she doesn’t drop dead from shame on the spot she’ll have to continue working on the healthcare report from work. She’ll have to continue having actual guys as friends knowing she, well... maybe likes doing things with them. Depending on how her drink with Jackson goes... If it’s not a joke... It’s all in Toni’s future, and all of her own making.
--------------------
My mind is like a washing machine. Just tumbling things around in it. Very heavy things. Wet with ideas and needing a lot of time with hopefully a gale blowing freshness into them. I’ve just asked a boy to join me for a drink. I’ve asked a man to sit down next to me, and, well...
“How long has it been?” Jess says.
“By my count about twelve minutes,” Sally says.
“What?” I ask, not really thinking.
“Yeah, twelve minutes since she last talked,” Sally says, tapping her watch.
“What do you think she was thinking?” Jess asks.
“Oh! You can’t talk that type of stuff in polite company,” Sally says.
“No!!” I say. “I wasn’t...”
“She’ll just have to kiss him,” Sally says.
“Yeah. Pop her cherry. The first time can be hard.”
“And messy,” Sally says.
“So, so messy. I bet they’ll be disgusting.”
“Nothing we’re not used to,” Sally says.
“What to you mean We?” Jess asks. “I’m usually the one watching you go pre-evolution on someone in here.”
“Yeah...” Sally says, and she seems kind of far away. “It’s fun.”
“I’m not some kind of...” I begin, before thinking of what I actually am.
“Just raise your legs in the air, girl. You’ll know pretty quickly if you want seconds,” Sally says.
“Oh Jesus, Sally,” Jess says. “She’s not going like that on her first night with a guy.”
“You do remember Friday, don’t you?” Jess says, a look of condescension on her face.
“This is real now,” Jess says. “Friday night was a teenager discovering they had new and interesting body parts while their parents were away for the weekend.”
“I don’t have those body parts,” I say, with a gasp. “I really don’t! What do—”
“He knows that, don’t be silly,” Sally says.
“Just use your mouth,” Jess says.
“I am not sucking his—”
“On his mouth. My god! You might be right, Sally. I’d say she’s calling into work for the next few days and never leaving the bedroom.”
“Do you think he has the stamina for her?” Sally asks.
“Short, stocky? I imagine he’s built with a little staying power. Some very surprising power...”
“I feel bad enough already,” I say.
“Why?” Sally asks, all bright and perky.
“I mean, this isn’t... It’s not...”
“Oh shut up, just have fun. You don’t even have to kiss him. We’re just joking.”
“Shhh, Sally, he’s coming!”
“Already!!?” I say, searching for my phone to check the time.
Jackson is soon standing to the side of the table. “I bring gifts,” he says. He’s holding a tray with some fresh glasses, a bottle of red wine, a half bottle of white wine, and a small, clear cocktail. “For you,” he says to Jess, putting the half bottle of white in front of her. “And you,” he places the red wine in front of Sally. “But you do have to share that. I’ve seen you demolish one all on your own here and it’s a school night. We don’t have that much security on today.”
“Oh, now you have to kiss him, Toni!” Sally says, pouring herself a big measure into her already third filled glass, and a little less into mine.
“What!?” I yelp. And Jackson seems to have said What, too, at the exact same time.
“Oh, Toni was just saying she wants you to be her first.”
“First what?” Jackson asks, a little suspicious.
“First boy she kisses,” Jess says.
Jackson turns to me and looks at me quite seriously. “Have you never kissed a man?”
“Well no, not really,” I say.
He sits himself down and says, “Not really?”
“No, I’ve never kissed a man,” I say, feeling almost like I could cry.
“Well I’ll have to be careful then,” Jackson says.
“You better it believe it, buddy,” Jess says. “We know where all the scissors are hidden around this bar and if you want to leave here intact you are kind and gentle with our friend, Toni.” I can see him wince when Jess says scissors.
“Duly noted, and always my intention,” Jackson says, taking a drink of his clear spirit.
“So you do intend to kiss her?” Sally asks.
“If she’ll let me,” Jackson says. “If she wants to. Do you want to taste this?” he holds his glass out to me, and it’s the first normal interaction I’ve had since I asked him down for a drink.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“Alcohol. A lot of it. It is extremely strong,” he says.
“You don’t mind?” I ask, reaching out to take the glass.
“No, not at all. It’s why I offered.”
I lift the glass to my lips and give a sniff, but I can’t get anything from it. I take a little sip, well, just a small bit more than a little and it’s like my throat and chest have an inferno rapidly tear down and across them. “Woah, that’s strong!” I say, eyes wide.
“Can I taste?” Sally asks.
“No,” Jackson says.
“Can I?” Jess asks.
“Sure,” Jackson says, gently taking the glass from me, almost like it was a question if I wanted to hang on to it, but I don’t.
He holds the glass out towards Jess. “I didn’t really want a taste,” Jess says.
“Why not me?” Sally asks, having a little bit of a huff.
“Because you’ll really like it, get one, then get two more, then we’ll all be peeling you off the floor and I won’t have time to talk to Toni,” Jackson says, and as he does I notice he’s put his hand on my leg. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but it’s natural. It belongs there. I want his hand in other places, I think.
“Go on then,” Sally says. “Talk to her.”
“I can’t,” Jackson says. Sally and Jess looking a little angry at that. “I have to meet the approval of the sisters first.” He raises his glass towards both of them.
“He knows how it works!” Jess says.
“My men have never said anything like that,” Sally says.
“No, because you have terrible taste. Toni seems to know how to pick nice guys,” Jess says. I move my hand down to rest it on top of Jackson’s hand on my leg. I cringe looking at them. My hand is almost bigger than his. My big stupid man hands. But he turns his over and intertwines his fingers between mine. I feel like I could melt.
“I am honoured to be thought of like that,” Jackson says, and I feel a finger of his break away from mine and begin to gently rub up and down the inside of my knee. I know, now. I want this to happen. I just don’t know how to make it happen.
I cross my leg over his and my hand, trapping them between my legs, and lean into him. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he lifts his free arm and puts it around my shoulders, holding me into him.
“Oh, they’re so cute,” Jess says.
“They’re disgusting is what they are. I’d prefer to see fluids than this,” Sally says, talking a big drink of wine.
“Are your friends always so lewd?” Jackson asks me.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” I say.
“Did you know Jess made Toni cum?” Sally asks, voice totally straight. “A birthday present from the lesbian to the straight girl Toni.” Jess nods as though she doesn’t care but does have a little pride in it.
“Please no, Sally,” I say, closing my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Toni, I’m just letting him know he has big boots to fill.”
“I’m sure I can manage,” Jackson says, seemingly nonplussed.
“You seem very confident,” I say.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asks.
“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”
“I’m not going to kiss you, you’re going to kiss me,” Jackson says.
“Oh no, he’s on some weird pick up artist kick,” Sally says.
“I’m not too sure about that,” Jess says, looking at me.
And he’s right, and Jess’s look is right. I do want to kiss him, but I don’t know how. What’s the right way to do this? I can’t just jump on him. “What if I want you to kiss me?” I ask.
“You haven’t asked me to,” Jackson says.
“Is it that simple?” I say.
“You’ll never know until you try,” he says. I squeeze my legs tighter on our hands trapped between them. I want him inside parts of me I don’t even have.
“No,” I say.
“You want to be the little princess? Getting everything handed to you?” Jackson says.
“She’s so demanding,” Sally says. “Give me this, give me that. She just expects things to be delivered to her.”
“What do you think she’s expecting now?” Jackson asks Sally.
“All of us here know what she wants, she’s just afraid to commit to it,” Sally says.
“Yeah,” Jess says. “Wants it to be perfect, like a romance movie. Or those filthy books she reads. On the bus even, you know? That’s what she does. Reads absolute filth on the bus, always imagining but never doing. It’s kind of pathetic.”
“Oh shut up, Jess,” I say, turning to face her, but I can’t. There’s a big Jackson visage coming towards me. I look at his lips, then his eyes. Then I open my mouth just a little and feel him on me. I feel his lips on mine. They’re soft, and smooth. His tongue is pushing past mine and I moan. I actually moan. I can’t believe it. This is unbelievable. This is everything I could have ever wanted from life.
I part my legs a little to release my hand and reach both arms up around neck, feeling into his hair. Pulling him into me.
“Oh this is disgusting,” Sally says.
I reach a hand free and give Sally the finger, I think. I’m not quite sure where the world is let alone where Sally is within the world as my and Jackson’s tongues tangle. It’s like we’re playing games with them, and I smile and I bring my arm back to rest around his neck.
Jackson breaks away from me and I feel a longing, all over. More in some other places. I want his mouth on mine but instead he’s placing gentle kisses on my neck. My god I feel amazing. My whole body is tingling. I look over to see what Jess and Sally think but they’re deep in quiet conversation, seemingly not paying me a second look.
I don’t know why but with Jackson’s head down by my neck I can see his ear. I want it. This is so... Oh this is perfect. I want to lick his earlobe. I don’t know why I just do. And for some reason it’s like I’m purring. Like a kitty cat.
Jackson looks up at me and says, “It’s like that is it?” And comes to my mouth again and all I can think is Oh fuck yes, it is very much like that.
I feel his hand inside my skirt, reach up to my ass. Fingers gripping into me. I wiggle around in my seat and I have to do this. This is very much what I want. I break one hand free from behind his neck and move it down to inside his thigh. I want to feel him. To know him. To hold him. “No,” I hear him whisper.
“Oh, yes,” I say back. I raise my hand higher on his thigh, approaching where I’m very sure he’s waiting for me. Eager.
“No!” he says aloud, pushing off from me. He stands almost knocking our glasses from the table, turns on the spot and is darting away, deeper into the bar.
“Jackson!?” I say. People from nearby are looking towards me.
“What happened!?” Jess asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, just barely. My breathing is rapid and I feel sweat on my face. Cold sweat. “I just... He was...”
“What did he do!?” Sally asks, sternly.
But the bar is flashing colours all around me. It seems like everyone is looking at me and laughing at me. I can barely make out Jess and Sally. “I have to go,” I say. “I have to get some air.”
“We’ll go—”
“No,” I say, but I’m not sure if I said it aloud. “I’m just...”
I stand and begin to walk, people seemingly jumping out of my way. I’m down the corridor by the women’s toilet, past the doors marked private and up the red carpeted stairs to Trevor’s Room.
Jackson is in there.
I stop, deathly still, not breathing.
“I’m trans,” he says.
“I... What?” I say.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t...”
“You want to be... Like me, you mean?” I ask, but really more running on automatic.
“I was a woman. I am a man. A trans man,” he says.
“Oh...” I say, confused.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve been with people before, men and women, but they always knew. You didn’t. And I didn’t want you to find out... While you were... You know...”
I stop and consider things for a moment, then it dawns on me. “You said No.”
“It’s not that—”Jackson begins.
“You said No, and I continued. I’m so sorry. I was awful. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Jackson. Oh my god, you literally said No.”
“I should have been clear with you,” Jackson.
“You were. You were perfectly clear. I went on when you had said No.”
“I wanted you to, I did,” he says.
“No. You didn’t. You were scared,” I say. “And I was only thinking of me.”
“I was coming on pretty strong,” he says. “Please, sit down. If you can. Let me explain.”
I somehow move to a couch opposite him and sit myself down. “You don’t have to explain anything,” I say. “I’ll leave.”
“You’ve just sat down,” he says. “And it was wrong of me. I built things up. I came onto you. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it was what you wanted.”
“It was what I wanted,” I say.
“Is it still what you want?” he asks, but he’s not flirting. This is a straight, open question. He’s not asking anything of me he wants to know what I want.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“That’s why it was unfair of me,” he says. “You didn’t know what you were getting.”
“Should I know? I saw you. I liked you. What more business of mine is it?”
“Maybe...” Jackson says. “That’s for everyone who’s trans to figure out, when they’re with someone. And I’m telling myself I was wrong for not letting you know. I feel it was wrong.”
“It wasn’t,” I say.
“What would have done? When you found, well, nothing. Down there.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“No. Neither do I. Do you even like people with female parts?”
“I don’t know that either,” I say.
“Yeah. You don’t know a lot of things. You’re new at all this. You’re figuring things out, and I used you.”
“You didn’t use me! I wanted you to kiss me! It was consensual. What I did wasn’t. Or almost wasn’t. If you didn’t stop me. I should have stopped. I’m so sorry.”
Jackson takes a hand and rubs it against his forehead, looking tired. “I used you because when I saw you I knew you were new at all this. Like I said, everyone I’ve been with before has known I’m trans. They’ve known what they were getting into. They wanted it. I used you because I knew you didn’t know. And probably wouldn’t figure it out, unless... And I wanted to see what it was like with someone who didn’t know. That was unfair.”
“But we kissed, and it was fun. I enjoyed it,” I say. Somehow I pick up the nerve to continue. “Did you enjoy it?”
He nods. “Sort of. It felt wrong the whole time because I knew I hadn’t been honest with you.”
“Leaving that aside, if you had been honest with me...” I say.
“Probably, yeah. But would you have kissed me?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Probably. I’ve had a lot of firsts these past few days. You’re the first man I’ve kissed.”
“But I’m not a man,” he says.
“Of course you are!” I say. “Look at you!”
“It’s not all about looks,” he says.
“No,” I say. And we go quiet. The moment hanging in the air.
Eventually I say, “Are you angry with me?”
“No,” he says. “Not at all.”
And we hear knocking at the door and Trevor call out his usual, “Anyone home?”
“Come in, Trevor,” Jackson says.
Trevor walks in, look of concern on his face, but for who I’m not sure. “Are we all friends?” he asks.
“I hope so,” Jackson says, looking at me with a question on his face.
“I think we are,” I say.
“Good!” Trevor says. “That’s what this bar is all about. Finding and getting to know new friends. Even if your other friends are worried about you, and if the bar staff are worried about you, Jackson. If you could both make an appearance so I can hold back the search parties?”
“Are you good to go?” I ask Jackson.
“Yeah,” he says.
We stand and follow Trevor down the stairs, and out through the store room, around the corner by the women’s toilet. As we get towards the main room of the bar we’re walking next to each other. I reach down and let my hand come close to Jackson’s, reaching out with my fingers.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and place my hand into his grip. We’re both holding hands now as we walk up the bar. There’s less people looking at me than the last time I ran through but I still see a couple of people seemingly glance.
We get to where Sally and Jess are sitting. “See, no need for a rescue mission,” Trevor says to them both. “I’ll tell the bartenders who were worried, Jackson.”
“I should go,” Jackson says, pulling away from me a little.
“No. You said you’d join me for a drink and you still have most of it left,” I say, pulling his hand to the front of me.
“Are you sure?” Jackson asks me.
“Are you sure?” Jess asks me.
“I am certain,” I say.
“We were this close to reaching for the scissors,” Sally says, as me and Jackson sit down.
“I think Toni wants me intact, for a little while longer,” Jackson says. I squeeze his hand when he says that and he squeezes back.
“No. I do not want to take his manhood. And I don’t want either of you to, either,” I say. And Jackson laughs aloud.
“OK,” Jess says. “If you’re OK with this, Toni. But Mr. Snippy is never far away.”
“Completely unnecessary,” I say. “We talked, it was a misunderstanding, and now we’re friends.”
“Hrrrmmm,” Sally says, still slightly disapproving.
I ignore her. “You have to give me your phone number, Jackson,” I say.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Of course.” And he takes out his phone, and I take mine from my purse.
We’re exchanging numbers when he says, “Can I get a photo with you? For my contact list?”
“You may,” I say. “Why haven’t you two taken selfies with me yet?” I ask Jess and Sally, but they’re still half scowling at me and Jackson, even if it does seem to be an act. Maybe more confusion? For once they don’t know what’s happening with me.
“Yeah, that’s what we want. More Toni in our lives.”
“You love me really,” I say.
“And we hate that you know it,” Sally says.
“I don’t mind,” Jess says.
I want a snappy comeback for all that but Jackson has placed his arm around me and pulled me in close, hand holding his phone up in the air while I’m resting into him. I stick my tongue out at the camera and as I see the flash in my face I feel him giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Do we look cute?” I ask.
“You do,” Jackson says. “I look like a buffoon.”
“Send it to me,” I say. And he does. And he looks hot and I kind of look OK, not great, but OK, but only because I have a Jackson attached to me. “I look OK.”
“Shut up,” Jackson says. “You’re stunning.”
“Oh Jesus,” Sally says. “They’re back to being disgusting.”
“You find your own man to be disgusting with,” I say, staying resting in Jackson’s arms. It feels good. Comfortable. Like I belong.
“I might just do that,” Sally says. “See how you like it!”
And soon the conversation is back to normal, almost, and the hours are passing by with Jackson getting himself a few more drinks and Sally drinking most of the bottle of red.
I’m back home changed into my night clothes when I get a message on my phone. It’s a group chat with Sally and Jess in it. Sally’s said, “Come on, spill the beans.”
“No,” I message back.
“We were worried. You have to tell us,” Jess says.
“No. You’re not going to guilt me. This is between me and Jackson and it’s staying that way. And you can both stop asking.”
“Are you really OK?” Sally asks.
“He was a perfect gentleman. Nothing more is being said on this. So leave it be. I’m going to bed now.”
“Will you be thinking of Jackson in bed?” Sally asks.
“Of course,” I respond. Then add a few seconds later. “And in the morning. Maybe at lunch. I mean, wow. That was so fucking good.”
“OK. Tell us about your first kiss with a boy,” Jess says.
“You missed out on this as a teenager so I think we can cast our minds back to being giggly,” Sally says.
And we message back and forth for a while, all with me learning a lot about men. There’s even a few pictures. Stuff I’d never thought when I was man, or seen. If I was ever a man. Not really. Then the messaging stops, and I lie back in bed with the group chat open looking at the photos. Thinking of men. Quickly falling asleep. After, well, thinking of Jackson and me, and what if.
My alarm goes off early the next morning. I’d set it a little before normal to try and simulate a normal work day, which is what it sort of is, I’m just working from home. I want to be me all day today. Proper Toni me on a proper work day.
I shower and fix my hair, then get changed into a heavy, wool, knee length skirt, pantihose, my peach fabric ballet flats and a dressy top that’s not too dressy. Maybe work appropriate. I do my lip gloss, BB cream and mascara and try and size myself up, first via the bathroom mirror and then via my phone’s camera.
I send the photo to last night’s group chat with the simple message, “Work appropriate?”
I’m sitting down with a coffee and some toast when I get a message back. “ARE YOU GOING INTO WORK AS TONI!?!” from Sally.
I message back, “No. Work from home for a few days. I just want to simulate a normal workday, if I can.”
“You’ll get there someday, babe,” from Sally.
Then the fashion expert Jess weighs in. “Maybe just a hint too casual. Simpler top with that skirt would work. Need more business appropriate shoes and you’re good. What you have now for a more casual Friday, I think. Do they demand you wear heels?”
“I don’t know. But thanks, Jess. Near enough and not bad for a first try,” I say.
“Sorry, Toni. I’ve no real spare work clothes. They might be costly if you’re not picking things up in sales, you know?”
“I have time,” I say.
“Yeah, you say that...” Jess says. And my coffee is finished and it’s time to work, but first I figure I need to get one or two household chores out of the way. At least I have a washer/dryer in my apartment, so no need waiting for anything somewhere. I load it with my clothes from the past few days and set it going after reading the instructions on all the labels. There’s nothing too fancy, apart from the Friday dress.
Then I think how long ago was Friday? What day is today? So fucking much has happened. I drop my head and take in what I see, I mean, I guess I’m a woman? I certainly feel like I want to be. It’s who I’m meant to be. Is it really that easy? I just decide and that’s it? I start living my life?
Without really thinking about it too deeply, just doing, I’m back on my work laptop and looking at the healthcare plan, and trans care. There’s provision for a lot of stuff. Psychiatrists, therapists, laser hair removal, endocrinologists, various other therapies. Surgery!!! Surgery? I think. Could I? Should I?
I shove that thought from my mind, although it definitely lurks, and make a list of the psychiatrists and therapists who specialise in gender and sexuality. That seems to be the first step in the work plan, even though I think where I live is also an Informed Consent area. I’ll have to talk to HR about that. Maybe Therese? She was at the LGBTQ work group.
I begin to look at the complaints and suggestions I got from that group and I’m soon filling up a lot of notepaper with their ideas.
My phone goes off later in the morning, after getting a lot of work done. I quickly answer it. “How’s it going, Tony?” Greg says.
“Good, yeah?” I say.
“Just good?”
“Won’t Mr. Mayer judge that at the end?”
“About that...” Greg says, and I feel a little dread. “10am Friday morning, at the latest, I want an email from you. Just a quick outline, bullet points if you can, of what you’ll mostly be addressing in the final report. You can still add more after that but your main findings by that morning. Six hundred words, maximum. I don’t want to be reading Tony’s What I Did With My School Vacation story.”
“Of course, yes. I already have pages and pages of notes.”
“Not pages and pages, Tony. Six hundred words, max, for me. That’s already a lot. Getting your point across succinctly is important, even if some people don’t seem to listen and need things repeated. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Greg,” I say.
“Also, just to keep you in the loop. We’ve got legal looking at what you saw in the health coverage. National legal. They think there might be something to it. And if there is heads will be rolling. It’ll look like a Quentin Tarantino film. So I’ll give you a tentative Well done. And a less tentative, How the fuck did our galaxy brain legal team not spot this before?”
“It’s a complex document,” I say. “I just got lucky.”
“Don’t say that, Toni. Modesty can have its place but when you’ve been as useless as you were you need to take credit when you can. This report is another chance for that. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No, Toni. You take credit for this. You get it in writing. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, I do, Greg.”
“Good,” he says. “Do you plan any other emergencies coming up, dog’s funeral, favourite niece’s sweet sixteen, unplanned pregnancies?”
“I was thinking of finishing up a little early on Friday but I’ll be putting in the hours between now and then to make up for it.”
“OK, Tony, that’s fine. It’s not all about hours though. If the report is good it doesn’t matter how many hours you put in and if the report is bad it doesn’t make a difference if you worked your little fingies off while typing.”
“Yes, Greg,” I say.
“OK, I’ll leave you to it. Be sure to get some fresh air too. Go for a walk or something. I don’t want an employee of mine turning into a recluse with disgusting, foot long fingernails and mushrooms growing under them after a week of work-from-home or they’d never get such a privilege again.”
“OK, Greg,” I say.
“Am I boring you?” he asks.
“I have a lot of work to do,” I say.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says and hangs up.
I open up a Word document and begin to write up six hundred words of bullet points from what I’ve found so far in my research. I make sure the first thing I write is about the gap in healthcare coverage, then I put it in bold text, but that seems a little too extreme so I change it back.
After another few hours I feel like I’ve addressed everything from the group, and a few things about trans healthcare, especially the need for electrolysis as well as laser therapy, thinking of my own blonde hair and how laser probably won’t work on it. I do a bit of a double take when I’ve written that one down as it’s another example of how much has come to me, how much I’ve learned, in just a few days.
I then think back to my first meeting with Mr. Mayer and Therese, and what they actually wanted. They said they were looking for things applicable to people in the lowest wage bracket. With my situation and the LGBTQ group I’m not certain that’s what they fully intended for me but they did say it so I begin to think of what would actually apply to people in that wage bracket. And I know it would mostly be young people. Even people new to the city.
I message Jess and Sally again, asking them what the found when the first started working and needed to set up doctors and the like, especially when it came to women’s healthcare. Soon they’re having a conversation back and forth between them, a lot of complaints, and some extremely descriptive, rather disgusting scenarios involving the female body I have never and hope I never have to encounter. But it does give me ideas.
I start to mull over what it was like for me when I first came to the job, but I realise that I’ve not actually paid much attention to my health. Unless something acute came up I mostly ignored it, which was foolish. So I write that down. Maybe something tailored to new adult healthcare, what’s needed, routine check-ups, annual health checks, etc. for someone who’s just started working.
I also think to what the talk in the office is. A lot of the guys there seem to play sports, there’s even a few weightlifters, male and female. Sports injuries must surely be a thing, along with the occasional strapped up wrist or limb that I’ve seen. I dig into the documents looking at things like physios and emergency care for what could be seen as voluntary, or somewhat self-inflicted injuries, maybe. Getting your head caved in in a pick-up game could be seen as self-inflicted, I’d imagine.
Before I know it it’s getting late. I’ve been working almost non-stop, all day long. I didn’t really break for anything apart from a cup of coffee and the few messages between Jess and Sally. I do up my own, separate bullet point list for the final document, and change around some of the main points in the six hundred word document for Greg.
Then I’m sitting, absolutely exhausted, thinking again about how I’ve done no shopping, probably have no food in the apartment, and the dryer is still filled with clothes. I know exactly what I need and it’s a fucking huge burger.
I rescue some of the clothes from the dryer and lay them across the back of the chair in my bedroom. I should really think about putting them away, then I think of what is put away. My dress from last Friday night. The dress! With its stains. I’d better get it cleaned before they become permanent. My permanent shame. And the dress is too fancy to go to waste. To be locked away. I wonder if I’ll ever wear it again? Where I could wear it to? Who I could wear it for?
I take it out of the wardrobe and furl it up, placing it into one of the plastic bags from Sally, now empty. Which is what I’ll do. I’ll bring it to the place that usually does my work clothes, they’ll definitely be able to dry clean it, then I’ll go the fast food place near there for a burger. That’ll be my night filled. Simple, easy, no big dramas. I can work all day again tomorrow and get an early afternoon on Friday. Maybe pick up some sandals Jess suggested for my pedicure. Maybe a few other things.
As I walk down the street I pull my coat in tight. It’s a bit cold today and I can feel a chill on my legs despite the pantihose. Which makes sense, I guess. They’re really thin material. I think of the women I see dressed like this even in the middle of winter. It’s not all fun and games trying to look nice.
I come up to the cleaners and there’s nothing to it, really. They’re going to know it’s me. They’re going to know what I’m up to, but then more and more people will if I keep all this going. I walk in and hear an electronic buzzer go off.
The woman, always the same woman, looks up at me and I smile a little sheepishly. “What can I do for... OH! It’s you!” she says. “No shirts for ironing today I’m guessing?” She laughs. It’s a kind of wild laugh, but there’s nothing malicious in it. “Show me what you have, honey.”
I lay the plastic bag up on the counter and take out the dress, stretching it out on the surface top. “Oh, that’s very nice. Very expensive. You did the right thing bringing it here. We’ll take good care of it.”
“There’s a few stains on it,” I say.
She picks the dress up and turns it around and back a few times. “No stains I can see, but it’ll feel better with a clean.”
“On the inside,” I say, feeling heat coming to my face.
“The inside?” she says. She rolls up the hem and sees where I’ve had fun. “Oh! I hope you’re not pregnant now. Always use protection. I say that to all my kids. Use protection. I’m too young to be a grandmother. Have fun, but no babies!”
“No...” I say, but she’s already making her way to the back.
“GEORGE!” she yells.
“WHAT!?!” I hear yelled back.
“You know the boring boy?”
“There’s so many boring boys,” he roars.
“The boring boy! Three weeks of boring shirts and pants. Well she’s a fun girl now. And pretty.”
“Let me see!” he says.
As they both walk out I hear the woman say, “We’re going to make so much money from her.”
“Stand back, young girl,” he says to me. And I feel an involuntary force somehow move me back to be inspected. “You’ll be fine. You know women’s clothes need to be dry cleaned a lot more than men’s clothes.”
“No they don’t. Not really,” I say.
“Not really? You know clothes?” the woman says.
Then the man says, “They’ll last longer and hold their shape better. I’m telling you, dry clean by preference, even if they say they don’t need it. Much better for the clothes. A lot cheaper in the long run not replacing them. Do we have your email address?”
I think about how I don’t have an email address with my Toni with an i name. “I need a new one."
He writes out a docket and pins a label to the dress, before handing the docket to me. “Email is on there, get on to us when you have your email ready. Include that number. We’ll email you when the dress is done. Shouldn’t be too long. You know the rules?”
“The rules?” I ask, not sure what he’s referring to.
“We hold your pretty, expensive dress for a week, here, once we contact you. After that it goes to a warehouse and there’s a charge to get it out. Three months later it’s ours. And we sell it. If you don’t pick it up. I don’t understand some of these women. A fortune on clothes, a fortune on cleaning and they leave things behind. What are they thinking?” the woman says.
“They got fat,” the man says.
“Or pregnant. Like this girl in that pretty dress.”
“Are you pregnant now?” the man asks me.
“What?” I stammer.
“I told her, use protection. Us parents raised kids already. We don’t want to be raising grandbabies too. It’s our time now.”
“I can’t get...” I begin, but they know this. They know I can’t have babies.
“God can do many things,” the woman says. “We’ll pray for you to have babies some day like all good Christian women want. And if you keep trying then someday you’ll be in here with huge maternity leggings, a giant baby belly and fancy baby clothes. So much money from you.” The man seems to have his hands clutched together and his eyes raised in prayer, for me to get pregnant or for me to make them rich I don’t know. Probably both. These people are crazy. “Now go. Find your husband to make an honest woman of you. Never work again. Stay at home and be a Mother and drink wine all day.”
“And bring your clothes to get cleaned. We have never destroyed anything, unlike some places,” he says.
“You look pretty,” the woman says to me. “Natural.”
“Thanks,” I say, backing out the door and hearing the buzzer go off again, and as it closes I hear them again say, “So much money...” They are genuinely insane.
I walk down the street, in almost complete confusion. The burger place is nearby but so is the bar Steve wants to meet at on Saturday morning, for the early English soccer game. I still haven’t decided on whether I’m going to meet Steve but if I am to go I want to make sure they’ll be OK with me. They’re probably quiet right now so I guess I can check them out and I suppose they can check me out. We can check each other out.
I come to the bar and there’s a few seats and tables laid out outside, with a notice board on the pavement advertising live sports, and soccer, on tens of TVs. This is a real dude bar, I guess. I never really thought of it but it actually is. I have no clue how they’ll take me.
I walk in taking small steps and stand at the top of the long, partioned room, a little reluctantly, and extremely aware of myself. What I’m wearing, my newness at all this, how much I look like a man in my skirt and with my legs sticking down. I hear something being called out, in my general direction and realise the words, “Give me a minute, Toni, I’ll be right with you,” were said. I think the man’s name is Peter, he’s the manager? Or owner? I’m not quite sure.
I watch him serving a few beers to people and then he’s standing in front of me. “Well?” he says.
“Well what?” I ask.
“What do you want to drink?”
“I just have a few questions, really,” I say.
“OK. We have a few questions for you. Sit yourself down and get a drink.”
“OK...” I say, not quite sure what’s happening. I sit myself up on the seat, still highly aware I have legs in here. I’m a guy wearing a skirt, with legs. And these are all dudes and bros around me. And Peter is kind of a dude and a bro.
“Right, drink?” he says.
“Do you have something low alcohol?” I ask.
“No, the low alcohol beer gathered dust. Gimme a second though. AARON!” he yells. "Do we have that zero alcohol beer?”
“Sold out... Who for?”
“Toni says she wants something low alcohol.”
“I was just going nearby for a burger,” I say.
“Beer?” Aaron shouts back.
“Beer?” Peter asks me.
“Yeah, a low alcohol beer, but a Coke would be fine, really.”
“A low alcohol beer, Aaron. Do we have anything?”
Aaron walks up to Peter and as he does he gives me a quick look but doesn’t seem to let anything on. “Will you drink something with sugar?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“A Sprite?”
“Yeah, a Sprite is fine, really,” I say.
“Shandy,” Aaron says.
“Shandy?” Peter questions.
“It’s also known as a Radler, in some places. I know it as a Shandy from when I worked in England. People would drink it on hot days. Half Sprite, half beer. You’d get a lot of older guys drinking it during the afternoon if they weren’t ones to start early. Or were going for a quiet Sunday.”
“She’ll have one of those,” Peter says. “And will you make me one up too?”
Aaron turns around and begins to prepare the drinks.
“I really just wanted a burger,” I say.
Peter pulls a menu from a holder and hands it me saying, “Burgers galore.” So I guess my question of whether it’d be weird for them to have me in here is kind of answered. They’re acting like nothing is different about anything, in any way at all. They’re almost bossing me around.
Aaron places the shandy in front of me, and one in front of Peter. I take a taste, a big gulp. It’s sweet and refreshing and goes down easily. “What do you think?” Peter asks.
“It’s great!” I say, almost too excitedly.
“You’d drink another one?” he asks, and takes a drink himself, before wiping his mouth with his thumb and forefinger.
“Definitely!” I say.
“What beer did you use, Aaron?” Aaron tells him the beer and Peter says to use a different one next time, the cheap one I usually go for. “What price do you think?”
“The cost of a Sprite, the cost of a beer, I think you’d get away with $6.50.”
“OK, make it a special for the next few weeks. On one of the boards out front. Shandy Special $5. You know the usual marketing stuff. Refreshing...” Peter looks at me and I nod. “Easy to drink. Low in alcohol for when you have to work or it’s early in the day. English...”
“Right now?” Aaron asks.
“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. You coming in Saturday morning, Toni?” Peter asks me.
“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “Toilets?”
“We have them,” Peter says. “No need to worry about that. I think there’s laws about having to have them.”
“I mean which ones should I use?”
“Use whichever you want,” Peter says.
“The women’s?” I ask.
“I think you’d look a little strange standing at a urinal with a dress up around your ass. It might draw some attention, too.”
“I just—”
“No-one cares what toilets people use, Toni. No-one working here at least. And if anyone does care they find another place to drink. And it’ll be a shittier place if they care about something like that. The knuckle draggers can all pretend they’re football hooligans while never going to a game in their lives.”
“OK...”
“Yeah, OK. Have you decided what burger you want?” I point to one on the menu. “Fries, sweet potato fries, curly fries, English style chunky chips?”
“Just regular fries,” I say. “Please.”
“No problem,” he says and taps something into the till. Then he fiddles around with the remotes and the TVs and brings up a recording of a soccer game. “Champion’s League. We already had it on but we won’t tell anyone the scores. It was a pretty good game.” He points towards a TV in a corner. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen it?”
“I haven’t seen a game in a few weeks,” I say.
“You’ll be in on Saturday won’t you, now we’ve answered all your questions?”
“I’m still worried about Steve, you know my—”
“Yeah! Steve. Your burger will be ready soon. Eat that, watch the match, enjoy your drink, then I’ll talk to you about Steve. And don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says, seeing the look on my face. “Just enjoy your burger.”
It’s a good burger. A really good burger. I’ve only ever had fries or wings in here before. I never realised how good their food could be. The meat is juicy, but the bun doesn’t get soggy. All the ingredients work well together and the sauce cuts through the savoury richness, and oiliness, of the meat and melted cheese.
“That was really good,” I say, as Peter clears away my plate. “Like, really fucking good.”
“Those who know, know. Now you know. You can try a proper breakfast for the Saturday game.” Then he yells for Aaron again, who rests down a noticeboard he’s writing on with chalk and moves a few steps towards Peter. “For the weekend games, one free shandy with every Full English Breakfast, or tea or coffee, you know the usual. Let’s see if we can get this going with a bit of a push.”
“On the noticeboards as well?”
“Yeah, maybe a drawing or something.” And he’s pulling a bottle out from beneath the counter along with two shot glasses. He places one in front of me and one in front of himself. He pours himself a shot, knocks it back, then looks at me. “You’ve eaten enough you can manage one shot, right?”
“Yeah, I think so...” I say.
He pours a shot for me and for him and holds the glass in the air. “Cheers,” he says. I raise my glass and say cheers as well and we knock both back. It is decidedly not smooth at all.
“OK, Steve...” Peter says.
“This can’t be good if you’re giving me a shot of that before bringing him up.”
“It’s not bad,” Peter says. “You’re fine, I mean. When he first started talking about you I didn’t really know who he was talking about.”
“Talking about me?” I ask.
“Yeah, well, the new you. You were just a shy dude drinking in the bar. I couldn’t really place you for a while. But I remembered. Quiet guy, never caused trouble, never got messy. Drank slowly and kept the peace. Standard good customer so no real reason to remember you.”
“No reason to notice me,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s a good thing,” Peter says. “We know Steve. He’s in here often enough. He’s been in more than usual the past few days. Talking about you.”
“Talking about me?” I say again.
“You look great, by the way. I didn’t quite believe what Steve was saying. He’s too panicked to notice anything much but you? Yeah, you look happy, and normal. If this was your first time in here I’d remember you for good reasons.”
“Steve’s panicked about me?” I ask.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Steve is a little upset.”
“Steve’s upset? About me? Why the fuck would he be upset about me?” I ask, finally trying to put my own mark on this conversation.
“Because he’s an idiot who’s been drinking too much and working himself up over nothing. He thinks he’s ruined your life.”
“How has he ruined my life!?” I ask, my voice getting louder.
“That’s what we’ve been telling him. You’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do. The guy is acting like an idiot, so don’t take it personally. He thinks he’s fucked your brain up in some way with whatever bet you had and now your life is going to be more difficult and people are going to judge you, and it’s all his fault.”
“It sounds like he thinks I’m his little brother,” I say, waving one hand up in the air.
“We’ve told him to think of you as his little sister. I think you’d be OK with that. It’s fine to look out for the people in your life but you’re not broken, you’ve not been forced into anything. Looking at you it’s obvious you’re happy.”
“I am happy!”
“Yeah, just let him see that. He’s worried about some other stuff as well. We’ve told him not to be but the guy’s not thinking.”
“What other stuff?” I ask, wondering if I need to call Steve now and tell him to stop being the biggest baby on the planet.
“Oh, whether you’re going to change, if you’ll stop watching football with him, if you don’t want him for a friend?”
I pick up the bottle and pour myself a shot and place it back down. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think,” I say, realising what I’ve done.
“No you didn’t think, because you didn’t pour me one too,” Peter says, filling his glass. We hold both our shot glasses in the air, say cheers again and throw them back.
Gulping, I say, “He won’t be my friend much longer if he keeps acting like a moron.”
“That’s what we’ve told him. And it’s why we would really like you to see him on Saturday morning, if you don’t see him sooner. As you, the new you. The happy looking woman I see before me. If he sees you’re OK then maybe he’ll stop crying in his beer.”
I cringe a little, not from embarrassment but worry. “He wasn’t really crying?” I ask.
“Very, very nearly,” Peter says. “But he was pretty drunk. And he refuses to talk to you.”
“I just got some shitty texts from him,” I say.
“He showed us... How old are you two?”
“I’m twenty six, he’s about a year older than me. Give or take.”
“Steve’s never had a serious relationship with a woman?”
“A few months,” I say. “Nothing serious-serious.”
“Yeah, he’s a child. He has absolutely no fucking clue how to handle this.”
“I’m getting that now,” I say.
“I know it’s tough to ask you to bear the burden of this while you’re going through so much but just try and tolerate him for a bit longer. Show him you’re happier. He’ll come around.”
I try not to think of that, or at least the fullness of what I’m going through, and turn to look at the game on TV. It goes quiet for a bit with Peter seemingly watching the match too.
“Good goal in a few minutes,” he says. Then continues, “Making new friends with all this?”
“A few I say. Is that one of Steve’s worries?”
“A little, yeah. Really I was just hoping you could bring some more women in here. Any of them into football?”
“Not that I know of,” I say. “Me?”
“And you don’t seem to mind the smell of dude B.O.”
“Some guys smell good,” I admit, without thinking. I’ve admitted that a few times these past few days. Have I always liked how guys smelled? Have I been going around sniffing men without thinking?
“They really don’t,” he says. “But if you think so I’m not going to argue.”
I stand. “OK, I’ll use your facilities,” I say. He nods and I make my way to the back of the bar to where the women’s is. I’ve been in this bar loads of time but never the women’s, obviously. Peter is right, it is a lot less stinky. I pee and go to wash my hands and the soap isn’t on a giant dispenser on the wall. It’s a little bottle of what appears to be fancy stuff sitting next to the sink. Strawberry smelling. I bring my hands to my face as I walk out and it’s nice.
“What’s your number?” Peter asks.
“My number?”
“If you don’t mind. I’ll add you to a group chat of some of the more mature football fans from in here. Then you can message Steve.”
“Steve’s in the group chat?” I ask, a little hesitant.
“Oh god no. Mature football fans is what I said, well... More mature. Steve’s yet to prove himself. I was just saying message him so you can pull the band-aid off. Get it done with and actually enjoy the football Saturday morning. You will have a breakfast, won’t you? You know our food is good now.”
I nod. “What should I say to Steve?”
“Tell him you’re here and to just walk in.” So I do, then exchange numbers with Peter. “The goal’s coming up,” he says.
And it’s a great goal. Not a fancy shot or anything, no thumping it in with a curler from thirty yards out. It’s a quick counter-attack, fast moving from the back, with some great passing.
“Tony...” I hear someone say. It’s Steve.
“Good goal, watch,” I say.
“Yeah?” he asks, hovering over me.
“Just sit down and watch it,” I say.
“Fine,” he says, while making a lot of noise sitting himself up on a stool.
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask.
“I... Well...”
“Oh fuck off, Steve! You saw me in here earlier and turned around. Fucking hell, dude, you’re supposed to be my friend.”
He looks like a puppy that’s been whacked on the nose with a newspaper when he says, “Sorry. I am your friend? Still..?”
“Oh, come on Steve. Of course you’re my friend. You’re my oldest friend.” I turn around in my chair, fully intending to ask him how I look but I can’t. “Jesus Christ, man, you look like shit!”
“I’ve had a few late nights,” he says.
“Yeah, obviously. When did you last eat?”
“I didn’t really—”
I look up at Peter who’s standing a little way back, leaning against the fridges but he’s quick on noticing me. Almost instantly. “Would you get Steve a burger, the same as I had. No onion?”
“I will,” Peter says.
“I don’t need a burger,” Steve says.
“You need a burger, and you’re getting an early night tonight. You can walk me home after you’ve eaten and then we’ll call a taxi to take you home. Have you been sleeping?”
“A bit...” Steve says.
I nod, not believing him. “Fucking hell, Steve. I’m fine. You didn’t do anything to me. This is who I am. Who I want to be. I’m still your friend, I just look a little different. Let’s get that out of the way.”
“Yeah, you’re wearing a skirt,” he says. “And growing boobs.”
“I am not growing boobs. I wish I was but I’m not. Not yet. It doesn’t happen that quickly,” I say, pushing my arms together to make my fake boobs stick out a little more with me looking down at them.
“You want to grow boobs?” Steve asks.
“Yes. I think so. I’m trans, Steve. That’s all it is. Lots of people are.”
“You were always..?”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “I don’t know. This is new to me but it’s not bad. I’m happy. It feels good. I’ve made new friends, but I still have my old friends. I met with Alan Sunday evening and we just chatted.”
Steve nods. “I was talking to him.”
“And what did he say?” I ask.
“That you were glowing. He said that, Glowing. Like you were pregnant.”
“A couple today said they’d pray for me to get pregnant...”
Steve almost recoils at that, but not in horror, more shock. “Is that possible?” he asks.
“No, it’s not possible you dummy.”
“Even if a man...”
“No matter what I do with a man, it’s not possible. How much have you been drinking?”
“Have you? You know..? With a guy?” Steve asks.
“I kissed a guy last night. It was nice. I’ll do it again. And more if I get the chance.”
“Jesus, dude,” Steve says.
Peter places another shandy in front of me, a knife, fork, napkin and some condiments in front of Steve, and most importantly a big glass of water in front of him too. “I like guys, Steve. You have fun and interesting parts.”
“But you’re so innocent,” Steve says.
Peter shakes his head. “She’s basically your mother now, man.”
“What?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, sorry dude. She’s been asking after your health, she’s finally getting you to eat something, we’ve been trying for days. You’ve been told you have an early bedtime tonight. You haven’t asked for a beer. And you look a toddler who’s been caught misbehaving.”
I laugh at Peter’s summary of all this. “Am I a Mom now?”
“Sorry, Toni. You had your whole life ahead of you.”
“Do you want me to tuck a napkin into your collar, Stevie?”
“Just watch the game,” he says.
So we do. And soon the food arrives. Steve’s a little hesitant at first, but after a few bites he really digs into it. Taking huge chunks out of the burger and stuffing fries into his face. He was obviously famished. Eventually he sits back, stuffed, and rests his hands at either side of his plate, curled up into little fists. I reach my hand out and rest it over his and ask him, “Are we OK now?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“And you’re OK with me?”
“I guess, it’ll take some getting used to.”
“Well get used to it, bub, I’m here to stay.” He looks at me, finally with a small smile on his face. “And I’m sticking around you, too.” He closes his eyes in a long, slow blink. “Come on, you need sleep. Let’s get you into a taxi.”
“No, I need to walk you home,” he says.
“I’ve walked home from here loads of times.”
“Not looking hot, you haven’t.”
“I’m hot?” I ask.
“A little, yeah,” Steve says. “If I didn’t know you all my life...”
“Come on, try your best chat up line on me.”
“Fuck off!” Steve says, blushing a little, but also laughing.
“No, that’s not going to work... Can I settle up, Peter?”
“Sure,” Peter says. And I do, and he’s soon saying, “Good night, Steve. Good night, Mom. Be sure to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story.” And it’s obvious Steve really is exhausted because he’s not objecting to any of that.
We walk back to my apartment block, mostly talking about football. When we arrive I make sure he gets in a taxi before I see myself up to my place. I take off my shoes and wiggle out my toes before sitting back on my couch, sighing a big sigh.
I take out my phone as I told Steve to message me when he arrived to his place and I notice I’m in a new group chat. There’s a message from Peter welcoming me to it. And a few people saying hello to me, so I say Hi back. Then someone asks if anyone is watching a game at the moment and there’s a link to a stream, probably from pirates in Russia or something, to some South American soccer.
I grab my laptop, and the last beer from the ones Steph brought on Saturday night, and tune into the dodgy link. There’s a bit of back and forth in the group chat about the game, and I say one or two comments about players I thought were doing well, and it all feels normal.
After a lot of fun Toni really knuckles down to work. She’s been given the freedom and opportunity to really show what she can do in her job, maybe the opportunity to keep her job. However the freedom comes in extraordinarily handy when she faces her first crisis, all alone and anxious for reasons she can’t understand.
The question is whether the nascent Toni is strong enough to handle this? And whether she can even begin to handle it? What she does could determine where she goes next. Is Toni ready for what Toni? Or is the warning Big-G gave her about setbacks coming true faster than she could ever have expected?
--------------------
I hear my alarm go off but I don’t want to move. I will it to keep quiet. Which doesn’t work. So I reach out and hit the snooze button. Again, and again. And again. Eventually I see light coming through from under my door to the living room. Natural light. I hit snooze again. My phone’s alarm goes off for I don’t know what number time and I have to get up. I really have to.
I somehow drag myself out of bed. It’s a little bit cold but with my nightdress I don’t want to put on my ugly, man bathrobe to keep warm. I do put on my slippers and trudge into the kitchen making coffee.
On my way to the kitchen I flick various devices on, eyes falling shut on me. I switch on my laptop, and check my phone to see if I have any messages. I do not want to do anything today. Not a single thing. I don’t know why. I had an early night last night. One of my earliest since, well... Since me.
I sit before my work laptop staring at no new emails and too tired to even lift my coffee to my face. Knowing what time it is I should really be working, especially if I want to take an early afternoon tomorrow.
My phone rings, it has to be Greg. He knew exactly when I was exhausted and decided to call me then. I pick my phone up with a groan and instead I see it’s G calling.
“Hi, G,” I grumble.
“Oh, Ms. Sleepy-head today, are we?”
“I don’t know why. Last night was my earliest night since last week. I just watched soccer and had literally one beer.”
“Things are catching up with you,” he says.
“How do you mean?”
“Have you been more busy this week compared to other weeks?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” I say.
“Yes... Exactly.” G says.
“I suppose,” I say, annoyed at him again, for pointing it out.
“Have you checked your bank account?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do it now,” he says.
“I’ll do it later,” I say.
“No. Now. Come on.” And there’s no arguing with him, at least with him seemingly bright awake and me still dopey brained.
I go through the security questions on my personal laptop and into my account. “It’s not too bad,” I say, not saying any specific figure.
“Compared to other weeks?” he asks.
“Yeah, a bit more spent,” I say. G stays quiet. “A little bit more than a bit,” I admit. “But you know I wasn’t mad on going out before. I was really solitary, and boring. I have some money saved up. Enough to do this for a bit longer.” I brighten up, more awake, thinking of more fun for another couple of months.
“What big expenses did you have this week?”
“None, really. It was just drinks and some food. A few taxis. I bought one candle. I got those cheap bras and shoes.”
“And do you think you might have some big expenses coming up along with all those everyday normal expenses for a woman in her twenties?”
“Why are you like this, G!?”
“You’re welcome,” G says.
“Yeah... You’re right. Now go away.”
He laughs. “Have you spent any time alone?”
“How do you mean,” I ask.
“Just you, thinking, about everything.”
“I watched football alone, last night,” I say. “I told you that.”
“Just with your thoughts?” G asks.
“No...”
“Go for a walk today. A normal walk. You know those getting fresh air walks. No earphones or music. No chatting to people. No window shopping. No grocery shopping. Just you and your thoughts. Will you?”
“Yeah, OK,” I say, knowing a walk might be nice. I look out the high window in the living room and it looks dry out.
“Promise?”
“I promise. Come on, G, let me have fun. You’re being mean.”
“What have you been eating?”
“Like total shit!” I say, trying to put pride in my words.
“Yeah. I thought so. Do you have plans for Sunday?” he asks.
“Not yet. Pedicure on Saturday, and soccer before that,” I say.
“Can you really afford a pedicure? They’re expensive aren’t they?”
“STOP TORMENTING ME, G!”
“You know I’m right, though,” G says. And he is, so I make a grumpy noise down the phone. “Anyway, do you want to go shopping on Sunday? The afternoon, maybe?”
“Ooh, yes I do!”
“For food!” G says.
“Will you cook?” I ask him.
“Maybe. I’m sure we’ll have a meal after. I looked around your apartment when I was there, you have the basic pots and pans. You might need a knife or two.”
“If you keep acting like this around me, G, you do not want me with knives in my hands.”
“You’ll be giving my hugs, and kisses all over my face in thanks when the day is over,” G says.
“You’re so arrogant!” And he’s right. I hate him, and I love him. “My god!”
“Promise you’ll go for the walk?” G asks.
“Yes...”
“And I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Yes!”
“OK. Have a fun day!” G says.
“Fuck you, G!” I say. And he hangs up.
And then my phone rings again, straight away. “Hi, Greg,” I say.
“Get some good rest?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, and when he says Rest I can’t help but yawn.
“At least tell me you’re wearing pyjamas and you’re not naked.”
“I look cute, Greg. All the men would be drooling over me,” I say.
“I’m sure,” Greg says. Then I realise I was talking to him like he was Big-G, and I’m a little bit more awake. “Have you been keeping a draft of that six hundred word document I asked you to send me on Friday?”
“I have, Greg,” I say, trying to put a formal tone in my voice, maybe he’ll forget, or gloss over it. I can’t believe I talked to Greg about men. “It’s really loose though. My own notation, no structure, more than six hundred words.”
“OK. Do not change a thing about it unless you’ve admitted to a murder in it. I don’t want to receive that. Otherwise email it straight to me, as soon as you can. I’ll give it a look over and give you some advance warning on what people will think.”
“People?” I ask. I thought it would only be Mr. Mayer and Therese and maybe Greg who saw this, but I don’t want to complain about that to Greg.
“Yes. Of course. Reports get sent everywhere. Why do you think we’re asking you to write this?”
“I thought it was kind of a test,” I say.
“It is,” Greg says. “Most things, at your level, are a test in some way. It doesn’t mean they’re not valuable, and they’re certainly not meaningless. If your report is good it’ll be shared around.”
“OK, I didn’t know,” I say.
“Now you do,” Greg says. “Does that mean you’ll be working harder on it?”
“I was already working pretty damn hard!” I say.
“Good! Email me the draft. I’ll be back to you within an hour presuming I’m not telling HR to fire you. Now hang up.”
So I do. And I email Greg my draft straight away. Then I put on another coffee. I really need coffee today.
I’m just finishing my second coffee when Greg phones back. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. No greeting or hello.
“It’s more than fine, Greg! That’s good work!” I say.
“You’re far more fiery when you’re work from home,” Greg says. “Keep it up. It’s what we want from you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“A bit more confidence. You’ve been lacking it. Stand up for yourself, and your work.”
“Is this professional advice?” I ask.
“Everything I say to you is professional advice, Tony. It is for everyone in my department. OK?”
“OK...”
“What were you going to look at today?”
“I’ve checked out the questions from the group I met. I’ve thought about the people around my age in the office, men and women. I’ve thought about things that apply to me... I’m not too sure, if being completely honest.”
“If you were back in school what would they tell you to do?”
“Start writing it up, check to make sure everything is referenced, check some academic works for new developments, compare it to other businesses, make sure there’s no mistakes.”
“Do you think that applies?” Greg asks.
“I suppose?” I say.
“Do you have some idea?” he asks.
“I can compare it to other offerings from healthcare companies, compare similar businesses with a profile like ours. I can check some of the job review websites where people talk about what a place is like to work, and what they use there.”
“So you have a plan for today?”
“I do. Then tomorrow I email you the real six hundred work document. Spend the rest of Friday integrating any feedback into it. I start to write up the final document, just the outline, headings, bullet points. I don’t think I need any graphics. If I have enough time I can finish up a little early?”
“That’s sounds like a plan,” Greg says.
“OK, I’ll hang up,” I say. And move the phone away from my face while just about hearing Greg say They’re learning.
I get to work on what Greg said, taking a quick lunch break to eat some instant ramen while I watch some more makeup tutorials. After lunch I take a look at some of the job review websites, specifically our business. I even look at our location. There’s a few mentions of Greg, words like Asshole, Evil, Arrogant, Rude, but there’s also a few quite heart-warming messages. One person says they left our company ten years ago and she still calls him when she’s having issues in her new workplace. I wonder if he wrote that one himself. It seems like something he’d laugh about.
It’s getting later in the day, and I am doing good work, and I remember I promised Big-G I’d go for a walk to just think. I know I could actually do with one. I have no plans for tonight, and no plans to make any plans. I’m still even in my nightdress since this morning.
I quickly change into a pair of jeans, my new skate shoes and a sweater. I don’t do my makeup but try and brush my hair into the shape I’m familiar with by now, a little at least, with no mousse or washing. I put my keys and some emergency money in my purse but not my phone. No distractions, no window shopping, no sneaking earbuds into my ears to listen to music. I just want some peace with the tension I can feel building in my head.
I walk out.
I begin my way up the street, wanting to feel the setting sun on my face but it doesn’t feel right. No-one’s smiling at me any more. Certainly not like weeks ago. Then I think on that again, it wasn’t weeks ago people were smiling at me, it was only Saturday. My first proper day as me. That was only a few days ago. It seems so long ago. Like so much has happened.
Is it that I haven’t done my makeup? Do I feel naked that way? Is it my hair not being done properly, but that doesn’t feel wrong. It’s just not right, in some way. I’m not right. I feel my pace picking up and have to tell myself to slow down but I can’t.
Everything has been so fun. I’ve enjoyed myself, but now I’m alone it feels wrong. It’s just me! I’m just out for a walk with me and it all feels wrong! I feel like I’m shaking.
Can I really not be alone with myself? Is that what the problem is? Is it that I’m fine when I’m being fun with people, and having fun with people, and don’t have to think about who I am but when it stops, and I’m confronted with what I am, it’s telling me to stop.
I turn back on my walk. I want to sit down. I want to curl up. I have to get home! But what if I get home and I still feel this way? What if it doesn’t leave me? What if I always feel like this?
I cut into a store on the way and pick up a six pack, going through all the motions of paying and not even knowing what I did pay. I take big, trembling breaths as I get closer and closer to my apartment, clutching onto the beer.
Dropping onto my couch I know something is wrong with me. There is something wrong with me! I’ve never felt like this in my life. I have to talk to someone.
I pick up my phone and there’s two missed calls from the work number. Fuck!
I phone Greg. “Sorry,” I say. “I missed some calls.”
“Bathroom break?”
“I went for a walk. To clear my head, no phone, no distractions, just me and the fresh air.”
“Good idea. Did you?” Greg says, and I don’t say anything. “Clear your head?” he goes on.
“Not really, if anything it’s worse,” I say.
“Is it about the report?” Greg asks.
“No, the report is going well,” I say.
“It is, actually. We want to change some things.”
“In the document?” I ask, trying to contain myself.
“No. That’s fine. There’s no need to email me the update tomorrow. I’ve seen enough. Mr. Mayer has seen enough. We said Tuesday, after lunch, I wanted a print-out of the final report. Do you think you can have it first thing Tuesday, instead?”
“Yes, I can,” I say.
“Don’t agree to it if you can’t,” Greg says. “If you need the time you can have the time. It just suits me better to get it first thing. If our original plan works better for you now is the time to speak up.”
“No. Definitely. I can get it to you first thing Tuesday,” I say.
“OK. And did you check out the gyms we have available?” Greg asks.
“How do you mean, for the report? Yeah. It was in what I emailed you.”
“For yourself. Maybe an hour in the morning or evening kicking a dummy to get out all your anger, or whatever’s clouding your head, could work better than a walk?”
I laugh. “I have been thinking about it,” I say.
“It’s there to be used. A lot of our facilities are intended to be used, so do use them. They’ll get even better work out of you. Personally I prefer a walk in the fresh air with a smoke.”
“So not quite fresh air?”
“Don’t you start on me,” Greg says. “You can finish up today if you have nothing pressing. Start finishing the report first thing tomorrow. And have a loose draft done before you clock out early, which is the plan, right?”
“Thank you, Greg.”
“OK, hang up. Close your work laptop. Go back to Minecraft or League of Legends or whatever it is you people do.” And I do hang up on him with that comment.
I sit still, for a few moments, thinking maybe simple social contact was enough to set me at ease. Enough to quell whatever it was that happened to me. But I feel a little nugget at the back of my mind, slowly growing, and then a constriction on my chest.
I look down at myself. I rub my hands down my sides, and tummy and thighs. I’m just me, right? This is me? But why do I feel this way if it’s not wrong?
I pick up my phone and go to my contacts but I can’t burden anyone with this. I can’t call someone with this. It’s a little before work would be finishing for most people and I can’t run for people whenever I feel shitty. If this is so wrong I have to figure out what exactly is wrong.
Without really thinking I send G a message, “Can you call me, when you get a chance. Soon if possible?” Then put my phone down.
I stand, take a few steps and turn in a circle. Do I want to take these clothes off? Do I want to go back to being boy Tony? Would that stop this? Would that stop this pressure in mind?
But that’s wrong. I’ve been happy as me. I feel happy meeting people, and talking to people. Hell, I even felt happy when I stupidly said men would think I’m cute to Greg. But now I’m alone it’s wrong. What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening?
I look towards the beers and want to drink one but just like I can’t demand people be at my beck and call whenever I feel bad I can’t reach for a drink whenever I feel bad. I just need to escape somehow. I just need to be different. I need to be a woman. A proper woman. Without this dumb, shit cock and balls between my legs. With ovaries. And boobs. And a man in my life. And a childhood I enjoyed and I want so much but it’s not for me. It’s not who I am? Why couldn’t it...
My phone goes off. G is calling. I take a deep breath. “Hi, G,” I say.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened?” he says.
“Nothing happened. No-one said anything to me.”
“What were you doing?” he asks.
I sigh. “I went for a walk... It felt wrong? I don’t know.”
“What felt wrong?”
“Me!?”
“In what way?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve been so occupied this past week. Doing everything, meeting people, being me, as soon as I had time alone it just hit me. This isn’t right. I’m not right.”
“OK...” G says. “What’s not right?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t deserve this. It’s wrong.”
“Don’t deserve what?” he asks, sounding stern.
“Having fun,” I whine.
“Why not?”
“It’s too much fun. It’s not right. And the second it stopped it felt all wrong. The second I had to be with myself...”
“It hit you?”
“Yeah... But I don’t know what. I’m wrong. My body is wrong. I’m not...”
“You’re not what?”
“A woman... I’m a boy pretending. I’m tricking people. I shouldn’t have any of this.”
“Have you done anything wrong? Like, have you hurt someone?”
“I don’t know...”
“No. Answer me, please. Have you hurt anyone?”
“No... Me..? Have I hurt me?”
“Ninety-nine percent of the time, how do you feel?”
“Good? I guess. But I shouldn’t.”
“So you feel good and you feel guilty about it?”
“I don’t deserve this!!”
“You don’t deserve to feel bad. But it’s natural. You had a bit of a crash. That’s fine. You messaged me. I called you.”
“You shouldn’t have called me...”
“Be serious, Toni. Why shouldn’t I have called?”
“Because I’m being stupid. This is nothing compared to what people go through. I’m lucky.”
“First off, you feel bad and you’re my friend so of course I’m going to care. Secondly, other people do go through worse, that doesn’t invalidate what you’re feeling. And it sounds like you’re feeling like this is too good to be true.”
“A little...”
“Is it? Too good be to true? Are you lying to yourself?”
“I don’t think so, no. Maybe...”
“But it’s new, and it’s suddenly hit you. That’s fine. You’re worried. Do you want it to stop?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t. But the second I was all alone I felt wrong. The second I just had to be me it was wrong.”
“So you felt bad and messaged me. I’m not seeing the problem.”
“I don’t know. I feel so vulnerable. So exposed.”
“You are,” G says.
“What?”
“You are vulnerable. You’re new at this. This is all new to you. You’ve made a big change in your life. Of course you’re vulnerable. And you’ll be a little old lady in sixty years time in the retirement home and there’ll still be times you feel vulnerable. People feel like this.”
“I’ve never felt this way before...”
“I bet you have but you ignored it. You just went by it in a fog. You’re feeling things now. Experiencing things now because you’re who you’re meant to be. You can’t just ignore yourself any more.”
“Maybe.”
“Probably... I’m not saying I’m right but it happens to me. I feel like you sometimes.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because my parents are old. I’ll probably lose one, or both of them, soon. Could even be today. The people who raised me. And I don’t know how I’ll handle that. I don’t want to lose them.”
“I’m sorry, G. I didn’t mean to actually ask what upsets you. I shouldn’t have. I just...”
“You just what?”
“I can’t imagine you feeling like this. You’re so strong.”
“Thank you,” G says. “But I’m not always. So I talk to people. Often my parents. And that’s why I’m worried about it.”
There’s a pause on the phone for a few moments. “Are you worried or scared?” I ask.
There’s another pause. Then G speaks up. “Yeah. I’m scared. Some moments I’m terrified. Usually when I’m lying in bed.”
“I’m sorry, G.”
“It’s normal, Toni. It’s normal.” And I feel a tear in my eye thinking of Big-G losing his parents.
“I think I’m crying a bit,” I say.
“Still scared?” he asks.
“No. Thinking of what you’re going through. With your family.”
“They could live another twenty years. It’s just worries, and stresses, care for the people we care about. I’ll say it again, it’s normal. It’s what makes us who we are.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniff. “Are you still scared? Really? Be truthful.” he asks.
“Of what happens when we hang up,” I say.
“Well, I’m sitting in a hotel room, day’s meetings done. More tomorrow. I fly back late in the evening and I have hours yet to use the expense account in the hotel bar. What are you up to for the night?”
Then we talk, for longer. I don’t know how much longer. About work, and bosses, sports we’ve watched. G gives me a few clues about the shopping we’ll do on Sunday. We just chat.
“I should leave you to that expense account,” I say.
“Do you want to talk longer?” he asks.
“I think I’m OK,” I say. “Thank you, G.”
“Any time.”
I place my phone down and wait for the feeling I had to return but it doesn’t. Instead I feel drained. Empty, and a little cold. Like I’ve just spent an hour crying. I rub at my face and then rub at my arms.
Before I know it I’ve taken a selfie of myself where I’ve forced myself to put on a smile. I message it to my sister, with the word Hi!
A few minutes later I get a message. “You look different. What’s different?”
“I’m trans now. I guess... I’m a woman. Sort of...”
I don’t know what I’m thinking over the next minutes but I’m onto the message when it comes back as quick as a flash. “Oh thank you! You’re not boring! I’m busy now. I’ll phone over the weekend. Work on being exciting. I want an exciting little sister, not a boring little brother. Have fun, lil’ sis!”
And I sit back on my couch, not knowing what to do, or who to message, or anything really. Except probably my sister is messaging her gaggle of friends who’d torment me when I was a kid, and they’ll be screeching like witches. Why did I do that? Why did I message her?
Before I know it I’ve stood and dragged myself into bed, fully clothed. I lie down and pull the covers over me. I feel like I should cry. Like I want to cry, but no tears are coming. They’re just not there. I’m upset, and confused, but I’m empty.
I wake, and roll over, and feel weird. Sweaty. I look at the clock at the side of my bed and it’s 5am. What time did I fall asleep? When did I fall asleep?
I pull my legs up and I think I’m wearing jeans. And I’ve sweated right through them. All my clothes. I messaged my sister!
I groan and roll over again, trying to get back to sleep but I’m really uncomfortable and I’m so out of sorts, so on edge, I know sleep won’t be coming.
I do a few laps around the apartment, not knowing what I’m looking for, feeling my clothes weigh me down then realise I should probably just shower.
It’s a long shower, cleaning up my legs, pits, my crotch again, the few stray hairs that sprouted up on my chest. I’m going out later so I won’t do my makeup straight away but I will be shaving twice today. Then I let the water pour over me. I wash my hair, and again it’s time for more water to cover me.
As I stand beneath the shower head I think I could really do with a bath. Just soaking. Would it be weird to ask Steve if I could bathe at his place? It would, definitely, I tell myself. It’s probably filthy anyway. Although thinking back to my time in his apartment he does do the basics of cleaning. Which reminds me I should probably do some cleaning myself. And I should really have done it before I showered. And now my day is set out before me.
I dry off, get dressed. The looser, darker jeans today and I don’t know why but I want a sparkly top. This one is purple and has a gold pattern printed on it. It goes down to mid forearm where it’s cuffed in little ties. I feel normal in it. Relatively normal. I’m kind of getting sick of these breast forms though. I want my own. I want my own boobs so bad. I try to think of what it’d be like, what kind of breasts I want. But I don’t know. I suppose that’s for the fates to decide.
I check the fridge and it’s extremely bare. I have more instant noodles, I always have instant noodles, but I’m not having those for breakfast. Instead I do the last two slices of bacon from when G cooked. It’ll have to do.
Then it’s sitting down to work. I’m a few hours into getting the first draft of the final report done when I realise Greg hasn’t called. I check my phone to see if I missed him but there’s nothing missed. There is a message from my sister. “Did you change your name? As your older sibling I should have some say with a new name.”
“Toni, with an i. You can help me pick a middle name, maybe.”
I push my sister’s text from my mind. Why would I pick a different name? And she’s messaged me more times now than ever. I really have to get this draft done. And I do. A rough outline, or a little bit more than a rough outline. All the words are there, whether they’re in the right order, without mistakes and making sense is a different matter. If you looked at the document from ten feet away, on the screen, it’d look like any other normal report, but up close?
For lunch I do make some noodles. Then I shave again and do my makeup. I stuff the samples of the BB cream into my purse, I’m going to have to actually buy some of this, and then I sit back down to read the report. Just give it a once over. A simple read through to make sure it’s in proper English. Instead I find I’m catching mistake after mistake.
I go through it yet another time. There’s nothing obvious I can see apart from tightening language. But it’s only really what I can see. I know this document is fresh to me so I won’t be able to make it out with the clarity I should. And I don’t really have the time to gain that clarity.
I pull up the office number on my phone and dial Greg’s number. He picks up, “Hi, Tony.”
“Greg, is it possible for me to get someone to read through my report before I finalise it?”
“You’ve got a draft done?”
“I have, but it’s all fresh to me. I’m not sure if I can see the mistakes that are still in there.”
Greg gives a hrrmm down the phone and then says, “OK, let me check the office.” He pauses. “Do you know Mallory?”
“Short girl? Blonde?”
“Dumpy! Yeah, that’s her. Do you have her email address?” he asks, while I’m thinking he really shouldn’t be calling anyone dumpy.
I check through my address book and find what looks like her email address. I call it out to Greg.
“Yeah, that’s her. Send it through to her. She’ll have until, let’s say 11am Monday morning to get back to you. Is that good for you?”
“Yeah, that’s great Greg. And will you thank her for me?”
“Wait until you see her work, first. Don’t you think?”
I wait a few minutes, run a spellcheck a final time then send the document through to Mallory, hitting all the points I agreed with Greg in my explanation to her. There’s nothing else to do. Someone else has my report now and I just need to wait and see what they make of it.
I think I really should get some shopping done, for the sandals at least, for my pedicure, and maybe some more ramen for the kitchen. Before I leave the apartment I message Jess and Sally asking if we’re going out tonight, then I get to walking.
I go back the supermarket that’s done me well the whole time and dig around everywhere. Even into their out-of-season bins, but there’s no sandals that I can find. Nothing I imagined anyway. I go around the store twice but there’s not even a sniff of something suitable. I suppose Fall isn’t really a put your toes on display season. At least not unless it’s a fancy party.
I’m not sure what to do when I leave the store, so I begin to walk towards Light Avenue. There’s a few places I check along the way, mainly small thrift stores and one or two tiny places that don’t look that fancy but when I get in I see their prices and make a very quick exit.
The final place I check is a little overstock place. I think they buy up what other stores can’t shift, at least at the local level. There’s everything in there, but no damn sandals. There is a couple of very nice, very luxurious bathrobes, a little on the pricey side so I can’t really justify it. Who’s going to see me in a bathrobe? My red and black man one is fine.
I finally make it to Light Avenue and plonk myself up on one of the stools at the front of the bar. A bartender serves me my now usual low-alcohol beer and I take out my phone. There’s a few messages waiting for me in the group chat.
“Sorry, Toni. I need to study tonight. Especially if we’re going out tomorrow,” Jess says. Then a few moments later another message from her. “And Sally has big plans. Ask her about them.”
Sally has messaged, “Big plans? Who told you that? Anyway, I don’t want to defile innocent Toni’s mind with we’ll be getting up to.”
“See, biiiig plans,” Jess says.
They seem all gossipy from work so I just leave them to it and drink my beer. Then I remember the sandals situation. “I couldn’t find any sandals. Do you think the nail shop would mind if I cancelled?”
“You’re not cancelling!” Sally says.
“What about something else?” I ask.
“Like what?” Jess says.
“Fingernails?” I message. “I could at least show them off. And I don’t need to be in work until Tuesday.”
“That could work. Get your eyebrows done too and I don’t think they’ll mind a change of plans.”
“I can’t get my eyebrows done. Everyone will see that.”
“That’s the point, dummy. Anyway, no-one really notices eyebrows unless they’re horrific. Just get them tidied up and a little shape on them and you’ll notice but others will just get a general impression. They won’t know what it is.”
“Are you making this up?” I ask Jess.
“Would Jess lie about fashion?” Sally asks. And I don’t say anything. Normally she wouldn’t, but I feel kind of at sea for some reason.
A few minutes go by and my phone goes off again. “OK. Appointment changed. You’re getting your fingernails and eyebrows done. No backing out now.”
“Fine!” I message back.
“The correct response is Thanks for changing my booking last minute, Jess.”
“Thank you, Jess.”
“You’re very welcome, start thinking about colours.”
I go back to my drink wondering what I’ll do today, or for the rest of my evening. This time last week I was finishing up at work and getting ready to go to Steve’s, and then everything changed. I changed. I can’t imagine myself there tonight, just a regular Lads Night In. It was cancelled, but I don’t know, being out with people is more fun. Most of the time, anyway, I think, as I look around the bar with no-one I know here.
I take out my phone again and message Alan. “Steve said you and Sam broke up? Were you dating?”
A couple of minutes go by and I get a message back. “God no! We had a fun night, and morning after. A hot lunch and an energetic afternoon. Then we went our ways. That’s all it was. We were never dating. Try it sometime. You might enjoy it.”
I put my phone down and look around the bar again. There are some cute guys here but how do you even talk to them? I couldn’t just walk up to them and say So yeah, I was a boy until a week ago but now I’m a woman and I’ve been thinking of going to town on men, any man, pretty much every moment I have to myself. Will you do things to me? They’d think I was insane, at the least, and probably knock my teeth out.
“Checking out boys, are we?” someone says. I look behind the bar and Steph is standing there, but not in uniform. She’s wearing a simple, faded, denim mini-skirt, sporty 80s trainers, and a kind of retro team top. “You’re looking at me strangely.”
I shake my head out. “I’m just... Your legs! My god, I’d kill for them.” They’re perfect, and lightly tanned, and with not a single blemish.
“Thank you!” Steph says. “What about the rest of me?”
“I’ll be honest, one of the first times I saw you I thought you were the most attractive woman I’d seen in my life.”
“Now I have to have a drink with you,” Steph says. And she begins to mix herself up a cocktail. “Want one?”
“If you’re joining me, sure. Why not?”
“Anyone you like around here?”
“How do you mean?” I ask.
“Really? You ask me that? I know a few of these guys, their names at least. I could introduce you to someone.”
“More honesty?” I ask.
“Always!”
“Literally every one of them. Every single one. Any of them. I wouldn’t care which one. Since last weekend it’s been non-stop. The thoughts...”
She strains the cocktail through something and pours two smaller than normal, but still big enough glasses. “Drag one into one of the accessible bathrooms. Get sloppy with him.”
“I couldn’t do that!”
“Everyone else is doing it.”
“What if someone actually needs to use the toilet? I can’t.”
“We have five accessible toilets. Do you really think we don’t know what’s going on in them. Do you really think we need five of them!? After the Pride Parade we practically need to hose them down.”
“That’s disgusting!” I say.
“It’s natural. You’re young, you’re horny, sometimes you’re in love. Or so you think.”
“You’re not that much older than me!”
“How old do you think I am?” Steph asks, looking kind of serious now.
“Really?” I ask. She nods. “Thirty-five, thirty-six-ish?”
She twists her mouth up a little. “Close, I’m thirty-seven. People seem to think I’m older though. I guess it’s just being behind the bar, being the manager. The word’s gotten around I’m mid-forties and just extremely young looking for my age, which I don’t argue with. It makes it easier to get troublemakers in a headlock and throw them out the door.”
“Yeah, the other time I saw you that night I thought you looked formidable.”
Steph does a pose like a bodybuilder, flexing her muscles. “I think I remember that, the bartender? Tell me...”
“I’m not going to get him in trouble, am I?”
“Nope. You do not have such powers in your weak and feeble body.”
“OK... He kind of creeped me out,” I say.
“Asking for ID?” Steph asks.
“No... He looked me up and down. And smiled as he was doing it. I don’t know. I didn’t feel comfortable.” I stop and consider the look Steph is giving me, not sure I’m able to decipher it. “He is in trouble isn’t he?”
“Who says he works here any more?”
“Because of that!?”
“Not just you,” Steph says, and looks me in the eyes. “Really!! It was a few people. Even staff members. He was always well behaved with supervisors, security, managers. But people I believe said some things to me.”
“Just because—”
“Because of a lot of reasons. He made people uncomfortable. If he was uncomfortable and just not used to this type of bar we’d have given him time. To get to know people. To get to know what it’s like here. It he was useless at bar work we’d teach him. We don’t just dismiss people.”
“OK...”
“Anyway, you were talking about how hot and formidable I am. More of that please.”
I gather myself together. “I can’t really say much more. You’re not my type.”
“Hot?” Steph says.
“Female.”
“You certain on that?”
“I think so. I’ve never been with a guy but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking... Imagining... These past few days.”
“What else have you been thinking?” Steph asks, as she laughs.
“Don’t laugh! And I don’t know... I felt weird last night. Talking to G he said I was saying I’m vulnerable.”
“Big-G?”
“Yeah. I was feeling kinda shitty and I didn’t know who to call so I called him. He made me feel a bit better.”
Steph takes a sip of her cocktail through a straw. “That’s cute.”
“What’s cute?” I ask, wondering how simply calling Big-G could be cute.
“You’re lonely. You want a man in your life. To hold you. To listen to you. To comfort you.”
“Yeah...” I say, then I think for a moment. “I mean Yeah!! What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, it’s what we all want. But they’re not going to land in your lap. It takes two to—”
“Tango. Yes, I know. I’ve just never tango’ed, with anyone. Not really.”
Steph presses her fingers to her lips and leans in towards me. “I’ll let you in on a secret...”
“Yeah?” I say.
“The tango is a lot of fun. There’s a reason so many people do it. And then there’s a load of other dances to learn. And you’re young, and sexy, and have no excuse not to be inventing new dances.”
“Do you dance?” a man asks. He’s about my age, just wearing a normal brown t-shirt and kind of nondescript pants, and he’s sitting a couple of chairs up from us. He’s kind of built, not overly but he’s athletic. Mostly I want to know was he listening in on us?
“Do you want to dance with Toni?” Steph asks.
“Is there dancing here? Later tonight?” he asks.
“Toni, based on our conversation, would you dance with our new friend? Be honest!”
I feel an absolute fire begin to rise up my face as I look at his arms in his t-shirt. I can see the pecs on his chest through the material.
“Why are you blushing?” he asks me, and I can’t imagine blushing harder than this but I think I already am.
“Come on, move up on the bar. You should talk to Toni before you spend the night dancing.”
“Jesus, Steph. I’m not—”
“Introduce yourself,” she says to this guy. “And you should, Toni. I would if I was you.”
“Do you mind?” the kind of hot, no... Actually quite, really hot guy asks me, pointing towards the seat next to me.
“No. Please do,” I say and shuffle the seat a little to make it more accommodating.
He grabs a jacket, and his drink from the counter, then sits himself up to me.
“I’m Tim, by the way,” he says.
Steph shakes her head. “Sorry, Toni. Not gonna work out. Tim and Toni. Sounds weird.”
“What’s she talking about?” Tim asks.
“She’s imagining us dating,” I say, scowling at Steph.
“I mean, I was too,” Tim says. And I blush again.
“Where would you take her on a first date?” Steph asks. “And you’d better get this right.”
“Ooh, I don’t know,” Tim says.
“Not a good start,” Steph says.
“It depends on what she wants to do.”
“It’s getting worse.”
“What do you want to do, Toni?” he asks me.
“Well, I need to pick up some makeup. And there’s a bathrobe that looked really soft I’ve been thinking about since I saw it.”
“OK, let’s go get them,” Tim says.
“Oh, wow. Settled couple territory already,” Steph says. “What happened to dancing?”
“Shut up, Steph!” I say. I turn to look at Tim. “It’s really boring. Literally just going in and out of stores. You don’t want to do that.”
“I just want to spend some more time with you,” he says. “Maybe get to know you. See if there’s anything there.”
“Where?” I ask. We’re in a bar, what more does he want?
“Between us,” he says, with a hint of doubt in his voice. “Are you two playing with me?” He gestures back and forth between me and Steph.
“I think she’s playing with us,” I say, flicking my hand at Steph.
“Oh! It’s Us now. I’d better leave you be then.”
And she does. And me and Tim talk. He asks about me, and my family, my friends. I learn he’s a graphic designer, starting out his own studio. Really it’s just him on his own. He seemed kind of like a jock when I first saw him, which wasn’t far wrong. He was into sports as a teen, even got a scholarship to a small university, but he’d spent all his life drawing and when nothing came of swimming he decided to do what he had a passion for.
We’re just talking normally when he says, “Right, come on. Let’s get the bits you need.”
“What?”
“Your drink is gone. You said you need to get some bits and pieces. Let’s get them.”
“If I leave I’m not coming back here,” I say.
“That’s fine,” he says.
“I’m not going anywhere with you either. I’m getting what I need and going home.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“You’re not coming into my apartment!”
“I never expected to,” he says.
“What do you expect?” I ask, not knowing how to read this guy.
“If you had fun? A kiss on the cheek...”
“And?”
“And we meet again,” he says.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it,” he says, standing. “Let me get your coat.”
He takes my coat from the back of my chair and holds it up for me. I don’t know quite how I feel as I slip it on, with him helping, but it feels good. I feel smaller than him. Like he should be holding me. And when he moves his hands away I feel him trail a finger across the back of my neck and it’s like I could explode on the spot.
In the pharmacy I pick up my BB cream, and some nail polish remover, then I, or we, I guess, make our way to the overstock store. I take the bathrobe down from the rack and hold it out to Tim, “See how soft it is?”
“Yeah, you need that,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, not knowing why exactly I need it.
“Because you’re soft, and adorable, and delicate, and pretty,” he says. “Pretty hot, I mean.”
“You’re going to make me throw up,” I say.
“You are those things!”
“Shut up!”
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he says.
“What am I doing to you?”
“If I told you you’d slap me.”
“Oh, wow. I thought you were smooth until that,” I say. But I kind of want to slap him. He’s too hot right now. He’s offensively hot. And cute. More hot though. Fuck!
“There’s a place I make posters for around here, you might like it. After you get the bathrobe,” he says.
“Should I get it? Really?”
“Yes, of course.”
I scrunch my face up as though I’m thinking but I’ve already made my mind up. “OK, you’ve convinced me. And what’s this place you want to show me?”
He explains as I pay that it’s a little thrift store, run by someone really good that’s finally found a decent rent. They’ve been running the business out of markets for a few years, travelling to build up their stock.
As I walk in a woman looks at me and smiles. Then smiles at Tim, “Hi, Tim,” she says, in a kind of flirty tone.
“Hey! How are things?” Tim says. “You happy with those posters?”
“Yeah, they’re perfect. Is it you or your friend shopping?”
“She’ll leave with half the store,” he says. “So let’s get going.” He takes me by the elbow and drags me deeper into a store with random old stuff all over the place, or at least in between the various racks, and shelves. There’s everything in here, from quite expensive looking jeans, to extremely glamorous gowns, to regular every day dresses. There’s lots of retro dresses too. Sweaters, hoodies, cardigans, tops, pants. On some mannequins there’s tiaras and extremely fancy, silk nightdresses, and pearl necklaces. Fake, I hope.
“Where do I start?” I ask.
“Just go wild!” Tim says.
And I kind of do. I’m pulling out item after item, and sweaters, and cardigans, and shorts, even though it’s the wrong season for them, and so many dresses.
“Having fun?” Tim asks.
“I am, I think,” I say.
“Why only Think?”
“I don’t know how all this will look on me,” I say.
“Try them on!”
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. I’ll hold them, you try them on...” he says as he pushes me towards the back where there’s some curtained off areas. “... and if you want to be told you looking smoking hot in any of them come out and put on a fashion show.” Then he’s pulling some curtains closed on me with a pile of clothes in his hands, and another pile in front of me on a chair.
I strip down to my underwear, highly aware I have extra parts that shouldn’t really be in these clothes, but it’s just me and Tim here, and the woman who was flirting with Tim, which is kind of annoying.
I start with the shorts. They’re grey, not booty shorts or anything, appropriate length, I suppose. Kind of professional. I could imagine them with dark pantihose, heels, and a white blouse on a girl at work. Which is good enough for me. I have no plans to come out at work but these are about five bucks so I can’t go wrong.
I go through the rest of the items, a few sweaters, another pair of jeans, a few cardigans, I have no cardigans, some midi-skirts, and I’m starting to dread my bill.
I ask Tim to hand me through the rest of the clothes, which he does. Thankfully it’s a smaller pile than what I have in here.
I try on a light denim dress, with obvious stitching on it, for show, as a style. There’s a belt attached around the waist that I think gives me a little shape. I pull the curtains back without thinking and Tim turns around. “Oh my god!” he says.
“What?” I ask. “Bad?”
“Those legs. Wowzers! The things I would do...”
“Shut up!” I say, but it feels kind of good. He’s not quite leering at me but he’s definitely thinking of me and that makes me feel not bad. “OK. Do I look like I have a shape in this?” I make a kind of curving pattern with my hands but equally I’m wiggling around trying to look a bit sexy.
“Yes, definitely. Into the buy pile,” he says.
“OK...” I say, a little suspiciously, then go back in and close the curtains again.
I don’t know why, other than I’d seen them on other women, but I picked up a pair of leather style leggings when I was browsing. Shiny. Wet-look I guess is the term. I put them on and I feel incredibly sexy in them, and I think they’ll go with my last item. Which is like the sweater dress Jess showed me last weekend.
It’s white wool, a little less fluffy than hers but still fluffy, coming down to your wrists and mid-calf length. I put it on and give myself a look in the mirror. I guess I look good. I feel great in it.
I pull back the curtains. “How about this?” I ask.
“Yeah, I can’t do this...” Tim says.
“Can’t do what!?” I ask, panicking. It’s ending. It feels like someone’s dropped a cannonball in my stomach. He’s joking. Insulting me. A story for his weird jock friends.
“If you keep coming out of their looking like a model from the 70s the police will arrest me for what I end up doing to you. Right here.”
My mind kind of stops when he says that, and I just stare at him, but he’s looking me up and down, smiling. “You can’t say that! Tim! You can’t!”
“I’m sorry, we’re going to have to leave. I can’t take this any more.” And then I think of what we could do, right here on the floor. I don’t even care if the woman at the front of the store watches. I don’t care if she records it!
“OK...” I say. I suppose we can keep our hands to ourselves. And he just smiles at me, rather confidently. I go back in and get changed into my regular clothes. “Let’s go.”
“That’ll happen...” he says.
I wonder what he means, with my eyes darting around the store as we leave, and he’s right. “Yeah, OK. I spotted the shoes. Let me just take a quick check. This’ll be easy. I won’t be long,” I say. And there’s really only two pairs I like the look of. One is a pair of black heels, a boot, ankle length, kind of suede but not real suede, zip at the side. I fit one of my feet in and it fits. I look at Tim and he’s kind of circling around, away in his own world.
Next are the pair I really want, some black leather Doc Marten Mary Janes with a small platform and heel. They look in great condition and trying them on they fit perfectly. “Can you help me carry all this?”
“I said I’d walk you home, didn’t I?”
“Thank you,” I say. And I’m standing at the till with the woman checking prices into a manual cash register. There’s no front display on it so I can’t see how much all this is coming to. I’m going to hate myself.
“The total is $350 but we can do $320,” she says, looking at me slyly. “If you’ll come back and buy more.”
“Yes. I will definitely be back. This place is amazing.”
“Tell your friends,” she says.
“Absolutely no way. Some of my friends are the same size as me.” She laughs at that but I’m not sure I’m joking when I say it. Jess would absolutely loot this store.
“OK, I’ll put some of Tim’s work in the bag, be sure to give them to your friends. Our location is on it. We don’t do anything online.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, as I pay with my credit card and she loads up some plain paper bags.
As we leave I’m weighed down with shopping, and Tim with some more. “Did you have fun?” he asks.
“I did,” I say.
“Then you owe me a kiss. That was the deal. And after that you can decide if we meet up again.”
Then he walks me home, with just casual chat, and me wanting to just stop and look at him. Observe him. And me too. I want to see the two of us together. If yesterday I felt like total shit, now I feel perfectly at ease. Even a little toasty, somehow.
“OK, this is me,” I say as we reach my apartment block.
“Can you carry all this up?” he asks.
“I can,” I say. “And I suppose I owe you something.”
“You do,” he says, with a big smile on his face as he proffers me his cheek. I lean my head in to give him his kiss on the cheek, arms laden down with bags, and I do. And he smells nice.
I pull a little away from him but he’s turned around quickly, looking at me. And gives me another, soft kiss on my lips. Just a normal, regular kiss but so much more. “Are we going to meet up again?” he asks.
“You planned that!”
“What?”
“That kiss!”
“From the moment I saw you,” he says.
“OK. I’ll see you again. I’ll be in Light Avenue tomorrow afternoon. My friends will probably be there too. You can meet them and me.”
“I can’t wait,” he says, and this time he’s the one giving me a kiss on the cheek, turning around, and walking away. And I don’t know how long I spend standing on the spot. Wanting more.
Toni met Steve during the week, even mothered him in his worry over her, but now it’s time for her and Steve to get back to the routine of being friends. Except with Toni as a woman.
They’re meeting early in the morning to watch a football match in the same bar they always watch football matches in. Whether it’s weird for her, or Steve, or the same it as it always was is a different matter. Toni certainly isn't making predictions of what might happen.
--------------------
I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. Being me. Being Toni. It’s been a week, I guess, and not even a full week with a couple of days at work, but looking around my bedroom the evidence I’m not old Tony any more seems to be mounting.
There’s dresses thrown over a chair, pantihose bundled on the floor, there’s even a bra resting on a seat. And it’s not a bra from a girl I’ve had over. It’s my bra! Why am I doing this? But I’m thinking that to myself as I lay out my clothes for the day. Laying out a denim dress. Which is the answer, I suppose. I want to do this. People know me as Toni. Jess and Sally only know Toni. I kissed Jackson during the week. I’m meeting up with Tim today and he sneaked a kiss last night, after walking me home. I’ve kissed more boys in one week than women in the past year. And that woman was Sally kissing Toni, which did nothing for either of us.
I guess I just have to accept this. Apart from one panic moment I’ve been good. It makes sense, not that I’ve really pulled apart my thoughts. I have so much going on I don’t have time to stop and think. I’ve gone from going out one night a week, a quiet night at that, to constantly having things to do.
Is that it? Am I just occupied now? If I got really into pottery making would I feel the same? I should probably talk to someone about everything. But again, I don’t have the time.
I shower, and shave pretty much everywhere, while trying to slow my thoughts down. It doesn’t really work, I’m just looking forward. It’s early in the day, still dark outside, and I’m meeting Steve to watch a soccer game as soon as the bar opens, then I’m getting my nails done, then I’m meeting Tim, maybe. If he shows up. If I don’t chicken out.
I make myself a coffee and sit myself down in my new fluffy bathrobe. I’m not wearing makeup, my hair isn’t done, and sure, I have no body hair, really, but under the robe I’m still all boy. I just don’t feel it. I don’t know what I feel. What does it feel like to feel like a boy? Or a girl? There’s moments I don’t feel anything about myself, I’m just operating as normal, and that’s most of the time. And then there are moments where everything feels so alive. And then there are times I’m terrified but it doesn’t seem like I have any real choice but to push through them.
I message Steve a “You awake?” And he’s back to me quickly with “Yeah, leaving soon. Everything OK?”
I don’t know why I messaged him. I know he’ll be at the bar. He said he was going no matter what. I just want to touch someone, figuratively. To reach out and be acknowledged. “Yeah, fine. See you soon.”
I do my makeup in my bathroom mirror, then tease my hair into shape. This whole morning sort of feels out-of-body. Like I’m watching me, or even watching someone else go through their routine. I try and shake the thought from my head and go back into the bedroom looking at the clothes I laid out. I’m still feeling separated from myself. For some reason I pull out the sexy, black thong Steve got me the night this all started and put it on. Maybe feeling hot will get me more into myself? Then it’s on with the opaque pantihose, my new denim dress, short-ish sleeves, dark stitching and belt snugged in around the middle. I’m into my new Doc Marten Mary Janes which I honestly can’t believe I’ve found and then I’m filling out my purse and putting on my coat to leave.
Walking down the street I still feel disconnected from myself but it’s not a physical thing. I feel the cold wind whip around my legs, and I tug my coat in on me. I can feel the bite on my exposed hands. There’s very few people around this early on a weekend, and I’m kind of away from myself as I walk down the lit street. Really it’s that I feel more disconnected, mentally, like my thoughts aren’t quite mine or they’re distant.
I walk into the soccer bar in a stupor. A bar where it’s not that quiet for just after 7am. There’s plenty of people in jerseys and plenty of people drinking. I glance around trying to find Steve and become aware I’m pretty much the only woman in here. Well, sort-of woman. But there’s still time before the game.
Peter is standing at the bar and I go over to him. “Hey,” I say.
“Hello, Toni. Are we indulging with the Full English this morning?”
I smile thinking of how great the burger I had here was the last time. “I will be. Not straight away, a little later. Have you seen Steve?”
Peter points towards the back of the bar, at the bench opposite the main wall of TVs where Steve is sitting in front of a low, round, polished wooden table with a beer on top of it. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.
“A shandy?” I say, knowing it’s been added to their drinks list after I asked for something low alcohol the other day.
“Do you want to use your free shandy with your breakfast for this one? Or will you save that?”
“I’ll save it, thanks,” I say, as Peter tops up the beer with the Sprite from the dispenser.
He hands over the large glass, “So? Who do you want to win? Liverpool or Everton?”
“I just want a good game,” I say, laughing. “Honestly. I don’t really follow anyone, I just like a good game.”
“That’s far too diplomatic for a soccer game. You might as well have said as long as they all have fun and no-one gets hurt. I should take your drink back. Fire you up a bit.”
I scowl at him. “If you do that I’ll turn into a proper hooligan and throw a chair through your window!”
“That’s the spirit!” Peter bellows, then he rotates the glass around in front of me so the logo is facing me. “I’m glad you’re back. And I want you in here more often, if that’s not too presumptuous.”
“It depends on how good the breakfast is. But yes...” I say, then I pick up the glass and make a face at him, while he looks faux hurt, before I go towards the back to join up with Steve.
I’m walking towards him when he stands, and kind of twists his arms. I look at him confusedly but he just sits back down again. “Sorry,” he says.
“What?” I ask, knowing that wasn’t him being weird with me, it was just him being generally, all around weird.
“I didn’t know if I should give you hug. We didn’t... You know? When you were...”
“Well a hug would be strange after that comment,” I say.
Steve rubs at his forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.
“Do what?” I ask.
“I mean, you’re a girl now. And I dragged you out to watch football.”
“And?”
“Do girls watch football?” he asks.
“You’re a fucking moron, Steve,” I say. “I knew you were a bit dim before, but you’re reaching new depths here.”
“Sorry...” he says. “I’m just...”
“For fuck sake, Steve. It’s too early for this. I haven’t even taken a drink yet.”
He tilts my glass of shandy on the table. “What is it? It looks odd.”
“Try it.”
“What is it?”
“A shandy. I asked for low alcohol beer, they didn’t have any so Aaron came up with this.”
He twists the glass around on the table. “You haven’t actually said what it is.”
“Just fucking taste it, Steve. It’s nice. Stop being a fourteen year old.”
He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. “It is nice.”
“See. Sprite and beer. And I won’t be rolling around the floor by the end of the match. Now can I drink my drink?” I ask.
“Sorry,” Steve says, and I feel a growl escaping my throat as his words register with me. He really is acting like a teenager, isn’t he?
I decide to take this back towards normal territory, where Steve isn’t being a giant idiot, at least until the game begins and he starts roaring at TVs. “How have you been since the other day?” I ask.
“I took Friday off. Too much partying, you know.”
“You weren’t partying,” I say, knowing full well he was in here complaining to Peter about me and my new situation.
“What makes you think that?” he asks.
“Peter told me you were in here, crying in your beer, and stronger I assume. About me.”
“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Steve asks.
“Well? Am I wrong?”
“How have you been?” Steve asks.
“The week was good. I got to work from home a bit. I went out. I got a few kisses. I’m meeting someone later today. This morning was a bit weird, though.”
“Kisses? Good for you!” Steve says, and he seems to have genuinely brightened up at that. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or ladies?”
“The lucky lady was me, Steve. And the men I kissed were very sexy and attractive. And I’m meeting Tim again later today.”
“OK. Wow! I didn’t know...” he says. “So you think men are attractive?”
“I’m not sure but kissing them is a lot of fun.”
“As long as it’s only kissing,” Steve says.
“Don’t be rude, Steve! What I do with the men in my life is up to me.” Not that I’ve actually done anything, not really. I suppose I did let my hands take over with Jackson.
“So you have thought about it?” Steve asks, wide eyed.
“Shouldn’t you be asking me out or buying me a drink before you’re coming out with those questions? Tim and Jackson were much better at flirting.”
“We’re not flirting!!” Steve gasps, looking like his eyes could fall out of his head.
“Oh please, you couldn’t resist me if I tried,” I say.
Steve takes a long drink from his beer, before nodding to himself, then going back for another go on his glass. “OK, that was different but this can work.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I was worried you and I would change. Things were always comfortable with us.”
“I was boring, you mean?”
“No! You were not boring. But you were funny, and calm, and seemingly unflappable, which annoyed me. You didn’t care about much. But things were easy with you, and I don’t want to lose that. And those few seconds of conversation were easy, if a little different.”
“You’re afraid of losing me?” I ask, slightly confused.
“Yeah! Of course. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and this is all so new from you. Such a big change. There could be other changes? I don’t know...”
It goes quiet, as more people are filling out the bar, and I realise I hadn’t thought about that. I have changed, fairly hugely, I suppose. I don’t know if I am different, but, like, objectively... To anyone looking in... “I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I don’t feel different. I’m still just me.”
Steve grimaces a little and speaks up. “But you are different, and I don’t just mean your name or your clothes, or kissing men. You’re more confident. You’re taking control of things. You’re even a bit sassy, which is something I can’t believe I’m saying. Why wouldn’t other things change?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. I’m still doing things I did before. It has only been a week of Toni.
“You said you felt weird this morning, was that about coming here?” Steve asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about that, actually,” I say, thinking about how everything was so confused this morning.
“So talk.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Why not?”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I felt disconnected from myself. Like I was watching myself.”
“An out of body thing?”
I think about that, and it was something I was thinking earlier but it’s not quite right. “Kind of?” I say. “It was like I was on autopilot. You know when you’re driving, and you’re zoned out going down the highway. You’re still aware of things. You’re paying attention to the road and possible dangers, but you’re kind of distant. You’re not really there but you’re ready to be if you have to be.”
“Yeah. Autopilot,” Steve says. “You’re just doing things naturally with nothing worrying you. You have to get somewhere, and if there’s no-one driving like a maniac around you, or there’s no heavy traffic you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to think about anything. You can’t really do anything else, so if you have nothing to worry about your mind goes blank”
I’m not quite sure I get what he’s saying. “So I am on autopilot? When my mind goes blank?”
“It’s a good thing. Have you never felt that way?”
I squint a little at him. “Not like this I haven’t,” I say.
“Was it bad?”
“No...” It was just weird.
“Were you thinking about anything? Was there anything annoying you?”
“I mean I couldn’t figure out how I was feeling.”
“Apart from that. What were you doing?”
I think back to my morning, I showered and got dressed feeling like I did. I walked here feeling like I did. “I was just getting ready then walking here.”
“And you were distant and your mind was far away, not thinking about anything.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“You felt at peace. Not to get Buddhist on things but people need that. It’s natural. You’ve really never felt that way?”
“No...” I say, shaking my head. “Actually it wasn’t all morning. It was after I texted you. Well, after you texted back.”
“That’s sweet,” Steve says. “You’re cute.”
“What?” I ask.
“You wanted to see if our date was going ahead. And when it was you felt calm.”
“It’s not a date, you moron. We’re just watching soccer.”
“You couldn’t resist me if I tried,” Steve says.
“Oh, you’re awful! Using my own words against me!” I laugh at him and take a sip of my shandy.
“I mean, you are kinda cute,” he says. “For someone who’s been a girl a week.”
“I’m cute?” I ask.
“Yeah, kinda pretty. No comment on attraction or anything, I think of you as a little sibling. It’d be weird. But for a guy who doesn’t object to the trans thing I could see why they’d like you.”
I feel my insides tighten, or, I don’t know, get warmer? Get a little wriggly, maybe, at all this. “Is this how you get women?” I ask.
Steve nods. “Yep.”
“Well I should feel privileged you’re turning it on for me.”
“Could you resist me?” he asks.
“No. Of course I couldn’t resist you. And my panties are soaking now so how about a quickie in the toilet?”
“See. This is fun now. This is you being more confident. And why I wanted to apologise,” he says, as he reaches to his side and brings up a bag from a sports retailer. “I felt like shit for reacting like I did, and then you looked after me the other evening, and forced me to eat, and made me go home and get some sleep.”
“It was a really good burger, wasn’t it?”
“I had no idea!” Steve says.
“I’m getting the Full English for breakfast in a minute.”
“Let me continue you ditzy little blonde!” he says, and I wonder what I’d look like as a blonde. Or if I had a proper hairstyle. “As I was saying, I wanted to apologise, and I didn’t know if you’d come but knew if you did I had to say sorry, properly, and support you. And I knew it was the Liverpool v Everton game we’d be watching so I got you this,” he says as he takes something in red material out of the bag. “It’s the women’s Liverpool home jersey, in what should be your size.”
I’m shocked at this, Steve being thoughtful, but I kind of remember there were always times he’d pull off something like this. “Thank you, Steve! You shouldn’t have! I’m just happy things are normal now.”
“Yeah, it’s not just that,” he says. “The store workers spotted a sucker. A very tired and hungover sucker.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I asked the woman there about the female jerseys, and I happened to let slip it was an apology gift. She kind of questioned me. Was a jersey an apology gift for me, or for the woman? Like, were you sporty, and would you maybe prefer some workout clothes, and...” He pulls another two bags up from beside him. “So yeah, they spotted a complete sucker,” he says as he slides up the seat a little and places the two bags he’s grabbed and the first one he had between us.
“What’s this? What did you do, Steve?”
“Just look,” he says.
In the bags, completely full bags, are leggings, yoga pants, running shorts, athletic tops, athletic hoodies, more, there’s even a couple of sports bras. There’s a swimsuit! Sandal like flip flops for around changing rooms and pools, and what looks like a towel.
“Why did you do this? You utter, complete idiot?” I say.
“The jersey is an apology, the rest is punishment for me getting into the state I did. Like I said, that store worker saw me coming. She took advantage of my delicate condition, really.”
“You have to take these back, Steve. I can’t keep these.”
“I’m not taking them back. The receipt is in there and I paid cash, so if you want to take them back you’re getting that cash into your hand, or a gift card, and I will refuse to take either of those things off you. So keep the workout gear.”
“I really can’t, Steve. This is way too much. I’ll keep the jersey but this is hundreds of dollars worth of clothes. It’s not fair on you,” I say. “This is really good quality stuff.”
Steve pulls a flier out from where it was resting at the bottom of one of the bags. “I thought you’d say that so how about we make a deal?”
“That quickie in the bathroom thing was a joke,” I say.
“I would hope so! No, look at this,” he says, handing me a flier of an enclosed urban astroturfed area with floodlights above it. “There’s a few of these groups, running 5-aside, 6-aside and 7-aside football. Once you’re ready will you sign up to one with me? And we can play football. It’s something I’ve wanted to do, and these are mixed gender, so it shouldn’t be an issue. All casual and for fun.”
I think about it for a few seconds before speaking up. “Yes? OK,” I say. “But we’re both rubbish at soccer though, you know that.”
“We can be rubbish together. It might be fun. And after you dragged me home the other night it occurred to me I want to stay close to you, and this could be a way.”
I draw a deep breath and think about it again for a few seconds. “OK. Deal. But I want to give you a hug now.”
“I’d quite like a hug. Might make some of the women in here take an interest in me.”
I laugh. “That’s bullshit. You just want a hug.”
“True,” he says.
I wrap my arms around him and give him the strongest hug I can manage. Then as I pull away he seems more peaceful than before. Like he’s watching something far away. At which I point I notice he is. He’s watching the game. I didn’t even realise it had started.
“OK. I’m ordering breakfast. And I’m getting you your breakfast, as a thank you. OK?”
“They do wings and sweet potato fries don’t they? At this hour?”
I growl at him again. “You know full well they do. It’s what you get every time we’re here.”
I walk up to the bar counter, where most people are turned to face a TV, and wait to catch Peter’s attention. Eventually he looks at me. “Breakfast?” I ask.
“Shoot,” Peter says.
“Yeah, the Full English, some wings, whatever kind really, Steve will eat anything, and some sweet potato fries. I’ll take the shandy and one of Steve’s beers now as well, please.”
He puts the order into the till then as he’s making my drinks asks me, “How has Steve been?”
“Better, I suppose. He’s still done some dumb things,” I say.
“Like what?” Peter asks, look of disapproval on his face.
“Well, it seems like he’s bought me half an athletics store as some kind of apology. Which he didn’t need to do. He just needs to stop being a moron.”
“Half an athletics store?” Peter asks.
“Yeah, he says he was suckered, but I think he just wants to make sure I’ll still be into sports and that. He’s talking about us playing 5-aside soccer.”
Peter nods. “Would you be interested in that? The soccer?”
“I mean, sure. I’m terrible at kicking a ball though. There was no-one really playing when we were kids, and if they did play they were always way better than us after starting with proper teams when they were six years old.”
“Yeah... I’m not saying you’re old, but some of the guys here are. Of course some turn into thugs on the pitch, lovable thugs, but thugs nonetheless, but most of them are decrepit. It’s mostly about getting the heart rate up and making an attempt at being fit. If you’re really thinking about this then give me a few days? Don’t sign up to any leagues or anything yet.”
“Yeah, we hadn’t planned. I’m so busy these days I don’t know how I make time for it.”
Peter places the glasses in front of me. “That’s pretty common. Either you’re so busy, whether it’s with kids or life in general, or you’re doing nothing so doing anything seems difficult. Like I said, give me a few days. And watch the group chat. Steve is better than the last time he was in here, right, though?”
“He is. A bit judgy, but he’s also kind of flirting with me. It’s weird. I think he took it strangely that I’m kind of seeing guys now.”
Peter looks a little confused at that. Like even he’s surprised that I’m trying to date men. But that’s not actually it, I realise. “You told him that on Wednesday.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, Brandon? Or Jackson or something? Both of you need to pull it together if you can’t even remember three days ago. So be sure to eat all of your breakfast. Including the mushrooms. Get some nutrition in you. Have you been eating?”
“Badly,” I say.
Peter shakes his head. “That’s not good. It’ll come back to haunt you as you age. Now, I love the breakfasts here, and the burgers and the fries and wings, but if you start eating right, healthily, I mean, at your age, things will get a lot easier as you’re older. You don’t want to turn thirty and realise you can’t demolish a plate of pork and carbs with no consequences, rather immediate consequence.”
“What about beer?” I ask, knowing this is a man running a bar with a kitchen who’s suddenly pushing health.
He laughs. “Oh! Beer is fine. It’s a liquid. Nothing wrong with liquids. They keep you hydrated.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, giving him a look as I take the glasses back to the table.
Then it’s just watching the match, complaining about bad ref decisions, about VAR messing up video calls, and generally thinking Liverpool should really be doing better than they are doing.
As our food arrives I say to Steve, “Maybe you jinxed Liverpool by getting me the jersey? Maybe I’m the curse?” And I see my plate is absolutely crammed with food.
There’s bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs, beans, mushrooms, fries, toast on the side in a basket and there’s even some fried tomatoes.
Steve looks at my plate with what looks like lust on his face. “Damn, that looks good. And like a coronary. But no, you’ve not jinxed anything. You’re probably the luckiest person I know at the moment.”
“Me? Lucky? Why?” I ask. My life has been turmoil this past week.
“Dude, you’re figuring yourself out. Some people never manage that. And you’re more confident. You said you kissed two dudes this week. You’re getting more dick than I’m getting tits to look at. And there’s two tits to every one dick.”
This takes me aback. “I am not getting dick!” I screech.
“Yeah, sure thing. You’ll be getting pounded before halloween comes. I know girls like you. You’re all little hotties.”
“Where the fuck is this coming from, Steve?” I ask, this has all taken a rapid turn towards Steve being an ignoramus.
“Not working?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know. I wanted to try out dude talk with you, I suppose. Like we’d do when we were all, you know...”
“I’ve never talked like that,” I protest. “Like, literally never.”
“I don’t know...” Steve says.
“Come on, just eat your food, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he says, as he picks up a wing and tears into it with his teeth.
I begin on my Full English, starting with the sausage, which is nice. In fact the whole thing is nice, maybe not the beans though. They’re too sweet, like sugar has been poured into the sauce.
After a few minutes the server comes down to us. “Do you need more toast?” he asks me.
“Oh, no. Please. I don’t think I’ll even be able to finish this,” I say.
“Yeah?” Steve says. “Can I help?”
I push the plate towards him and say, “Dig in,” when he wraps and an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in in a squeeze. Then he’s destroying what’s left of my food.
“These beans are good,” he says. “Why didn’t you eat them?”
“They’re pure sugar!” I say.
“Yeah. Like I said, they’re good. Really good.”
“And now you’re fed are you less grumpy? And less weird?” I ask as the second half kicks off, with it still being a goalless tie.
“I don’t know, what would we normally talk about?” he asks.
“We’d just watch the game,” I say. And it’s true. We’d eat, and have a few beers, and watch the game, and I’d go home after and look at funny websites and waste my weekend. “I don’t know, Steve. Is this hard for you?”
“No!” Steve says, but I’m not sure I believe him. “I mean you’re different.”
“In what way?” I ask.
Steve turns around from his straight on view of the TV. “Dude, you’re a girl. That’s pretty different.”
“I’m not really. For all your talk of getting pounded that’s not really possible. I’m not an actual girl,” I say, and I’m thinking to myself Unfortunately.
Steve laughs. “I’m not going to explain that one to you.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You’re so innocent,” he says with a laugh.
And I’m still confused. Then it dawns on me. I’ve joked about it, and teased Steve with it, but I haven’t actually considered it. “Ew! Jesus, Steve. No! I can’t believe I’m talking to you about that. You’re not talking to me about that.”
“Your boyfriend will want to do it. You’re not going to be chaste the whole time.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I say. I’ve just kissed a few, and yeah, thought about some things. But I haven’t actually done anything.
“You actually don’t know how cute you are now,” Steve says.
I’m not cute! Then I say it aloud. “I’m not cute! Steve!!”
“Oh wow, now you’re getting pouty! You’re fucking adorable. Every predator within a hundred yards has his defilement sensors going off.” Steve is enjoying this too much. He’s completely stopped watching the match and is looking at me, broad smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Go on, stomp your feet.”
And the bar erupts in a cheer. We both look up at the TV and Liverpool have finally scored. “Come on!” Steve yells. Then he turns back to me after the replays. “You know, be careful,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“You probably don’t get this, seeing as you were never really a dude, but some of us can be really, well... Eh... I don’t know...”
“What are you saying, Steve?” I ask.
“Not everyone will be kind to you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
I nod, not really knowing what to say to that but some words somehow slip out. “OK, then look after me.”
“You wouldn’t mind that?” he says. “Me protecting you?”
“Would you want to?” I ask. “Would it not be weird?”
This time Steve does fully tear his attention away from the screen. “I’m terrified for you. I know what guys can be like. I know what some would do to you. And this is my fault. I put you in a dress. I have to look after you. It’s my responsibility. That’s kind of part of why I got you the sports clothes as well. Just normal stuff. Because you’re normal. And I wanted to dress you slutty last weekend. I didn’t know what you were. Who you were.”
“It’s not your responsibility, but I don’t mind you looking out for me,” I say, realising this has taken a turn towards the serious.
“I would go to prison for life if someone hurt you, Toni. I mean that. I really do. If they’re alive after I get through with them they’d be lucky.”
“I don’t need that, Steve. I don’t need you getting aggro.” And the thought of Steve being a rampaging barbarian destroying anyone who even looks at me flashes through my mind.
“No. You’ve already agreed to this. And anyway, you can do this for me. I’ll feel better if you let me look after you. This isn’t all about you.”
I think about that for a few seconds, not knowing what it’d actually mean. Not in reality. “OK. You can look out for me. But now I have to use the bathroom and you can’t look out for me in there.”
And soon I’m in one of the three women’s stalls sitting down to pee. I hear someone else in here and my heart rate raises. I try to assure myself that Peter said this was all OK. It’s his bar, and he seems fine with me.
I fix up my dress and leave the stall and there’s a woman looking in the mirror as she stands in front of a sink.
I go to wash my hands. She looks at me in the reflection and says, “I’m so happy for you!”
“What?” I ask, aware of my man voice in here, of all places.
“I’ve seen you in the bar a few times before. It’s good to see you being you. Are you happier?”
“Yeah. I am,” I say, a little confused.
“It’s a good sign for here as well. It means people feel safe here,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel. “You look amazing.” Then she’s gone. And I don’t know what happened.
I sit back down, next to Steve, still confused. “You’re not staying for the next game, are you?” he asks.
“No. I’m meeting Jess and Sally.”
“Good,” he says.
“What!? Do you not want me here?” I ask, still confused from my bathroom encounter but now getting indignant at Steve.
“When you were in the toilet I realised we’ve talked more than we normally do. And I haven’t been able to pay as much attention to the match. While you were doing lady things—”
“Peeing, Steve.”
“Yeah, lady things, I realised I could actually focus on the game.”
This has come as a bit of a shock, but I suppose we have talked more than usual. “It’s a good thing I’m leaving then.”
“Yeah, I love you, but you just talk and talk...”
“You love me?” I ask, with a smile.
“Like a sister!” Steve says.
I take out my phone and check to see if there’s any messages from Jess and Sally, or anyone else. There’s not, but there is something in the bar’s group chat. Peter has been talking to some people and it seems he’s thinking about setting up another 6-aside tournament, or league or something. There’s people in here interested, at least me and Steve, I guess, and he’s seeing if anyone else would be. And whether people would want a multi-week thing running on a week night, or a full day long tournament on the weekend.
From the reaction he’s gotten, already, at just 9am, it seems people are interested, and he’s run events like this before.
I turn to Steve. “That football thing you said, it might be happening sooner than you think.”
“How do you mean?” he asks.
“Peter was talking about running a tournament or league, or something, from the bar.”
Steve pulls me in in a one armed hug and grasps onto me. “Oh yes!” he says. “We’ll be banging in goals like nobodies business!”
As he’s holding me in in exuberance, I don’t know why, but I lean in closer to him. I kind of relax into him. Then his arm stays around me. For the rest of the match. Where we don’t talk but I feel him holding me. It feels good. And weirdly I’m a little turned on. Am I turned on by my best friend? Would I?!
I chase that thought from my mind and just think it’s because I’m close to him. It’s nothing weird, and I’m allowed enjoy this. He is a guy. And he said he’d protect me. And that’s kind of how I feel in his arms.
As the final whistle blows he releases me and turns to smile at me. “That was a good game,” he says. “At least after the first half.”
“Yeah, I had fun. And I’m stuffed. I won’t need to eat again today.”
“I didn’t mean that about it being good that you’re leaving. If you want to stay all day with me I’m one hundred percent fine with it. And Alan is coming later.”
A thought runs through my mind about how I’d be happy staying here with him. Even just in his arms, all day long. “No. I’ve got a nail appointment. I should leave soon.”
“No claws, please,” Steve says. “And don’t forget your stuff. It did cost me a fortune.”
“You shouldn’t have, really.”
“But I did. And now we’re going to be playing soccer.”
I stand and adjust my clothes, tugging out the wrinkles. “You can finish my shandy if you want,” I say.
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“And how about we actually do that hug this time? I enjoyed my morning.”
Steve stands and there’s a look of kindness in his eyes, a look of compassion almost. He takes me in a bear hug, almost lifting me off my feet. “This was good,” he says into my ear. “We can do this.”
And then I’m walking out of the bar towards my nail appointment, knowing things are different with Steve but it could be OK. We can do this.
Toni’s left Steve as he continues to watch soccer, and now it’s onto getting her nails and eyebrows done with Jess and Sally. After that the plan is to meet the man from yesterday in Light Avenue. Tim, the man who stole a kiss—not that Toni was objecting—at least if he shows up.
There are important questions such as Why? Will he make Toni’s heart beat faster? Is he as handsome as she remembers? And, most importantly, does he have any friends for Sally? There are other important things like having fun, and a few drinks, and just catching up with friends, but Toni’s mostly in a whirlwind continuing her busy morning.
--------------------
I’m sitting on a couch in a nail parlour, or more a beautician’s, that’s really friendly. I expected it to be intimidating, I don’t know why, or maybe overtly feminine in a way I wasn’t ready for, but everyone’s relaxed and professional. The decor is modern but welcoming, slate and exposed stone, a little bit of dark hardwood, nice lighting, low music. The couch is leather and my nails are pink.
I lift the fingers on my right hand to admire them. They’re not fake, I didn’t get any extensions, they’re my own nails but filed and shaped. I didn’t know what colour I wanted so just asked for something like my nail bed that’s already there. Basically I didn’t want them red, and couldn’t think. It was silly. I could have gone for literally any other colour and I pretty much ended up with girly pink. Not Barbie pink, but, I don’t know... I could have gone for anything!
I look around for Sally and Jess but there’s no sign of them. There’s been no sign of them since we were lead our separate ways. Them for a pedicure and me for my nails, and now I’m waiting for an eyebrow shaping thinking I can’t let that develop like my nails. I don’t know what I’d end up with.
There’s women, and a few men, flitting about. Eventually a woman approaches me with seeming purpose and says, “Toni?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Come with me,” she says. “Stairs not a problem?”
“No.”
“OK, just checking.”
She leads me into a spotlessly clean room, small, not quite clinical but it looks like it has the same style of examination bed you’d find in a doctor’s office. She closes the door behind me and instructs me to sit up on the bed, which I do.
“What can I do for your eyebrows?” she asks, smiling. It’s not a teeth-filled smile, just pleasant and warm.
I think for a second or two and finally pipe up, “I’m not sure how to describe it? Subtle. I suppose. Tidy. Nothing obvious. Clean. Professional.”
“Stuffy office?” she asks.
“How do you mean?” I say.
“Like your nails? For a stuffy, well, conservative office... Your nails are beautiful, don’t get me wrong, I’d wear them myself, but the women I’ve seen with that shade asking for ‘professional’ eyebrows usually have really conservative jobs or workplaces. Places that just about tolerate painted nails. Places that hate to be reminded women exist as women, especially talented, working women.”
“Yeah, like that,” I say. “I mean I’m not out at the office and have to go back to boy mode so I don’t want anything that’d be...”
She nods and clicks her tongue. “Do you have polish remover? I’m guessing the colour is coming off Sunday night if that’s the case. If you need it I can give you some little packaged pre-soaked pads that’ll take the polish right off.”
I’m not too sure what to think of this, or this woman. She’s just so incredibly professional. She hasn’t missed a beat in anything I’ve said, hasn’t seemed worried about anything I’ve said, and genuinely seems to care, at least quietly. “I have some already, but thank you very much.”
“OK, let me get a look at your face,” she says. I’m not sure how she would do that any more than what she’s already done, but I look her in the eye and she nods at seemingly the exact same moment. “Have you been drinking?”
“Two shandies,” I say. “Is that bad?”
“Shandies are Radler’s, right?” I nod. “We can mange. Try not to drink before any waxing or electrolysis or anything like that. And no painkillers unless you’ve had some sessions before, in here, and asked us about it. Your friends are having some prosecco while they get their pedicures and if they’re not finished by the time we are, and they won’t be, you can have a glass too. OK, lie back.”
I do lie back, keeping my legs together as she busies herself at a little table by my head. She soon has a small wooden stick and is applying a hot liquid to my eyebrow in what seems an extremely casual manner.
“Will this hurt?” I ask.
She presses something on top of the wax and rips it off, and repeating it all again. “You tell me,” she says.
“Yeah, OK,” I say, acquiescing, as she’s pressing more wax on the other eyebrow and has it ripped it off in flash.
A few movements later it’s, “All done. Did it hurt?”
“I don’t think it matters any more,” I say, reaching up, then stopping myself from touching my eyebrows, or what’s left of them.
“It might feel and be a little puffy for a while. No makeup there when it’s like that, gentle washing if it’s tender. If you have a reaction to the wax or the process of waxing give us a phone call or email. That is extremely unlikely. Literally no-one I’ve personally waxed since I’ve been here has had a reaction. We’ll tell you what to do if the really unlikely does happen, but even if that happens it’s even more unlikely again to have serious, long lasting effects.”
I’m sitting up again, surprised this is all done with already, when she asks,“All happy?” I nod. “Want to see?” I nod again. And she holds a mirror up for me to look at myself.
I can’t be fully sure what she’s done but my eyebrows suit my face more now, somehow, my female face, without looking any different. Not that I can see. Like they were designed for me rather than simply growing on me. But the only reason I really notice is because they’re a little tender now, or kind of damp-feeling around them. “That’s perfect,” I say.
“I like you,” the woman says. “Right, do you want to ask questions here in private or do you want to do it downstairs on one of the couches with something to drink?”
“Downstairs is fine, but I’d don’t know if I want to drink,” I say, my mind back on the empty, distant feeling I had before I met Steve this morning. Thinking of how this means I feel normal, with nothing to worry about.
I stand and fix my dress, then she holds the door open for me and we’re both walking down the stairs to the area at the front of the salon. It’s barely taken minutes to get this done.
She pauses for a few seconds to talk to one of the receptionists as I hover around the couches then she’s walking back with a tall champagne flute filled with what I assume is prosecco. “You don’t have to drink and I can get you a coffee or orange juice if you’d prefer, but it’ll do the image of this place good for some of the old dipsos to see other people with a glass. Go, on sit down.”
I do sit down, when she hands me the glass and sits down next to me. “I think one of my friends is a young dipso,” I admit.
“There’s no judgment here. As long as you had a pleasant, relaxing time. And to be honest if I wasn’t working I’d be drinking. It is the weekend.”
I take a tiny sip of the prosecco, which is nice, uncross my legs and lean forward to place it on the table. “It was pleasant,” I say. “Not what I expected.”
“In what way?” she asks.
“I guess because it was so calm.”
She smiles a big smile and says, “I’m glad. If you ever walk into anything beauty treatment related and you don’t feel calm immediately turn around and walk out. They’re no good at what they do and could actually cause damage, especially if they’re doing more than nails. Now... Questions...”
I didn’t think I had questions, but now I know I do. I’m quickly asking this woman about all manner of procedures, and especially about electrolysis. It’s easy and she explains it all simply but not without detail. I even notice I have the glass of prosecco in my hand, and it’s actually half gone without me being seemingly aware of it.
We’re talking about classic pop music, literally nothing beauty related, when she stands and says, “Your friends are back.”
I stand too and the woman asks Sally and Jess, “Enjoy yourself, ladies?”
Sally says, “As always, Althea. It was a joy.”
“Thanks for bringing Toni here,” she says, before turning to me. “Please ask for me when you’re booking in the future. I’ll get us one of the rooms with its own speakers and we’ll have a party.”
I smile and nod. Althea asks if we’re paying individually, which we do with the receptionist and I add what I hope is a very nice tip to what I pay, which really isn’t that huge a price. Not compared to the pedicures Sally and Jess had.
The receptionist gives us our coats and purses, and me my bags from the athletics store filled with the clothes Steve brought me this morning, and we’re soon walking outside, on the way to Light Avenue in the sunlight.
“What was that about?” Sally asks.
“What was what about?” I say.
“The party and speakers thing with Althea?” Sally asks, as we amble down the street, me feeling a little cosy with the prosecco.
“Oh! We were talking about classic pop and I mentioned some girl-bands from the 90s from Britain she might like. I think Althea was talking about putting them on when I get my beard electrocuted,” I say, rubbing at what is my shaved but still obviously male—by the stubble to the touch—face.
Sally rolls her eyes and raises her palms to the sky, as we keep walking. “I fucking hate you, Toni. I really do. You are absolutely disgusting. Everyone loves you the instant they set eyes on you. It’s ridiculous.”
I shake my head at Sally’s outburst, which I know is mostly joking. Mostly. “It’s just because I’m getting my beard zapped, which will be in a private room. And I’ll be spending money. I’m sure she’d do the same for you if you had a goatee and wanted to spend a lot to get rid of it.”
“You’re both idiots,” Jess says. “Toni is adorable and cute, and yet to discover her inner bitch—”
“Except with us,” Sally says.
“Except with us,” Jess says. “And she will, eventually... And Toni, you barely have any beard, no-one’s making their riches off you. People just like you.”
“I can be a bitch!” I say, and I swear I feel what feels like my boobs—which I don’t have, just fake plastic things in my bra—bounce as I say it. Both Sally and Jess break into little evil laughs.
My freshly shaped eyebrows furrow and I bump into Jess’s shoulder, stumbling a little from annoyance. “Alright! Fine! Where the fuck are your toes!? Neither of you are wearing sandals and I can’t see your toes. I didn’t know you could just wear regular shoes.”
Sally laughs again and says, “You’re right, sorry Jess. She is adorable. Now come on, fill us in on this man you’re meeting in Light Avenue, and any friends he might have.”
“You two really do do everything in your power to bring out my bitch,” I say. They nod small nods and smile small smiles, then I describe Tim, and what we did, without going into too much detail about how ridiculously hot he is.
We arrive to Light Avenue with me filled with nerves after Sally and Jess asked me non-stop questions about Tim, especially with my trying to avoid precise details about the thrift store he brought me to, something I think I actually got away with. Jess is showing no interest in it. All the clothes for me, I guess!
“Right!” Sally says, standing inside the Light Avenue front doors. “It’s no longer your birthday weekend. You’re not a new woman needing special treatment and welcoming to the feminine world any more, you’re a regular old boring woman who can get us drinks as a thank you for being so kind to you when you were Bambi.”
Jess slaps Sally on the arm and says, “That’s it! Like a little fawn!”
“Yeah, disgusting,” Sally says, before telling me what drinks to get them as they go find seats.
Jackson is standing behind the bar as I move up to place my order. “Hello, gorgeous!” he says, with the smile I remember from when he first started chatting me up during the week. It does nothing for my nerves over meeting Tim but I force a smile back. “What can I get you?”
I tell him Sally’s cocktail and Jess’s white wine and then hum and haw about what I want for myself before finally asking for a whiskey.
“Gut-rot or good?” Jackson asks. “Not that anything we serve is actually gut-rot, you just look nervous about something. Cowboy settling their nerves before the shoot-out kind of thing.”
“Both?” I say. “One of each.”
“OK, what is it? Is it me?” he asks.
“No,” I say, but I feel the tremors in my voice.
“Is it the boy you’re meeting?” he asks, smiling again.
“How did you know?”.
“Steph said you met some guy and if you ended up dating your names would sound goofy.” And Jackson is laughing now, seemingly taking joy in my doubt.
“Tim...” I say. And he laughs again, as he’s mixing Sally’s cocktail.
“Why are you worried?” Jackson asks.
“Yeah...” I sigh. “I suppose... He might not even show. He’s really hot. Like, extremely hot. He’ll have come to his senses after he left me last night.”
Jackson is shaking a shaker when he says, “Yeah, only ugly men want to date you, or have kissed you.”
It dawns on me what he means. Jackson, my first kiss. “I’m sorry, Jackson. You’re really hot, I mean that. But, you know... He seems, well, not...”
Jackson places the filled cocktail glass on the counter and begins preparing the wine. “Yes. I do know what you mean, unfortunately for us. But you really are quite attractive if you have no issue with the whole...”
“Yeah...”
“It won’t always be like that,” Jackson says. “Just enjoy someone liking you. Have fun. Don’t worry.” I nod, still nervous but now not feeling my mind vibrating out of my head. “So... gut-rot or good?”
“Still both,” I say.
“Wow, I’ll have to see him for myself. He must be exceptionally hot.” As he says that my eyes open wide remembering Tim as an absolute Adonis. Maybe I’m just building him up in my memory? He’s hot but not catwalk hot. Just hot for someone like me. Real women will have had way better looking men all the time.
Jackson places the cheap whiskey in front of me and I knock it back. Wiping my mouth I say,“I don’t even know what a good whiskey is, or how much it costs, I just know the stuff I had with Trevor was lovely.”
“If Trevor was drinking it it costs more than you want to spend, believe me. In fact we might not even sell it, it could be from him and Steph’s personal stash. But for you? Is $20-ish OK? It’ll get you something really good.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, and soon Jackson is back down with a nice glass with a brown liquid in it. “What is it?”
“Scottish. You won’t remember the name. If you like it message me later and I’ll let you know. But either way message me with how Toni and Tim got on.”
I frown at him. “You gossip more than me.”
“Do you want help carrying the drinks down? I see you have bags. And I want to say Hi to Sally and Jess.”
“And you want to see where we’re sitting so you can watch if Tim arrives,” I say.
“You’re almost as smart as you are pretty,” Jackson says.
After he gets out from behind the counter, picks up the drinks, and begins to help me find where Sally and Jess are sitting I walk with him wondering why everyone but me is such a bitch. Even the men.
Eventually we find Sally and Jess in one of the recessed areas on the opposite side to where the long bar is, and Jackson sets the drinks down and helps me settle as he says hello to the two of them.
“Are you going to go look if he’s here?” Jess asks.
“No!” I say. “I don’t know if he’s even coming. And if he wants to find me he can look for me.”
“Determined woman,” Jackson says. “Let me know how it goes, Toni.” Then he’s gone and I’m taking a sip on the very, very nice whisky.
“So you met Steve for a soccer match,” Jess says. “And got your nails and eyebrows done. Now you’re waiting on a man, in the middle of all that you went shopping, and it’s not even lunch time. Did you take up meth during the week?”
I look towards the athletics store bags set beside me and get ready to tell the story. “Well...” I say. “Steve is a moron. He wanted to apologise for last Friday and getting me into this whole mess with me in dresses now, and he was drinking and hungover and was guilted into a big apology gift by some store workers.”
Sally nods and Jess picks up one of the bags, seemingly asking for permission, to which I shrug, then she’s pulling the athletic-wear out of the bags before passing the individual items to Sally. She gets to the bathing suit when Sally laughs and Jess says, “Do we tell her?”
“I think we did,” Sally says.
“Well, yeah. Last Friday. But I don’t think she actually took much in that night what with the whole, ‘Oh deary me, I am actually an interesting woman and not a boring old boy,’ thing going on front and center.”
“We’ve told her at other points. We have to have,” Sally says. “We definitely did!”
“I don’t think she knows, or accepts it, maybe,” Jess says.
“It might upset her,” Sally says.
“When have you worried about upsetting her if it’s actually a benefit in the long term?”
Sally shrugs and says to Jess, “You or me?” As I feel a headache coming on waiting for another of their torment sessions.
Jess leans forward, and says in a tone I haven’t really heard before, “Steve likes you.”
“I like him too,” I say, honestly.
“Yes...” Sally says.
“He really likes you,” Jess says, holding up the bathing suit.
“I believe the playground term is, ‘he like-likes you,’” Sally says. “And wouldn’t mind if you gave him cooties.”
“Oh please!” I say, with a scoff.
“OK, we’re dealing with Hollywood here, but the idea is the same. Two friends, male and female. Lifelong friends. The girl is kind of quiet and reserved but gets a makeover turning her into a hottie—”
“Stop saying stuff like,” I say. “I know you want me to be confident and to appreciate myself but I am far from a hottie.” I’m really getting annoyed at this now.
Jess, in the same serious voice says, “No. You’re not a hottie. You are not a drop dead gorgeous, California sun, butt-splitting bikini, big boobed babe. None of us are. But you are attractive in your own way, really. A woman some men and some women will find very appealing. Then they’ll get to know you and find out you’re a lovely, kind person and that attraction will grow. Add the Bambi thing you have going, for the moment at least, where they want to protect you, and they will be thinking thoughts about you. And some will approach you. You’re literally sitting here now with a high chance a man, who you kissed last night, will be coming here googly eyed wanting to see you again.”
I think about all this but my mind doesn’t seem to be telling me anything other than Steve did say he wanted to protect me. To stop that thought I blurt out, “Me and Steve are just friends and will always be friends, at least if he stops being a moron so often.”
Sally is halfway through her cocktail and says, “Was he being a moron this morning?”
“Yeah, of course. He’s been a moron ever since last Friday. It was just more comfortable and fun this morning.”
“Like last Friday when he was flirting with you and you were with him?”
“He was being mean to me then!”
“Because he’s confused and wide-eyed for you, you stupid woman!” Sally says.
“Don’t call me a stupid fucking woman, you bitch!” I half shout at Sally.
Sally looks shocked, blinks twice, leaning back, then says, “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” And I feel myself calm down a little if not my thumping heart.
“As people with more experience in this can you accept we might be right?” Jess says.
“OK. Fine, but I’m not certain you are. I’ll simply leave the possibility open,” I say, and now I want another shot of Jackson’s gut-rot. “Can I have a taste of your cocktail, Sally?”
“Of course you can, my love,” Sally says, still with hesitancy in her voice, as she picks it up and places it front of me. I’m taking a sip of it when she says, “And did you and Steve flirt this morning?”
“You’re unreal, Sally,” Jess says. “Fucking hell, no wonder everyone hates you.”
“The right people love me,” Sally says. “Like Toni.”
I hold Sally’s glass in front of me and say, “Yes. I do love you. And I’m sorry I screamed, this is just weird. Steve doesn’t like-like me we just know each other a long time. And I’ll answer that question but if I answer you’re not getting your cocktail back. I’m finishing it myself.”
“Deal,” Sally says.
“Yes. We kind of flirted but only jokingly,” I say, as I take another sip of Sally’s, now my, cocktail.
“That’s the cheapest victory I ever got,” Sally says.
“And they were only wrestling like they did when they were kids, and it was only the steamiest moment of their lives together when Toni lay atop Steve, having beaten him in hand to hand combat, and felt the incredible sexual tension between them reach the edge of a crescendo impossible to forget before flying away to her room to look at pictures of them as children when they were best friends. Wondering if the two of them could ever recover from the realisation each other was the most attractive person they’ve ever known in their lives, and only one form of intimacy, never before considered, but now unable to be ignored, was left unexplored,” Jess says.
I sit back on the couch and take a deep breath.
“Sorry, Toni,” Jess says. “At least you know now.”
“I would never get away with something like that,” Sally says.
“Yeah, because you’re a bitch no-one likes.”
Sally purses her lips and says, “Well, yes, but aside from that...”
“I’m sorry, both of you. I’m sorry for calling you—”
“It’s fine, Toni. Really,” Sally says.
I nod and feel tiny while asking, “OK. What do I do now?”
“What do you want to do?” Sally asks.
“Well, if he likes me and it seems I like him. It just makes sense to—”
“No! Toni! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s what we’ve been saying all along. Just be aware of your thinking. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have to get married. There’s no such thing as ‘soul-mates.’ If you want Steve as a friend who you have the hots for but don’t do anything with that’s fine. Just know that’s what it is. And know Steve might end up being a bit weird at points. Unless you’re Sally in which case you’ll use him up and then be rid of him as soon as the fun is over.”
Sally laughs. “You know me so well, Jess.”
“OK. I don’t have to do anything. I can just let it fester.”
“You can do anything you want, Toni, that’s the point. It’s your choice. What did you do last Saturday, your birthday?” Jess asks.
“I came here,” I say, confused.
“That morning. With me, I mean?” Jess asks.
“You gave me some clothes and I walked home. And I’m sorry, I forgot. I still have your yellow suitcase,” I say, feeling bad for not returning it yet. “I can get you the clothes back as well. I don’t really need them any more.”
“That’s my point,” Jess says. “What clothes did you pick out?”
“You picked out the clothes for me. They were your clothes!”
“Yes! On your instruction, it was your choice!”
I really don’t understand what Jess is trying to get at and I turn it over in my mind a few times looking for her angle. “Explain this to me, please. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“You were in my apartment. You saw all my racks. Do you not think I have loads of jeans and trainers and hoodies?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
“She doesn’t even remember what she was two weeks ago. Her life and memories seem to start last weekend. This is some powerful stuff!” Sally says.
“What?” I ask. They’re talking like aliens.
“You could have asked for a normal pair of jeans, a hoodie, and some basic trainers. You could have walked home wearing some clothes that’d have 99% of people assuming you’re a dude with good taste in fashion. Instead you asked for one of my exquisite sweater dresses, and happily put on a pair of boots and pantihose to walk home as the woman you are.”
My mind is racing thinking I could have escaped all this. That I could still be a dude. “You spent the morning telling me how glad you were to have met me, and you only met the female me, Jess. You were on the phone saying we’d be doing this again soon, and then we did go out that night, Sally.”
“Yes, because both of us knew we’d met a wonderful, if somehow even still in denial despite all the evidence, woman, who we’d be friends with for a long time. At least if doctors don’t discover she doesn’t actually have a brain and whisk her away to a secret military base to be studied and tested on for the rest of her life,” Sally says.
“No!” I moan.
“Yes. And would you change it? I’m sure some dude is gonna turn up in the next hour or two and you’ll at the very least be kissing him before the night is out,” Sally continues.
“This isn’t my fault!” I say.
“No,” Jess says. “You are who you are. You didn’t choose that. And it’ll probably be very tough for you at various points. But you did choose to embrace who you are, once given the choice.”
“I want to cry,” I say, which I know is a lie.
“No you don’t, you’re having the time of your life. And even more importantly you’re hot. Which is quite literally the most important thing on the planet,” Sally says.
“I’m attractive to some people, not hot,” I say.
“That’s a bit of progress,” Jess says.
“Now be quiet and sip your girly cocktail you chose to try to con out of me which resulted in a wonderful realisation for you,” Sally says.
“Cocktails aren’t girly,” I say. “That’s an unfair stereotype.”
“Does the woman who pouted when she said that want to get into a debate about who’s the most girly person sitting at this table?”
I look at them wearing jeans and tops, and down at myself wearing a dress and clompy Mary Janes and decide not to push it, but quietly say, “Yeah, but I have a dick and neither of you do.”
“It’s a really girly dick, though,” Sally says.
“Yeah, it is. We’ve both seen it,” Jess says.
“Just say you hate us, again. You say it often. It only hurts our feelings a little and you’ll feel a bit better.”
“I’m gonna go find Trevor and see if I can store away these bags,” I say.
“And you can get us more drinks,” Sally says.
“Get your own!” I say, walking away with the bags.
I’m up at the bar again and Jackson looks at me. “Is Trevor around?” I ask.
“He is, but he’s busy. Said don’t interrupt him unless it’s important.”
“Steph? Head of security? Duty manager?” I say.
“If you want to go upstairs just go. Telling me is fine, what we me being allowed up there. Someone’s up there as well, I think,” he says.
And soon I’m walking into Trevor’s room, where I smell cigarette smoke. Natasha is sitting, reading as usual, this time in jeans and a strappy top, not a ridiculous candle shop outfit. “Are you allowed smoke in here?”
“Well hello, Toni. It’s nice to see you. How are you? Is a normal kind of greeting.”
“Sorry, Natasha. How are you?”
She puts her book down. “Good, yeah. Went for a walk. Wanted to read in a café. Ended up here, as is the way.”
“Will you come downstairs and join me with my friends?” I ask, as I store my bags in one of the curtained areas.
“And be social? You know me. Why would I do that?” she asks, face curled in disgust.
“Please!” I plead. “It’d mean a lot to me and I know you actually like me, or at least tolerate me. I need some support because my friends are being horrible bitches.”
“They’re not nice like you? How mean are they being to you?” she asks, interest in her tone.
“Awful! Like, they mean well but they torment me,” I say.
“Well yes, definitely then! I don’t want to make you cry but if I can learn how to torture you without you actually dying, then absolutely. Lead the way!”
“I knew you were nice!” I say, with a smile, while wondering who’s really playing who?
As I get back towards our table with Natasha I see Trevor is standing by the table talking to Jess. “I’m already being punished for this decision,” Natasha says.
“No going back now,” I say to Natasha.
Trevor steps back as he hears our footsteps and I introduce Natasha to Sally and Jess, while I blindly reach a hand back, which Trevor takes, and I give his a squeeze.
“I’ve heard you’re being mean to Toni,” Natasha says.
“Did she really tell you that?” Sally asks, her voice raised a few octaves.
“I want to learn from you!” Natasha says. “I’m afraid I’ll make her cry and then she’d be even more annoying.”
Sally nods assuredly, placated, and smiles. “I like Natasha more than you, Toni. You can go away now.”
“I’m already learning!” Natasha says, with a big smile, and it’s the first time I’ve really seen her, well, joyful.
“Sit down between us, Natasha,” Jess says. “Toni has some boy visiting her soon.”
“Oh for fuck... You didn’t tell me that, Toni. You really are the worst,” Natasha says, but she still sits down on the couch between Jess and Sally.
I sit myself down, solo, on my own big couch and say to Trevor, “Hi, Trevor. How are you?”
Trevor shuffles forward again and says to me, “You have a gentleman caller and his friend waiting for you. Would you like me to direct them here?” I see both Sally and Natasha roll their eyes and Trevor and Jess share a smile.
“What’s he like, in your opinion?” I ask.
“I couldn’t tell you. I simply overheard him speak to his friend about a beautiful woman named Toni, while I was making my rounds, and after a brief conversation to confirm who he meant I said I’d let him know if I saw you, and for him and his friend to sit and enjoy their coffees in the smoking area.”
“Is he polite?” I ask Trevor.
“He seems quite polite from what I could tell,” Trevor says with a smile. Natasha and Sally are whispering away to each other so don’t notice when Jess gives me a look of approval.
“If you’d tell him where we are I’d appreciate it,” I say to Trevor, and I mouth Thank you at him
As Trevor walks away I feel my stomach constrict, but it relaxes again when I looked towards Jess who seems to have shock on her face. “I have never, ever heard Trevor describe a man as ‘quite polite,’” she says.
“It could be because Trevor is a senile old bore who saw someone under the age of 60 use a handkerchief and he felt young and lively again,” Sally says. Which she and Natasha share a laugh over, but me and Jess share a different kind of laugh over it. Then I sit, and wait, for Tim.
Sally, Jess and Natasha are chatting away, getting along like a house on fire, which I’m glad of, but I still I sit feeling myself fold into a ball until I hear a voice say, “Hi, Toni.”
I quickly stand and rush out between the table and the couch towards Tim where I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, feeling him hold me tight. As I pull away I feel myself blush, but it’s OK because Tim is blushing too.
Sally says, “Fuck!” and I hear both Jess and Natasha cough.
I ignore it and say to Tim, “I’m so glad you showed up,” and he’s said something too but I don’t hear it. “Sorry,” I say. And I actually hear him say Sorry too. And we laugh.
“Can you get me a beer now, please, Tim?” Tim’s friend asks.
“Yeah, of course. Sandwich too?” Tim’s friend checks his watch and nods, while Tim makes a circular stirring motion with his finger towards the table and his friend nods again. “Will you have a drink, Toni?”
“A shandy, please?”
“Anyone else?” Tim asks.
“House red,” Sally says.
Both Natasha and Jess shake their heads.
“If you’re being polite there’s really no need. I am more than happy to get drinks for you. And if you don’t want anything there’s no pressure, even if you want to come up and get your own drink yourself, with your own money, I won’t be offended.”
Natasha squints at Tim, as if to get a read on him, and says, “OK, thank you. Whiskey and coke, please.”
“I’m really fine,” Jess says. Tim gives me another look before he’s gone to the bar, while his friend is away dragging an armchair towards the end of our table.
I look around at my friends I see them all looking at me, in silence. “What!?”
“If you can’t see this...” Sally says.
“Is she always like this?” Natasha asks.
“This is a new depth, or height. It’s a new extreme, whatever it is,” Sally says.
“I think it’s nice,” Jess says. “It’s romantic.”
“What is?” I ask
“I want to smack her with a crowbar,” Natasha says. And there’s a round of Mmhmms.
Tim’s friend has the armchair in place and is sitting down, with the whole table quiet. He speaks up, “You were talking about how hot he is, weren’t you?”
Sally opens her eyes wide and turns to him, head tilted, “You’re no slouch yourself, my man.”
“Thanks, and you’re right, I try, but compared to Tim? You could compare literally anyone to him and they’d lose.”
I hear three Yeahs from the opposite couch. “What’s worse is he doesn’t know,” Tim’s friend says.
“How does he not know?” Sally asks.
“Because he’s an idiot,” Tim’s friend says.
“Toni is too, so they might be good for each other,” Natasha says. Sally and Jess both laugh, with Jess bumping her shoulder into Natasha who then laughs too.
“What do you mean?” Tim’s friend asks.
“She doesn’t know either,” Jess says.
“Know what?” I ask, but this time I’m not annoyed. I think I’m resigned to this.
“That explains it,” Tim’s friend says. “Why we were here from before the bar opened and would have been here until closing if she didn’t come, and then again tomorrow in case he mixed the days up. She treated him normally. And what’s worse is he’s not stupid, he’s just an idiot.”
“Toni’s the same.”
“Thanks for the help, Jackson,” Tim says, arriving back down with the drinks.
“No problem,” Jackson says, with a smile.
“You came down for a look too?” Jess asks.
“This is special moment,” Jackson says.
“You knew what a shandy is, Jackson?”
Jackson nods, “Of course. I knew it’d be for you too, Toni. And I understand why you were nervous earlier.” I smile at Jackson who turns to Tim and says, “We’ll have the sandwich down the second it’s ready, don’t worry. It won’t be kept on the counter.”
“Thanks, Jackson,” Tim says.
“And I hope it helps, Mouse,” Jackson says, turning to Tim’s friend, who thanks him too and passes some paper currency to him.
“Mouse?” Jess asks.
“Long story,” Tim’s friend, Mouse, says. “Keep it for the second date?”
“Sure,” Jess says.
“We haven’t done proper introductions,” I say, and go around the table letting everyone know who everyone else is.
Tim sits down next to me, and I see him smiling, and of course I’m smiling too but everyone else is quiet.
“What now?” Natasha asks.
“It’s never gotten this far,” Mouse says. “Literally never, just normal people sitting around. It’s weird, but this is a different flavour of weird to usual. Either way, the two idiots need to talk, sorry Toni. Well, my idiot wants to talk to her, at least.”
“Thanks, Mouse. That’s really helpful,” Tim says.
Mouse puts both hands to his temples and says, “You haven’t shut up about this since you got home last night. Please say what I know you’ve been practising over and over, because you’ve been practising on me.”
Natasha says, “This is getting spicy,” and Jess and Sally laugh before Mouse says, “As spicy as milk,” but Tim has turned to me and reached for my hands. I feel like I should turn to face him so I lift my legs half onto the couch cushion where we’re both looking straight at each other, square on each other.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried, but not that this is some trick. Unlike the other times I was worried since last Friday this time I’m worried for someone else, for someone who I really believe likes me and wouldn’t want to fool me.
“I really like you,” Tim says.
“I know,” I say. “I like you too. I was worried you wouldn’t turn up. Then you hugged me and it was OK.”
“Let me go on, please,” he says, so I nod. “I acted like an asshole yesterday. Like a teenage asshole. It was all bravado and macho, and not me at all.”
“You took me shopping, how is that macho? That’s the opposite of macho.”
“Talking about ‘the things I’d do to you’ it was wrong.”
“It made me feel sexy! I liked it. And I would have let you, if I’m being honest.”
“And that sneaking a kiss, after I walked you home? I haven’t done that since I was a desperate 15 year old no girl would touch. And it wasn’t some impulse thing. I thought about it and planned it.”
I hear someone snort but I’m not sure which of my three it is. “I enjoyed that,” I say. “I fell asleep to that kiss a few hours later.”
“It’s not who I am. I don’t want to be like that. It was cheap,” he says.
“I...” I begin to say, but I can’t really say what I’m feeling. So I move towards him, pulling his hands towards me. Despite his face not coming closer within a moment I’m kissing him. And I keep kissing him, and he’s kissing me. We’re not ‘wrestling tongues’ I simply feel his lips on mine and it’s perfect.
I don’t know how long we’re still for, or how long everything is still around me, and I don’t know which of us stop the kiss but at some point we are stopped. I don’t think either of us stopped it, it just ended. And everything is fine. And I am incredibly turned on but in no way horny.
“That was really boring until the end but she just about rescued it,” Natasha says.
“I like you much more than I like Toni,” Sally says to Natasha.
“You’re stuck with me now, Sally. Sorry,” I say, happy.
“Yeah, it’s my fault. I made the mistake in the first place,” Sally says.
I turn around to Tim and say, “Do you like my dress?”
“It’s the one you bought yesterday? It’s really nice on you,” he says, with a smile.
“You can say I look sexy!”
“I would do very polite things to you,” Tim says, and I laugh.
“Let’s keep that talk for the bedroom,” I say, and we both laugh.
“They’re two idiots perfect for each,” Mouse says, and he’s reaching for the rest of his sandwich. The sandwich I hadn’t seen arrive.
“How’s the food?” Tim asks, noticing it too.
“Yeah, good. Up there. I would return. Now let me finish it.”
“I have to pee,” I say. “Excuse me, Tim.”
“I’m going too,” Sally says. “Jess? Natasha?”
Jess shakes her head and Natasha says, “You could not pay me enough!”
“Tim?”
“I’m not too sure I’d be very welcome in the Ladies,” he says.
“Try it some time, Tim, you might be surprised... Mouse?” Sally asks.
“If I was finished my sandwich,” he says.
“We can wait, Mouse,” Sally says.
“I need to digest after I finish. I don’t want Toni to burst.”
“Another time?” Sally asks.
“With you? Yeah, definitely,” Mouse says.
“You’re such a sweetheart, Mouse,” Sally says. “Now c’mon Toni. You desperately need to pee.” And I do, so I speedwalk to the bathroom, and then I rush into the stall and close the door ripping down my underwear as I sit and let flow.
And while it flows Sally is talking to me. But I can’t answer. If someone else is in here they’ll hear a man voice and they won’t be able to see I’m not a man rather a man in a dress which is kind of more acceptable. After I wipe and put myself away, flush and leave the stall, I explain all this to Sally, who doesn’t seem to complain about my fretting.
She does say, “Turn around.” Which I do, and I feel her tug at the back of me. “Rookie error.”
“What?” I ask.
“Dress tucked into your pantihose. Or your panties. Or thong. Or very sexy thong that would get any man foaming at the mouth. I’m sorry,” she says. Then, “Oh my god, you’re such a sexy little whore!”
I’m wondering what she’s sorry about so less concerned about my ‘rookie error’ than I imagine I would be otherwise. “What are you sorry about?” I ask.
“For giving you a hard time earlier. I don’t think any of us realised how much you like Tim, or how nervous you were about him coming.”
“I’m not sure I realised how I nervous I was either,” I say. “I was too busy doing things this morning. Having fun. And yeah, I thought about our kiss a lot, at least last night. But when I finally saw him I almost exploded.”
“When you two hugged? After you jumped out of your seat like a NASA rocket?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling small and actually really cute for once.
“Yeah, that was adorable,” Sally says, and I feel like she sees me. Then me and Sally are hugging, and the bathroom door opens.
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you two want a minute?” the woman asks.
“No, it’s OK,” Sally says. “Come in. All of us just didn’t realise how nervous Toni was about meeting a boy.”
“That boy?” the woman asks.
Sally nods.
“I wouldn’t blame any woman on the planet for being nervous about meeting that,” the woman says.
“She doesn’t realise quite how hot ‘that’ is. She knows he’s hot, but not how much,” Sally says to the woman. “She thinks he’s nice.”
“That’s a novel approach. Treating men like people? I’m not sure it’ll catch on,” the woman says.
“It’s working for Toni,” Sally says. “Maybe she’s figured something out?”
“Too revolutionary for me. I’m quite conservative in my outlook,” the woman says.
“Anyway, Toni, do you want make a bet about your new favourite man?”
“Tim, isn’t my favourite man,” I say. “I’d rate Big-G and Steve higher, for now. Tim just makes me feel good with myself.”
The woman who seemingly came here to pee, or something, seems to have forgotten about whatever need she had and is now saying, “How many men has she on the go?” Eyebrows raised and staring at me, aghast. At least I think it’s aghast.
“She considers them ‘friends!’” Sally says. “Possibly even equals!”
“Are you sure she’s a woman?” the woman asks. “Do we need to burn her at the stake?”
“We checked her panties and everything. A vagina that could make God weep,” Sally says, sneering.
“Perfect strange, the answer is always so simple,” the woman says. “Anyway, this bet?”
“Yeah... Bet? Toni?” Sally says.
“No! Betting got me into this mess. No bet. No way. Not a hope!” I say.
“It’s win/win. No matter what happens you win.”
“Then why would you make this bet?” I ask.
“Because I want you to acknowledge my insight and genius,” Sally says. I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, no. So just tell me, what’s the bet? You can still crow at me you won if you actually do get it right. A moral victory,” I say.
Sally cackles. And so does the other women. “That’s almost as good,” Sally says. “I was going to bet that you spend tonight in Tim’s bed.”
I laugh. “Yeah, not going to happen. What were the stakes?”
“I win I pick your Halloween costume, you win you pick mine.”
“This is why I don’t bet,” I say. “What would the costume have been?”
“You can still make the bet and find out tomorrow morning.”
“Nope,” I say.
“If I ‘lost’ that bet I wouldn’t be getting out of that bed tomorrow morning. Or ever. And I don’t like saying it but I’m Gold Star,” the woman says.
“Girlfriend? Partner?” Sally asks.
“We’re getting married just before Christmas, winter wedding, both of us always wanted one. Hopefully it snows right after everyone arrives.”
“Ooh! That’d be beautiful. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Anyway I’d better pee, then tell no-one about this conversation because no-one would believe it isn’t exaggeration.”
“Not even your fiancée?” Sally asks.
“Borderline...” the woman says, looking doubtful.
“I hope the wedding is amazing, snow or not,” Sally says. “You done, Toni?”
“Yeah,” I say, my hands now dry and following Sally out. “What’s does Gold Star mean?”
“She did very well in school,” Sally says.
When we arrive back at the table Sally says, “Sorry, Toni fell in.” But no-one is paying attention, they’re all eating from what looks like a table full of food. It’s all side-dishes and nibbles, and there’s barely space for the drinks.
“Who got this?” Sally asks.
“Mouse,” Natasha says. “Tim ordered when he was at the bar.”
“I like people to be fed,” Mouse says. “I’ll buy drinks and all that but if you want to make me happy you’ll eat at least some of the food I ordered.”
“Thank you, Mouse,” both me and Sally say.
Tim grabs me around my waist and moves me past him, between him and the table. And feeling him hold me, and move me, is heavenly. I want his hands on me forever, but he sits me down next to him and simply says, “Eat! Mouse knows when people need to eat. It’s his superpower.”
Sally has already re-taken her seat and is placing food in a napkin when I begin to pick into the bowls and plates. I remember I had a full English this morning, but that was hours ago and Steve did eat most of it, so after a few bites my stomach accepts how hungry I actually am.
Eventually most of the food has been eaten, and we’re all just sitting. I suppose feeling normal. No-one is calling anyone stupid, no-one is really drinking, everything is simply peaceful, and I want Tim to hold me.
I lean into Tim but as I do Mouse catches his attention, “Can I go home now, Tim?” he asks.
“You’re not starting preparing your dinner already?” Tim asks, and I’m starting to wonder how Mouse isn’t fat.
“No. You kept me awake all night talking about Toni, we were here first thing. I would like to go home and relax.”
“But you will start preparing dinner?” Tim asks.
“Yeah, of course. Just the basics. It is relaxing.”
“Do you think you could cook for everyone?”
“If you want Toni and her friends to come back you need to remember it is your place,” Mouse says.
“It’s your place, too, Mouse. I am asking if you would be comfortable with it and if it wouldn’t put out your dinner plans?”
Mouse growls to himself. “It’s my brother’s place, which he rents to you and you let me live in it, and how long has it been since my dinner plans have been put out?”
“I’m asking you, Mouse,” Tim says.
Mouse coughs a theatrical cough, a call-to-attention cough, stands and says. “OK, if anyone at this table is vegan will you please raise your hand? High in the air, if you will? At the request of the Commander in Chief, all round idiotically nice guy, Tim.”
I look around and see everyone else also looking around, worried.
“That was a bad start. That was my fault. If you can raise your hand and have no difficulties raising your hand could you raise your hand in the air?” High please,” Mouse says.
Everyone looks around again and within a few seconds of each other hands are raised by everyone but Tim. Who I elbow in the ribs before he looks at me and raises his arm in the air. “Thank you, Toni. I did say everyone and I know for a fact Tim has functional arms barring any catastrophic injury or stroke in the past few hours.”
“Anyone vegan?”
No arms go up.
“Vegetarian?”
No arms.
“Pescatarian?”
Nothing.
“Allergies? I don’t care about penicillin or cat dander...”
Again no arms.
“Any picky eaters?”
Now people are looking at each other.
“This is the free hit. Most people have something they’re picky about,” Mouse says. “Some people lots.”
I raise my hand a little and Mouse is on me before I’ve even really unbent my wrist, let alone my elbow. “Thank you, Toni, yes. The first honest person here... Now I’m seeing why he wouldn’t shut up about you.”
“I had English baked beans for the first time this morning, but I left most behind. They were particularly awful. Pure sugar.”
“Yes, you’re right. The sauce is almost entirely sugar, but there are some very nice, and healthy, English baked beans available. Don’t write them off completely, but I get your point.”
Natasha blurts out, without raising her hand or being called on, “I’ll eat them out of politeness, if it’s put in front of me, but I’ll be holding back gagging the whole time with most seafood.”
“Thank you, Natasha. That is not a problem,” Mouse says.
“Stinky cheese,” Jess says, things really flowing now.
“How stinky?” Mouse asks.
“I don’t know. Stinky? The cheese has a stink.” Jess says, as though people’s tolerance of stink is standardised. I think I even give a quick, involuntary sniff to see if Tim has a nice boy stink. Which he doesn’t. He smells of soap. Plain, normal soap. Which is a shame, but not the worst.
“Do we even have stinky cheese, Tim?” Mouse asks, looking curious rather than annoyed about cheese stinks.
“Just cheddar and American cheese, I think,” Tim says.
“No worries with stinky cheeses, Jess. Thank you.”
“Broccoli, and brussel sprouts,” Sally says, in a tone verging on defiance.
“There it is! I knew it! I knew it’d be you because I quite like you!” Mouse says, waving his arm in the air—finger pointed—like some mid-speech irate dictator. “I bet you don’t like cabbage either!” he says, bending down to meet Sally eye to eye, while she stays sitting ramrod straight in her seat, meeting his glare.
There’s a burst of laughter from Tim. Which makes me laugh. Then everyone is laughing, except for Sally and Mouse who are still staring at each other with big smiles on their faces. Until Sally gives Mouse a quick peck of a kiss on his laugh-stifling lips, when he does start laughing and Sally does too.
“Fine, you’ve all met the real me,” Mouse says. “Congrats, it usually takes longer than that.” And he’s still meeting Sally’s gaze.
“This is not the real Mouse, by the way. He’s usually much more charming,” Tim says.
“Shut up you, smitten idiot. Kiss your girlfriend and stop annoying real people,” Mouse says.
I feel like I could float, or literally grow boobs on the spot at the thought of being someone’s girlfriend, but Tim’s eyeballs look like they’ve retreated three inches inside his head.
I rub his thigh as though I’m doing the sternum rub thing I’ve seen in medical shows, but sexier, and needier. It does nothing so instead I try Jess’s tactic with Natasha and give him a shoulder bump, but maybe with a bigger build up than necessary. He snaps around and looks at me, surprised. “Will you please kiss me?” I ask, now I have his attention.
“You don’t have to—” and I don’t hear it with my ears, but rather through vibrations of our tongues meeting, and through my skull, Tim finishing his sentence, “—ask me twice.”
As soon as me and Tim have begun I break away for more important matters. “And what was the point of that food quiz, Mouse?” I ask, really wanting to get on with it.
“Oh, sorry, yeah. You’re all welcome to come back to me and Tim’s place. If you stick around for a few hours I’ll cook dinner for you, which you at least have to play around with on your plate and make it look respectable. I’ll even respect Sally’s weirdness.”
“You can do that?” Tim asks.
“I’ve been respecting a lot of weirdness today, Sally is annoying but easy.”
“’Annoying But Easy’ is Sally’s tramp stamp,” Jess says, and even Sally laughs.
“Anyway, please come back to our place. We have lots of drinks, you can smoke with no-one bothering you, we haven’t annoyed the neighbours in years so they can put up with us for once, it’s comfortable, it’s cheaper than here, even if you don’t like my food we have lots of nuts and snacks, and the snacks are at most a few months out of date. We’re really close by, about seven minutes walk. You lot outnumber me and Tim, so our murder is more likely than yours. And we don’t buy the cheap toilet paper.”
Natasha stands before I’ve fully taken account of Mouse’s speech and says, “The seven minute’s walk thing sold me but the good toilet paper made me a believer.”
“You’re a woman after my own heart, Natasha,” Jess says.
“I’ll get your shopping bags, Toni. I know where you put them.”
“Thanks Nats. I knew you were nice,” I say. Then she snarls at me.
“I’m not nice I just know you’ll need your energy later,” Natasha says.
“Do you think there’s a Gatorade in those bags? I’m expecting a lot of lost fluids,” Jess says.
Natasha laughs, bends over and kisses the top of Jess’s head, then is off to Trevor’s room. We all sit in silence while she’s gone, enjoying having been fed, then she’s back, my bags in her hands and standing next to the head of the table.
Mouse stands as well, and says, “Right, if you must, and if you will... Back to mine and Tim’s place!” And then I quietly hear him say, “After we stop for some Gatorade...”
Toni’s met Tim again, and been introduced to his friend. And all the rest, Natasha, Sally and Jess, have met Tim and Tim’s friend Mouse. No alarm bells are ringing for anyone and it’s all been a lot of fun. In fact Tim has been quite sweet, with him and Toni exchanging kisses, and Mouse has even bought a table-load of food, after being very picky about his sandwich.
Now it’s back to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, where Mouse says he’ll cook them dinner if they stick around. But does Toni really know what to expect? Going back to the man you’re kissing’s apartment, even if he’s apologised for being too forward? And it might not have occurred to Toni, so doll-eyed is she, but the others are really more interested in why Mouse is called Mouse, and what his deal with food is, rather than the two sickening lovebirds making googly eyes at each other.
-----------------------
We’re all walking towards the front of the Light Avenue, Sally and Mouse, Jess and Natasha, me and Tim, on our way to Mouse and Tim’s apartment. I don’t know what I feel apart from excitement, and even then I’m not sure why. At college I’d often end up in random places, and that wasn’t that long ago.
As we get towards the front of the bar I realise something. “Tim, do you mind if I invite Jackson back? Tell him to come after his shift ends?”
Tim seems unperturbed and says, “No, of course not. If it makes you happy.” Then stops walking, waiting, while the rest of them leave through the front doors.
I’m quickly up at the bar counter where Jackson is pouring some beers. “Jackson?” I say.
“You leaving me?” Jackson asks.
“After you finish your shift do you want to come join us? We’re all going to Tim and Mouse’s place. It’s close by, they say.”
“Oh, no way,” Jackson says. “I’d be incredibly jealous and might do something silly.”
I gasp at that, then realise he’s only joking, I think. “You had your chance with me, Jackson!”
“I’d be jealous of you, Toni,” Jackson says. “Literally everything in my power to get him to take me to his bedroom. Anyway, he’s too hot. There’s something wrong with him, guaranteed. Small dick, I’m guessing,” Jackson says, while the people I think he’s pouring the beers for stand silently, waiting.
“Bigger than yours,” I say.
“That cuts! But no, I have plans. Thanks for asking, though. Just remember, bedrooms don’t tend to be soundproofed.”
“Why is it always about sex?” I ask, mostly to myself.
“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Why?” And he laughs, walking away but not without telling me to have fun.
I walk back to Tim and we leave Light Avenue, with the rest off them a little ahead of us, and I’m wondering why it is always about sex. Sure, Tim is hot, but I like him for more reasons than that. He took me shopping, and was sweet. He’s kind and polite. He’s nice to me, and my friends.
“Let me take your bags,” he says, literally taking them out of my grip and transferring them to his other hand before he bends down to me and gives me a quick kiss. So, yeah, maybe it is a little bit about sex.
I take a deep breath and reach my now free hand towards his, where he needs absolutely no prompting and takes it in his. And this is it. I’m holding hands with a boy, while wearing a dress, going back to his place, after he just kissed me in public. Like, not in an LGBTQ+ bar. This is a kind of woman and a 100% man being, I don’t know, couple-y. We’re not a couple, of course, but could we be? Could I have a boyfriend? Do I want a boyfriend? It’s wrong to think that, I tell myself. We’re just holding hands. I’ve been at this a week.
We keep walking until we meet the rest of them standing on a corner, waiting for a crossing light. “We’re here,” Mouse says, as we all cross the street, before he turns to enter a building with no security code on the door but a massive lobby. And a man in uniform behind the desk!
“Enjoyable lunch, gentlemen?” the man in uniform asks.
“Yes, thanks Dave,” Mouse says. “We’re having some guests back. If we’re too loud just phone and we’ll keep it down.”
Sally turns to look at me, eyes popping out of her head and her mouth wide open while, yes, my chest feels like it's collapsed.
“If anyone complains I’ll gently remind them of all the times over the years you two have never complained about them. You rarely have a group of people. Enjoy yourselves,” the man says. Then he says, “Tim,” while nodding at him.
We all pile into an elevator in silence. Tim and Mouse because they’re just going home, and the rest of us because this is one of the fanciest buildings we’ve ever been in, certainly for me.
We eventually get to an apartment, with a hallway leading to a big room with three couches, a few armchairs, a big-ish TV against the wall, bookshelves against another wall, coffee tables in front of the couches and doors leading off the room along with another hallway, and a glassed off area with blinds that seems to lead to a pseudo-balcony. There’s no nooks and crannies off the living room. No tiny kitchen, like mine, just off to the side. It’s not open plan where it’d be cheaper not to build walls and give the illusion of space in a cramped apartment. It is the home of someone quite, or very, or extremely wealthy.
“You’re rich!” Sally says.
“We’re not,” Mouse says.
“Yeah, this is social housing if I ever saw it.”
“My brother is richer than you can imagine, me and Tim are not. He rents it to Tim, for a good price, on the condition we look after it and he can stay here whenever he has business in town.”
Sally laughs, and it’s her ‘I don’t believe this’ laugh. “Can you introduce me to him?” she asks.
“He’s married, and has kids. And he’s very happy. Now, do you want something to drink?” Mouse says.
“Champagne, and some caviar,” Sally says.
“I’ll bring in beers for everyone, for now,” Mouse says. “Go on, sit down.”
Tim takes all our coats, puts my bags in a corner then leaves, and we all sit down, just looking at each other. Sally is on one couch with Natasha at the other end. Jess is in an armchair and I’m on another couch. Most of us are facing the TV, which appears to be attached to a sound system. No-one is saying anything, we’re not even looking at each other any more when Sally says, “Way to go, Toni!” While the others nod.
Tim comes back helping Mouse carry some beers and they hand them out, twisting them open. Tim gives one to me then sits on the opposite end of the couch I’m on, space between us. Everyone is sitting in silence.
“Can I smoke on the balcony?” Natasha asks.
“In here or on the balcony,” Mouse says. “In fact I’m going to smoke in here, right now.”
“Come on, Toni, let’s go look.” She stands, walks to the sliding door, sliding it back, then waits for me to go through. My mind is completely empty, not in the at-ease way Steve talked to me about, more in the frozen way.
Natasha pushes me fully outside, and it isn’t really a balcony, it’s flush with the building’s exterior so it’s more a sun lounge, with an amazing view over the city.
There’s some beanbags out here, wooden flooring, and wicker seats, including a wicker love-seat with cute cushioning on it, and a table with an ashtray on it before the love seat. At one end of the area is another table, probably for eating, for four people with some metal but not too fancy seats around it.
Natasha places me into the love seat, then sits down next to me and is taking some things from her purse, laying them up on the table.
“Do you smoke weed, Toni?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Will you? I have some Dad weed, it might relax you. It will help.”
“Dad weed?” I ask.
“Weak,” she says. “It won’t blow your mind, or anything near it. I think it might help.”
“Help?” I say.
“Yeah, exactly with that.” And she’s already pulled something small and pre-rolled and stuck it into my mouth with a lighter in front of it. I draw on the flame, inhaling, and it’s fine. It tastes like weed, but I don’t choke on it or anything.
She takes another pre-rolled joint from another container and is lighting it for herself. She draws deeply, inhales, holds it, then lets out a thin cloud of smoke. She takes a sniff and says, “Are you ready for this?”
“The weed?” I ask.
“You’ve never been with a man, have you?”
“No...” I say, feeling ashamed.
“Women?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Do you want to be with Tim?” she asks.
I stay silent for a while, and there’s really no pressure on me. Natasha is just smoking, looking at the view. I don’t have to say this but I want to, “Yes. I think I do want me and him... But—”
Natasha interrupts me. “He likes you. That’s obvious. Being trans is not an issue. That is not the problem. The only problem is you not accepting it. Not accepting you and him.”
I feel myself sinking into the chair. I sit and wait, while Natasha keeps smoking. “What do we do though?” I ask.
“You finish what you’re smoking, then you go in and sit down next to him. Then you do what you want. What you want! No doubts, no hesitancy, no ‘Oh but I’m not really..!’ You are extraordinarily lucky.”
Yeah, I say. Or I don’t think I actually said it. I think the word was just in my head. The ‘Yeah.’ I am lucky. It’s really loud inside me. Like it was on a billboard in neon in my mind. “Do you want to finish this?” I ask, holding out what I’m smoking.
“No, just put it down.” And I do, then I stand, slide back the door and walk into the living room. I navigate my way towards where Tim is sitting and put myself next to him, where he’d sat himself away from me before. I don’t even notice it but somehow his arm is around me. I’m thinking of what Natasha was saying, about how I’m lucky, but I’m also kissing Tim, I have no clue how it happened. I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m kissing him. Or how he’s kissing me. We just are. And people are talking around us. It was silent, I think, but now there’s conversation.
And we’re kissing. I’m breathing with Tim. Our mouths are joined and we’re with each other. There’s no need for anything else. It’s not even boring, or a chore, like it was when I kissed girls before, just something to do. Something I had to do before, to be a man. This is real. Now I understand it. My hand goes under his t-shirt and I feel the hair leading up to his bellybutton and I want to kiss there too. I want my mouth everywhere.
My fingers creep towards his belt. “Oh this is disgusting!” Sally roars.
Tim stops kissing me and laughs. “I’m sorry I think she’s sex incarnate,” Tim says to Sally. But I wish they’d just shut up and me and Tim could get on with things. And I’m sitting, just looking at him, imagining...
“Give her the tour,” Natasha says. “Show her everything.”
“OK,” Tim says, then stands, with my hand in his grip and pulls me out of the seat. “Let me show you the apartment, Toni,” Tim says.
“I don’t want to see—” but a groan from literally everyone but Tim shuts me up.
He leads me away, passing closed doors, not giving me a tour at all. “Why are you...” And he opens a door to large bedroom, neat-ish but with some clothes scattered about, men’s clothes, mostly underwear, and another door just beside where we came in. “Oh!” I say. And he’s kissing me again, forcefully.
“Is this OK?” he asks.
I think I nod or something, or maybe I just grunt. Whatever I did he got the message and carries on.
He grabs me beneath my ass and lifts me up. I wrap my legs behind him wondering if I’m going to knock him over but he’s strong. He’s so fucking strong. I’m kissing him and moaning, trying to grind my crotch into him as he holds me.
He turns around and lays me down on his bed and I feel a parting between my thighs. I want him between me again. I want... I don’t know what I want! “Take off your shirt!” I say.
He pulls his t-shirt up, twisting it off with both hands and my god he is quite literally the hottest man I have ever seen in my life, anywhere, ever. Literally from anywhere, ever. My hand is on my skirt massaging myself. “On the bed,” I say.
He sits down next to me, kissing me as he sits, and I’m all over him. I’m in his mouth, my hands are on his chest, on his stomach, beneath his stomach. My hands are under his belt. I feel his pubes. I go further. I feel his dick. Oh wow! I love his dick. I don’t know if I love dick but I want Tim’s dick.
He breaks away from me and undoes the buckle on his belt, struggling to push his shoes off each foot. He lifts himself a little off the bed and slides his pants and underwear down, and then they’re off completely. I don’t know what I say, but I say something to him. It could be something like ‘Fuck me’ or ‘Hey sexy’ or it could just be me gurgling, drool spilling out. But I know what I need to do. It’s not a want it’s a need. A desperate need. I grab his cock in my hand and begin to jerk him off. I kiss him and love jerking him off. And I shiver.
I keep kissing him and feeling him in my hand and I want him inside me. But that’s impossible, mostly. I want more of him. I want to know him. I want to taste him. Without full awareness but with anticipation I’m down on a knee before him, looking into his eyes as I part my lips and lower my mouth around his cock.
Then... Well... We have fun.
A lot more fun.
Then I’m lying on Tim’s bed, me completely clothed, him completely naked and we’re looking at each other. We’re smiling at each other. At least I’m smiling. He’s just looking at me. “How long have we been here?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
“I’m going back to my friends.”
“Am I not your friend?” he asks. So I kiss him. Which I hope answers his question.
I walk back to the living room feeling floaty. I stand by the hallway leading into it, just looking. “Yes, I’ll go to the bathroom with you, Toni,” Sally says, standing. “Natasha?”
“Couldn’t pay me...” Natasha says, and Sally has me by the hand and is leading me back down the hallway where I hope I don’t bump into Tim.
Sally knocks on one of the doors and says, “You decent, Jess?”
“Come in,” Jess says.
Sally opens the door to a fairly spacious bathroom, where Jess is standing in the middle. “Find anything interesting?” Sally asks.
“Nope, boring,” Jess says.
“Toni is freaking out,” Sally says. Then she turns to look at me. “No, we are not leaving. You are not running away. We are going to stay here and have dinner and a nice time presuming they don’t start talking about sex dungeons or something.”
“I am not freaking out!” I say.
Jess sits down on the closed lid of the toilet and says, “OK, go on.”
“Go on what?” I say.
“You wanted to talk,” Sally says.
“No I didn’t,” I protest. “You dragged me in here.”
“So you’re fine?” Jess asks me.
“Yeah,” I say, then I think. “It was great.” And I’m smiling.
“Do you need a toothbrush?” Sally asks.
“Oh, no! Can you smell his—” I begin, and both of them burst out laughing. “That’s mean!”
“I get to pick your Halloween outfit, Sally,” Jess says.
“Yeah, you won that one,” Sally says. “Go on, Toni, tell us everything.”
“No!”
“Oh, wow! She grew a spine,” Sally says.
“But...”
“But?” Jess asks me.
I pause for a moment, unsure how to say this, but it’s mostly true. I think it’s correct, anyway. “He’s hot, isn’t he? Like, really hot? Stupidly hot? That’s not just me thinking that?”
“Wow, she sucked a dick and cured her stupidity!” Sally says.
“Imagine how smart she’ll be in a few weeks,” Jess says.
“I plan on becoming an astrophysicist,” I say.
“Good for you, girl!” Sally says. “Now the ice has been broken we want the details.”
“I had a good time,” I say. I did.
“Did your good time have a peak moment?” Sally asks, making air quotes as she says the words Peak Moment.
I nod assuredly and say, “It did.”
“Do we need to get you Plan B?” Jess asks.
“Not unless fingers can get you pregnant,” I say.
“Fingers?” Jess asks. “Plural?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. He knew how to use them. Now if you’re done with me?” I say, putting on my Downton Abbey matriarch look.
“Haha, Tim found her inner bitch,” Jess says.
“And he’s welcome to find it any time he wants,” I say, before leaving the bathroom and walking back to the living room, where Tim is sitting in the same spot on the couch he was in before all of this happened.
I sit myself down next to him, he puts his arm around me and I snuggle into him. Fuck Sally and Jess. They’re just jealous. “Sally and Jess are jealous,” I say to Tim.
“Of what?” Tim asks.
“Because you’re really hot,” I say.
“And you’re sexy,” Tim says to me, and now I know he really does not have a clue how hot he is, so I cuddle into him more, more than happy being held.
I draw a deep breath and open my eyes. “You’re hot,” I say, looking at the man holding me.
“Feel better?” Tim asks.
I look around the room, where Jess and Natasha have moved some beanbags into the middle of the floor and are sitting next to each other. There’s no sign of Sally and Mouse. I rub at my eyes. “How long was I asleep?” I ask.
“A little bit,” Tim says.
“And did you hold me the whole time?” I ask, and he just smiles at me so I give him a kiss. “You’re amazing.”
“You’re sickening,” Sally says from behind me. “And Tim probably needs to pee, he hasn’t moved since sleeping beauty nodded off. Barely talked...”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling up on the couch. “Do you need to..?”
“Couldn’t hurt...” Tim says.
“Don’t ask him if you can watch, that’d be too much, even for you,” Sally says, sitting herself down on the couch and placing some wine glasses on the table. “Can we put on music now?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Mouse says. “Unless any of you plan on having a snooze soon.”
“Tim wouldn’t insist the music is off if one of us fell asleep, would he?” Natasha says.
“Of course he would,” Mouse says. “I told you, he’s nice and an idiot. Anyway, any preferences?” He places the open bottle of wine on the table and walks to a laptop next to the TV, fiddles with some cables and is soon typing away.
“It’s your place,” Jess says. “Your choice in music.”
“If you want to put something on you know how Spotify works, just put it in the playlist,” Mouse says. And both Natasha and Jess do stand and go to look at the laptop’s screen.
Then Tim is back into us, also playing with the laptop before he sits down next to me and I have to hold myself back from kissing him again. I really don’t want Sally yelling at me about being disgusting any more. I do notice Tim is wearing big, soft, bear feet slippers though. Not quite novelty level but definitely themed. “They’re cute,” I say, pointing.
“Do you want some slippers?” Tim asks. “Anyone? If you want?”
“What do you mean?” Natasha asks, looking a little, well, I guess the word is curious.
“Tim bought a load of slippers, various sizes, men’s and women’s, from one of those online Chinese stores. For any guests. What did I tell you about him?” Mouse says.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sally asks. “Why is he like this?”
“You’ll be thankful for them tomorrow morning, Sally,” Tim says.
“Presumptuous!”
“Yeah...” Tim says, then looks at me. “Did you tell your friends about Emma’s place?”
“Emma?” I ask.
“Where we went shopping.”
“Oh! No! No way. It’s too good for them. I do not want to share it.”
“She’s a friend,” Tim says. “Any help she can get in growing her business...”
“What’s this?” Jess asks.
“OK, fine! It’s a nice second hand shop, lots of clothes. Good prices, I think. You’d like it. There! Happy, Tim?”
“What’s it called?” Jess asks. “I might have heard of it.”
I shrug. “The Thrift Store,” Tim says. “I don’t know if it has an actual name.”
Jess laughs. “No, never heard of that,” she says, but she has her phone out. “Its website?”
“It doesn’t have one...” Tim says.
“Address?”
“I think the alley is just random letters on a planner’s map.”
I can see Jess wondering about this place’s ability to market itself so say, “You know that overstock store I was telling you I got the bathrobe in? It’s near there.”
Jess types a few things into her phone and then looks at me, or more Tim. “A few people mention it, from what I can see. Standard comments. There’s really not much on it. Why doesn’t she want to advertise?”
“She doesn’t want to go the online route,” Tim says. “She thinks clothes, and what she sells, needs to be an in-person thing. And wants word of mouth to build her up. I’ve told her how much it’d help, but she’s insistent, for now. Says the customers she has from markets will keep her going for a bit.”
“Tall, thin, blonde woman? Kind of snooty voice?” Jess asks. Tim nods. “Had a few pop up stores?” He nods again. “I was wondering where she went to! Oh, this is great. Can you show me on my maps app where this alley is?”
Tim stands but doesn’t go to Jess, instead he’s digging in a backpack he has set by the TV. “Will this do?” he asks, walking to, then handing Jess a flier.
“Yeah! Perfect!” Jess says. “How do you know her?”
“Business,” Tim says. “She needed graphic design, liked my work and could afford what I charged.”
The song on the playlist ticks over and Natasha groans. “Who put this on?” she asks.
Sally shakes her head. “Who’s the only teenage girl here, at least in spirit?” she asks, looking equally annoyed.
I realise they’re both talking about me. “I did not put Backstreet Boys on! I wasn’t even at the laptop!”
“Do you like Backstreet Boys?” Natasha asks.
“Well... Yeah! But I didn’t put them on! I swear!” I say. “I’ll even change the song, if you want.”
“The guilty mind,” Sally says. “Told Tim to put it on...”
I move to the laptop and change the music, and as I’m sitting down Natasha says, “Fuck you, Toni. You’re a fucking bitch!”
“I knew it was you!” I yell at her. “I can tell because you’re laughing! If you didn’t try to blame me for Backstreet’s Back you wouldn’t be suffering Enya now.”
“Yeah, right, fine. You win this time,” Natasha says.
“And you should see her in her work outfits! She’s like a pretty faerie!” I say.
“Don’t do this to me, Toni,” Natasha says. “You’ll regret it eventually.”
“It’s just a pity I don’t have any photos. Which reminds me, will someone take a photo of me and Tim, please? If you don’t mind, Tim?”
“What makes you think we don’t already have photos?” Jess asks.
“What?” I say.
They all take out their phones and start typing away, then my phone begins to beep. I open up my message app and there’s a stream of photos of me asleep on Tim.
“Can I get some of those?” Tim asks, looking over my shoulder.
“I need your number first,” I say, and feel nervous saying it. Although I don’t know why. A couple of hours ago his fingers were literally inside me. So we exchange numbers, and then the photos, and we’re taking a few more. Just the two of us, except I’m awake this time.
Then we all talk, and drink, and a few people smoke. Mouse begins to prepare dinner as it’s getting dark outside. Sally offers to help but Mouse gives a stern, ‘No!’
After a bit longer we’re all sitting in the same places, but with plates on our laps.
“This is lovely,” Natasha says.
“It’s a basic stir fry, nothing amazing. There’s no need to boost my ego. I know I’m not a great cook but I can make some healthy things well.”
“He can cook almost everything,” Tim says. “But apart from a few meals he does regularly he never sticks with anything long enough to perfect it.”
“So what’s the plan?” Mouse asks. “I’m fed. I think Tim said Toni likes dancing. We could go back to that bar?”
“Why do you think I like dancing?” I ask Tim.
“You, and that woman in there yesterday, when I first saw you... She was saying you like to dance. Or should dance more.”
“Oh, that? Yeah...” I say. Then I whisper into his ear what Steph meant by ‘tangoing.’
He laughs and asks, “So am I a good dancer?”
“You’re a very good dancer,” I say, which is true, at least in my extremely limited experience. Still, there’s a look of pride on his face.
Sally laughs. “I wonder what their deep code could mean? Will us who have such simple minds ever be able to figure it out?” Everyone else laughs at that. Including Mouse who’s cleaning up.
“So what do you want to do?” Tim asks.
“I want to stay here,” I say.
“Are you staying the night?”
“Where would I sleep?”
Tim looks puzzled for some reason. “In my bed,” he says. I didn’t even realise that was a possibility. That’d he want that. That he’d be OK with it.
“I have nothing to wear in bed,” I say.
“That’ll make things easier, Toni,” Sally says.
“Shut up!”
“I have a spare hockey jersey, I’d bet you’d look tiny in it,” Tim says.
“What about—”
“And I have spare toiletries, toothbrush, et cetera. You have nothing to worry about.”
“What if I stay the night?” Sally says. “Will that calm you down, Toni?”
Mouse is back from clearing up and says to Sally, “You can sleep in my bed, Sally, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“See! All settled. Me and Toni are staying the night. Now I want a fashion show.”
“Yes, I’ll stay. But what fashion show?” I ask.
“Yeah, you have loads of new clothes, try them on for us!” Natasha says, with an evil smile on her face.
“I am not some toy for you to abuse and mock!” I say.
Mouse shrugs and says, “Sorry Toni, you’re the only person with shopping here. I bet if they all had things to try on they’d join in as well. Right?” he asks, looking around at Jess, Natasha and Sally, who all nod and smile at me, far too sweetly.
“He’s right, Toni. Sorry,” Natasha says.
“Then, I’ll get the clothes you three can prance around in,” Mouse says.
“What?” Sally says.
“Yeah, loads of clothes. Every size. Women think Tim is handsome, then see the apartment and refuse to accept we’re not rich. They’ve basically moved in after a week. Then they break up with Tim, never want to see him again and Tim is sobbing while he packs bags full of their stuff to store away forever.”
“Don’t tell them that, Mouse. Fucking hell. You’re killing me,” Tim says.
“I’m certain there’s some very slutty stuff that’d look great on you, Sally,” Mouse says.
“You wish!” Sally says.
“So, are we doing the dress up party?” Mouse asks.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Jess says.
“Definitely not,” Natasha says.
“Why don’t you throw them away, Tim? Or donate them to charity?” Jess asks.
Tim shrugs and says, “They’re not mine to give away.”
“How long have some of those bags been here?” Mouse asks Tim.
“They’re not mine to give away! What if someone wants them back? Anyway, we’re not short on space.”
While they’re discussing this a thought is wiggling around inside my mind. “Why are all these women breaking up with you, Tim?”
“I really don’t—” Tim begins.
“Because he’s boring. Normal and boring. They see him looking all handsome, the fucker, and he’s polite, then they see the apartment and think he’s some suave, playboy millionaire. As we have said, a few times now, neither of us are those things. He’s a just-about doing OK graphic designer, I work for a sports statistics business. We’re young-ish but not mad for insane parties. We’re boring.”
“You’re boring?” Sally asks.
“And he’s handsome, and as you said I’m ‘no slouch.’ We do OK for ourselves.”
“So you think we’re boring?” Sally asks, smile on her face.
“You’re relatively normal,” Mouse says. “Relatively... You didn’t see the lobby of the building and immediately start listing off fancy restaurants to go to. You sat and ate my stir fry. It’s not an insult.”
“Anyway, it’s up to you,” Tim says. “We’re happy doing whatever you want to do.”
“What would you do if we weren’t here?” I ask.
“Watch TV, a film...” Tim says.
“Let’s do that then,” I say. “Just a normal night and not a crazy bitch being all crazy to you.” I hug into him tighter when I say that.
“I’ll get a taxi home, then,” Jess says. “Do you want a ride, Natasha?”
“That’d be great,” Natasha says.
“I’ll get your coats,” Mouse says. “We can call you one here, or whoever’s downstairs can.”
“We’re fine,” Jess says. “I know a good company, they’ll be here in literally minutes. Same one I always use.”
Mouse hands them their coats and asks if they want someone to walk down with them, but both refuse, and then it’s just me and Tim, and Sally and Mouse.
“What streaming platforms do you have?” Sally asks.
“Do we tell them?” Tim says.
“Being honest has worked so far,” Mouse says, with a shrug. Me and Sally exchange a look.
“Do you know the film Knives Out? The murder mystery kind of one?”
Me and Sally exchange another look, and she says, hesitantly, “Yes?”
“We like shows like that. Murder mysteries, detective stuff. They’re not big in the US but countries around the world have been making them for decades. Usually two hour long self-contained episodes, or a mini-series. They’re silly, but not as silly as you’d think.”
“Kind of like Columbo? Or what was that other one..? Monk?” I say.
“Yeah, like that,” Tim says. “You happy with that?”
“Of course!” I say.
“Subtitles or English?” Mouse asks.
“Please no subtitles,” Sally says.
And we sit watching a detective show for an hour, Sally and Mouse on one couch and me cuddled into Tim on the other.
Eventually Mouse pauses the show and says, “Anyone want popcorn? Something to drink?”
“Yeah, put on some popcorn, Mouse. Drinks anyone?” Tim says.
“Soft drink?” Sally asks. “Whatever you have, diet or regular.” And I nod in agreement.
Sally and Tim are talking about who they think the murderer is, Sally thinking it’s multiple murderers, while I hear popping coming from the kitchen. Eventually Mouse comes back carrying some bowls filled with popcorn and glasses on a tray, setting them down in front of everyone.
“Right, where does Mouse come from?” Sally asks.
“As I said, it’s worked so far,” Tim says. “It’s your story, it’s up to you.”
Mouse places his fistful of popcorn back in his bowl and says. “I had an eating disorder... Have an eating disorder, it’s under control, it wasn’t at university.”
“Which is why you’re so persnickety about food,” Sally says.
“Yeah, and to keep people from finding out I kind of nibbled at food like a mouse. Which people did notice, enough to give me the name but not enough to see what I was doing to myself. Not until I got quite bad, which is when Tim noticed, and got me help, along with my brother.”
I hug into Tim as Mouse is saying all this.
“I knew some girls in school with eating disorders,” Sally says. “It’s an awful thing.”
Mouse nods. “Full story, Tim?”
“That’s up to you.”
“It’s your story too, in fairness.”
“I am more than fine with you telling them,” Tim says, as he wriggles his arm around me to get more comfy.
“Me and Tim knew each other from sports,” Mouse continues. “He had a sports scholarship, I didn’t, I wasn’t a star anything. I’d always been weird with food, and working out was another way I was abusing myself. When I got to college and was stuck around really serious athletes my eating disorder went into overdrive. When Tim noticed how bad I was in the second year he tried sorting me out. Doing anything and everything to help. He lost his sports scholarship because of it, because of how focused he was on me, but he didn’t care about that. Eventually he got onto my family, then my brother, who was paying for my classes. Together both my brother and Tim got me help, help that worked. Tim was so good it saved me from having to be hospitalised, I could be treated as an outpatient. My brother realised how much Tim had done for me, and paid for the rest of his college, after convincing them to let him back in.”
“And now he pays for the apartment,” I say. “As a kind of thank you.”
“He rents it to Tim for fair market rate for an average two bed apartment less central than where we are, but it’s certainly nothing either of us could afford at its real price. My brother also pays most of the bills, heating and that, and he’ll pay for whatever food we want to get, within reason.”
“And Tim still keeps an eye on you?” I say.
Mouse nods. “He does. Which I am very appreciative of but he can be really annoying about it. Like I said, Tim is very nice, and a lot of people don’t try to get to know that.”
“Sally and Jess are kind of like that to me,” I say.
“That’s sweet, but we still hate you,” Sally says.
“I hate you too,” I say.
“This is really good popcorn, Mouse, like, best I’ve ever had level of good,” Sally says.
“Just use the highest quality oil you can get your hands on. There’s no trick,” Mouse says.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Do you want to watch the rest of the show now? Any more questions?” Mouse says.
“The show must go on!” Sally says. “And I’m telling you, there are at least three murderers.” At which point the detective show is un-paused, and we all keep watching, eating popcorn and drinking cans of diet 7-Up.
Then we watch an episode of Columbo.
Then I’m being rattled. “What?” I say.
“That’s the third time you’ve fallen asleep during this episode,” Tim says. “What time did you wake up this morning? Do you want to go bed?”
“I was up early,” I say, yawning.
“Yeah, you had a big day, babes,” Sally says. “Go to bed. I’m sure Tim will join you.”
“Are you coming too?” I ask Tim.
“Of course,” Tim says. “Come on, I’ll you get the things you need.”
And within a few minutes I’m lying in Tim’s bed, in the oversized hockey jersey he gave me, with him cuddled into my back, holding me. And I fall asleep as probably the happiest woman in the city, next to someone unbelievably kind and gentle I’ve been blessed with.
Toni has been Toni for a little over a week, which seems to be just enough time for her to have slept in a boy’s bed. Yes! With the boy next to her. And they did more than sleep in the afternoon, long before the Sandman visited. But how will she handle discovering men do more than smell good and kiss good?
Will Toni be spending the new day telling all her friends about her discoveries with a smile on her face? Will Steph in Light Avenue have to get used to saying the annoyingly alliterative “Toni and Tim?” Or will Toni be running to Big-G, her one rock, with tears in her eyes when she meets him later in her day? More importantly, does Toni even remember why she’s meeting Big-G, or has her mind been filled with more distracting thoughts?
My phone starts ringing and vibrating on top of the table by the head of the bed.
I flail my arms out, one in each direction, unsure in my state whether it’s to my left or right. This tells me Tim is no longer next to me, so the table must be to the other side. I manage to grab at my phone and look, through lids just about opened, at the caller. It’s my sister.
“What do you want?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Oh, Miss Grumpy, what’s wrong?” she asks, placing emphasis on the ‘Miss’ part.
“You woke me,” I say. But I feel like I need to say more than that. I have no idea what time it is and I could have been asleep all day. “I slept at a boy’s place and no-one woke me.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath and an ‘Oh my god.’ Maybe a second. I’m tired and can’t be sure. Then my sister is talking properly again. “You’re sleeping with men already? How long have you been the new you?”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I say, still groggy. It’s mostly true. Tim’s not in bed any more. “I slept on a couch.”
“Bullshit! You said you ‘slept at a boy’s place.’ I know exactly what that means. Is he hot? Is he good to you? If he’s not I’m coming straight there with a posse to inflict permanent injury!”
Tim is good to me but I’m not telling her that. “I have lots of male friends. You’ve met some of them, what makes you think I’m not staying at one of their places?” I say, pulling myself up straight. Then I look down and see Tim’s old hockey jersey on me and feel cute.
My sister guffaws. Very theatrically. “If it was one of your boring friends you would have said you ‘slept at friend’s place.’ Please don’t try and fool me, Toni, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I fucking hope so at least. Now come on, who is he, what’s his name, do you have pictures of him? Of the two of you?”
“Fine! OK. You’re my sister and for some reason I love you... His name is Tim, of course I have pictures of us, yes he’s hot, and to answer your next question I don’t know if we’re dating. I’m not telling you anything else.”
My sister guffaws again. “OK, wow! I’ll refrain from asking you anything else. And I’ll hang up, as long as you promise to text me a photo of the two of you. And as long as you message me updates of your new, interesting life. Don’t go weird and disappear on me.”
“Deal,” I say. And she hangs up instantly. Without even a moment passing. I move to respect her respect by sending her a pic of me and Tim straight away, then realise she’ll be straight back onto me if I do that. She can wait.
Instead I stand and trudge my way out to the living room, still rubbing at my salty eyes.
“Don’t move,” Sally says. She reaches for her phone.
“What?” I say.
“I want to take a picture of you, and then you have to go and get dressed. Immediately!” she says, as I hear the digital shutter noise with the camera snapping me looking sleepy and confused.
“What? What is it?” I say. Why is everyone annoying me?
“Come here,” Sally says. So I do. She shows me the photo of me. My eyes are closed and the hockey top is loose and halfway down my thighs. I’m not exposing anything.
“It’s me,” I say. “Looking tired and annoyed at people being weird.”
“If Tim sees you looking like that he’ll take you right on the spot. Fucking hell, Toni, can’t you see yourself?”
“I mightn’t object to that,” I say, then smile. Then Tim walks through from the kitchen, along with Mouse. I look at Tim, and my smile gets wider. I couldn’t care less about Mouse, at least not at the moment. “Come here, Tim.”
Tim walks to me, smiling, and I almost lunge at him to give him a quick kiss on the lips. A quick kiss that isn’t so quick and involves a little more than lips, as well as a nice squeeze of his very nice butt.
“Do you want breakfast?” Tim asks me.
“I’m kinda hungry,” I say. He takes my hand and leads me out to the balcony where there’s some pastries and orange juice on the small metal table I saw yesterday.
I sit down and Tim sits next to me, just smiling at me. Eventually he asks, “Everything OK?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”
“No regrets?” he asks.
“Why would I have regrets?” I say, starting to feel a little worried.
“Sally explained this morning you’d never... Not actually... Actually done what we did yesterday. Not before.”
I’m halfway through putting a piece of croissant in my mouth, so I do put it in my mouth, to give myself time to think. I chew, and chew a little more, then swallow, feeling a lump in my throat. Then finally say, “Remember those guest slippers you talked about yesterday?” He nods. “The next time I’m here can I get my own pair?”
“You’ll be back?” Tim asks.
I nod and say, “If you’ll have me back. If I wasn’t boring... I’ve never had a friend who was a boy and I was a girl and we did that kind of stuff. I’ve never really done anything with girls, either. I’ve never really done anything. My life was boring until recently and this is all new to me.”
“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Tim asks. Then he pauses. And I realise I’ve been incredibly forward. He wasn’t in bed with me when I woke. I’ve forced a kiss from him already. I’m treating him like we’re supposed to be together when he’s not done or said anything like that.
I freeze, motionless. Like I’ve been dropped in dry ice. I’ll shatter if he says anything. Then he does speak. I’m about to shatter. “Would you like us to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Because I’d like to be your boyfriend. If you’re OK with it. If you’re ready?”
“So we’re girlfriend and boyfriend?” I ask. I don’t shatter. I still could.
“I guess so. Yeah,” Tim says. “If you’re happy with me being so high school like that?”
“We’re dating. The two of us. ‘Official.’ And I’m your girlfriend?” I say, asking the exact same question.
“I’m not a girl, and you’re not really boyfriend material, so...” Tim says, trailing off.
“I mean, I am a—”
“Yes, you’re my girlfriend. And I’m your boyfriend. That’s settled. And now you need to eat because Sally said you’re meeting some guy called Big-G? Do I need to be jealous?”
I kiss him. It’s a different kind of kiss to before. To anything before. I say, “Can I finish this croissant then we go to your bedroom where we do what we did yesterday? Except you pretend you’re jealous? Just a little? Like, kind of, a little angry at me? You know? Then I go meet the man you’re jealous of? And I think of what you did to me while I look at him?”
Tim laughs. Except it’s not his normal laugh. It has a kind of stutter to it, almost a cough. He shakes his head and says, “Fuck me, Toni! You’re not the simple, innocent girl you pretended to be.”
“Does that turn you on?” I ask, inching my hand up the inner thigh on his sweats as I hold some pastry in my other hand.
“Hurry up and finish your croissant!” he says, with another one of his shocked laughs. “Don’t do that to me then make me wait.”
Then I’m in his bedroom getting dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday, feeling extremely satisfied. Feeling Tim watching me.
“When do you have to go?” Tim asks.
“Pretty soon,” I say. “As soon as I do my hair.”
“When will I see you again?”
I sigh and remember work as I twist at my much too short, crappy brown hairstyle. “I have a big thing at my job. I need to focus on that for the next few days. Someone found out about me and they’ve given me something of an opportunity, to prove myself. It’s a really big deal.”
“What do you mean by they ‘found out about you?’”
“I’m a different version of me at work,” I say, and it feels weird to think of that while I’m looking at my boyfriend lying on his bed. “People don’t really know the me you know.”
“But someone there does... And you have an opportunity,” Tim says, looking as though he’s thinking.
“Yeah, something like that,” I say, slipping on my Mary Janes while I balance on each foot.
“What do your friends at work think of the real you? The ones who know?” Tim asks.
“I don’t really have any friends at work,” I say.
“When they meet my girlfriend you’ll make some amazing new work friends. And be beating the men away with a stick. At least I hope you do.”
“Shut up, they won’t. They’ll remember the old me and be disgusted.”
“Tiny skirt? Heels? Legs? Professional white blouse opened up to tastefully reveal and inflame? Necklace hanging just above your boobs to seal the deal? Please! I know what that does to men!”
I laugh and it feels like Tim’s shocked laugh. “You have a thing for office women, don’t you? Watching her bend over, hoping she gives you a glimpse? A little ‘What if someone catches us?’ in the copy room? Maybe an office tryst started at the drunken Christmas party you regret but can’t and don’t want to stop?”
“Who doesn’t?” Tim asks, with a smile.
I laugh again. I guess he really is a dude. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want to be that kind of guy.”
“Now you’re my girlfriend,” he says, looking proud. “Things are different.”
“I am your girlfriend!” I say, feeling just as proud as Tim looks. “Now come on!”
Tim gets up from bed and puts on his sweats and t-shirt again, me watching him as he does, thankful he didn’t put his boxers on before the sweats, and I’m imagining him hanging free beneath the material, wishing I didn’t have to go. Wishing I could touch him all over. We walk out to the living room. “What are you doing, Sally?” I ask, my mind on what Tim has under there.
“Are you ready to leave? she asks. “I only spent the night to convince you to stay.”
“Just about,” I say, not believing a word she said. Trying to stop thinking of Tim’s dick. And chest. And his kisses. I hold back from sighing. I’d stay here if I sighed.
Then Sally says goodbye to Mouse, with me watching Sally to see if there’s any give in her reaction or anything to her tone. If there is I can’t catch it. Tim says goodbye to us at the door.
“Message me?” he says, after a gentle kiss.
“Of course,” I say. And give him a proper kiss, hoping there’s a reaction beneath his sweats. I hope I cause a lot more reactions.
Then I’m walking down the hallway, away from my boyfriend’s apartment, somehow feeling the hips I don’t have sway, and getting an elevator to the first floor.
The attendant in the lobby tips his cap to me and Sally as we leave, and I’m walking back to Light Avenue to meet Big-G, with Sally not saying a word to me, and me not saying a word to her.
We get to the bar and order two coffees before we sit at a table waiting for G. Sally’s still not saying anything but I can play her game as well. I already am. I know full well what she’s doing.
Our coffees are half gone and neither of us have even coughed when Steph sits down next to us.
“Am I going to have to get used to saying ‘Toni and Tim’ now?” Steph asks.
“I’ll tell you if Sally leaves,” I say, refusing to look at Sally.
“They’re dating,” Sally says. “And they danced. A few times.”
“So did you and Mouse!” I scream at Sally.
“We did not!” Sally says, looking full of herself, and pleased. And I know! I know!
“I heard you two in his bedroom!” I say, confidently.
“You didn’t,” Sally says. I wait. There’s more coming. I know it. I’m certain. I wait. I hold her out. She blinks. “Because we did it in the living room! With the Mouse who has moves, and a tongue.”
“I fucking knew it! I knew it!! Are you seeing him again?!”
“I have his number and he has mine. We’ll call each other as the mood takes,” Sally says. Then she finishes off her coffee in one gulp.
“Are you OK, Toni?” Steph asks.
“I’m happy,” I say to Steph. And I smile at Steph.
Steph rubs my shoulder then stands. “That’s all anyone can ask for.” She walks away.
“So..?” Sally says.
“My sister phoned me. She wants a picture of me and Tim.”
“Your sister knows?” Sally asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “She seems glad I’m not boring any more.”
“Send her one of you asleep on Tim and Tim looking pleased as punch.”
“Ew! No! I’m not sending her one of me asleep. I’ll send her one from after I woke up.”
“Ladies...” G says, sitting down. I’m delighted to see him. I don’t know why but he looks more manly. More, I don’t know, like he’s powerful?
I chase the powerful G thought from my mind and say, “Hey, G!” And I’m smiling again. I’ve smiled a lot today.
Sally smiles at me smiling and turns to G, who’s also smiling. “Toni has a boyfriend!” she says, a sing-song in her tone.
“Took you long enough,” G says, looking at me.
I’m taken aback at this. This isn’t Big-G’s usual cool and calm but, most importantly, caring self. This is him treating me, I don’t know? Being dismissive. “That’s mean!” I say, confused. “G?”
“I’m sorry, you hold no interest to me now. You’re another man’s piece of meat. I’m not going to fight him for you. He already won the battle.”
I hit G on the arm. “Fuck off! G! You’re doing that on purpose. You know I’m not like that and I know you’re not like that.”
“I’m glad to see you develop some of those feminine wiles of yours,” G says, with a laugh.
But that makes me think, it did take me a while to have a boyfriend. To see them as, well, objects, things to play with and for them to play with me. When I looked at Tim’s chest yesterday it was hot, so incredibly hot. I actually realised how sexy he was. Looking at him I wanted him, almost more than when I was kissing him. “Why did I never think of men before?” I ask.
“Have you tried to think of men?” Big-G asks. “Of you and a man as a couple? Together? When you saw them?”
“No, but that’s the thing. I did see them. I even saw naked men, far more often than naked women, And the naked men were in real life. But I never, y’know, wanted them.”
“Who were you yesterday?” G asks.
“I was me. Who else would I be?” I ask.
Sally looks at Big-G, almost as though she’s impressed. Neither of them say anything else. They’re just sitting, both staring at me. My eyes are going kind of blurry as I try to stare the two of them down at the same time. I don’t know why I’m staring back at them. I don’t know why I’m making myself cross-eyed.
Eventually Sally says, “And who were you before you were you?”
I don’t know what that means. What is she talking about? Then I do know what she’s talking about. And it hits me. It hits me what I am. Who I am. I can stop staring.
My lips tighten and press inward on themselves. My eyes begin to water. I’m crying. Both Sally and Big-G move to each side of me and hold me as my tears are flowing. I wasn’t who I should be. I wasn’t who I was supposed to be.
“I wasn’t me. Not actually me. Not before,” I say between sniffs. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I want to feel this. Can I ever be who I am? Can I ever be me?
I begin to sob, my head bowed as I raise my hands to cover my face. I can’t turn to either of them. I can’t go to anyone. I’m alone.
“What’s wrong?” I hear. I think it’s Steph’s voice. I look up and try to force myself to stop crying.
“There’s no going back,” G says.
“From..?” Steph says, and I look at her and feel weak.
“Herself. Who she is,” G says.
“That’s a tough moment,” Steph says. “Toni, look at me.” I try to stop myself shaking and look Steph in the eyes. “Remember this. You’ll forget this feeling again, probably soon. This is you. These are your feelings. And there is going back. You can do anything you like, be anyone you like, if you remember this.”
“I’m me,” I say, and I can feel the tears beginning again.
“Yes. You’re you, Toni. And we love you, we all love you,” Sally says.
“I wasn’t me before.” Now I’m crying again and barely holding back the sobs.
“You were,” Steph says. “But you were afraid, really afraid. Are you afraid now?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Afraid of who you are?”
I rub at one eye, then another. My crying has stopped again, just about. “No,” I say.
“Then there’s nothing else to be afraid of,” G says.
Sally’s somehow passed me a tissue and I’m drying myself up, then blowing my nose. “How do you know all this? How do you do this to me? And so suddenly?” I ask.
“We don’t know anything,” Steph says. “We know Toni, and we like Toni, and we do this to you by caring for you. And you do this by allowing yourself to do it. That’s all it is.”
Sally lets go of me and G pulls me into him. “Thank you,” I say. “I love you. All of you.”
“We know, but it’s nice to hear that instead of ‘I hate you!’” Sally says.
“I do hate you, and you hate me, and there’s also love. And fuck me, this is hard,” I say.
“Yeah, and it’s easy, and it’s all a mess, and that’s what life is. Enjoy it,” Steph says. “Do you need a drink?”
“Yes, but G wants me shopping. So I’d better get cleaned up,” I say, taking one last sniff.
G shuffles up on the seat and I stand. I take a deep breath and steady myself. I begin to walk to the bathroom and I’m thinking. A lot. I’m also shaking and weak, and I’m not quite sure what I’m thinking. I focus on the fact I have friends. Friends who love me. I have friends who care for me.
I’m walking back to the table, hopefully looking relatively normal. I’m trying my best to look normal, all the while focusing on my friends who care.
“Why do you like me? Why do you love me? And don’t say it’s because I’m nice, please.”
“First of all, you are nice. But for me it’s because you make me feel,” Steph says.
“Feel what?” I ask.
“Yeah, Steph’s right,” Sally says. Big-G smiles gently at me. “I don’t know how to put it in words,” Sally continues, before quietening.
“What you do to people isn’t common, Toni,” Steph says. “You expose people. You make them feel things. And causing people to feel things with the intensity you bring them to is rare.”
“Some people will hate you for it,” Big G says.
“Oh, Jesus! Some will despise her for it. Fucking hell, I hadn’t thought of that. I haven’t met anyone who goes to that way in a while, certainly not talked to them for longer than necessary. Fuck, they’re awful!” Steph says. She shivers, shakes out her head as though shaking off a curse, and continues, but not to me, “That’s a horrendous thought, but well spotted, Gary.”
“I’ll expose people..?” I say. “Sometimes exposing people isn’t good. Exposing people isn’t always a good thing.”
Steph nods. “You’re doing it right now.”
“Yeah,” Sally says. “Some don’t want to be exposed. Some people couldn’t handle it.”
“You’ll turn into a total bitch if you begin to crave it,” Big-G says.
“Crave what?” I ask.
“Reactions,” Steph says. “Feeling like you’ve had an effect. Affirmation... But that’s enough for now, I think. I’m not even sure where we are.”
“Isn’t that the best time to explore?” I ask. “When you don’t know where you are? And you’re exposed?”
“Did someone give her a joint?” Steph asks.
“Not today,” I say. But there’s neon billboards in my mind like yesterday when I smoked with Natasha. “And, actually, I really like Natasha. She’s really soft. You almost couldn’t tell she—”
“Has an admirer in Jess? Yeah!” Steph says, shaking her head and making big eyes at me as Sally whips her head around.
“Jess likes Natasha!?” Sally asks, voice loud.
“I said Jess admires her, Sally. Natasha is a really confident woman, who speaks her mind once you respect her privacy. It’s why you often see her reading quietly alone, although some people don’t see her when she’s like that.”
“Yeah, I get that. I understand now you say it,” I say to Steph, feeling suitably cowed. “Jess and Natasha did spend a lot of time talking about books while you were talking to Mouse, Sally. I was so caught up in my own thing I almost didn’t notice myself. I wasn’t thinking. Until Steph interrupted me and forced me to.”
Steph stands, looking at her watch, then gives me that, ‘Here’s lookin’ at you, kid!’ gentle punch to my face. I laugh at my own stupidity while being a little amazed at Steph’s tact.
“I was only glancing at the security monitors in the office before you all left yesterday. Anyway, I could be wrong. It’s hard to pick up on some things if you don’t watch people like a bar worker watches things. It’s just practice. But I only say this to you because I like you all,” Steph says.
“You didn’t say you love us,” I say to Steph, who glances a tired, grumpy glance at me. And now she really does want to punch me.
“Look at her!” Sally says, holding up her phone.
“Like a mugshot!” Steph says.
“Yeah, a guilty one,” Sally says, grinning at me.
“Oh, don’t show her that!” I say, knowing full well it’s Sally’s picture of me in Tim’s hockey jersey with my eyes closed, and with the legs I wish I didn’t have.
“Show her what?” Big-G asks.
“Yeah! The guilty mind knows exactly what it is,” Sally says to me. Then she turns her phone to Big-G.
“I might actually fight a man for that woman,” G says.
“OK, send that picture to me, please,” I say to Sally.
“Is the correct reaction to that photo,” Sally says.
“And send it to Tim when you’re feeling lonely,” Steph says. “Jesus! Woman!”
I feel my chest puff up pride. “Is it really that good?” I ask.
“If you ever catch me like that I want an entire photo shoot,” Sally says.
“I haven’t looked like that in years,” Steph says. “I wish I could.”
“You could have any man you want, Steph,” Sally says. “Shut up! Be confident. You’re confident with us.”
Steph bends down to look at Sally. “There are endless possible men I could have. And I’m at ease with you because I like you, despite it being far from easy.” Steph stands up again. “The thing is I don’t know who I want. Or if it’s even a who.”
I don’t know where the words come from, or why I’m saying them, but I do say them. “Do you want to go for a drink, Steph? Just me and you. Somewhere not here?”
Steph strains her neck and sets herself straight. “Yes, I do, thank you, Toni. I’ll let you know when and where, if that’s OK?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. “Let me know the dress code.”
“Men are a lot simpler than this,” Big G says.
“Tired cliche,” Sally says.
“I’d better go with him to his shopping plans, he’s getting bored.”
“I’ll send you that picture straight away,” Sally says. “Don’t forget your bags.”
Soon I’m walking out of Light Avenue, thinking of Steph, and not quite remembering what G wanted us to do.
We walk for a few minutes, with nothing being said, and I don’t know why but I feel small, and weak. I don’t like it. “Can you put your arm around me, G?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything but stretches his arm out, and wraps it around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “I’m scared.”
“You have friends, you have a boyfriend, and you’re a beautiful young woman,” G says.
“That’s what I’m scared of.” I feel his already tight hold somehow get tighter.
We walk and walk, and then arrive outside a store on quiet street and G says, “We’re here.”
“Can you give me a minute, or maybe we do this some other, maybe—”
“No. This is happening now,” G says. “You’ll have these feelings far more often. It happens when you’re open with yourself. You’ll deal with them better as things go on but you do have to go on, OK?”
“OK...” I say.
And we go in.
Inside is a mixture of old shelving and modern fridges and freezers, in long supermarket aisles, under a mix of modern LED and old style fluorescent tube lighting. It’s bigger, deeper, I guess, on the inside than the outside would hint at. To my right are some checkout lines, although there’s no-one queuing at the moment, with only one staff member, sitting, drawing. To my left is a fridge with soft drinks I don’t recognise, along with a notice board with posters, and hand written notes and messages.
G wraps his arm around me again and begins to grip into me. “OK?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Let’s get to it.”
The next thing I know he’s dragging me to a vegetable section and picking out garlic, onions, peppers and a range of veg I half recognise. “Do you have a kitchen you can use at work?” G asks.
“Yeah?” I say.
“And do people use it? Can you use a frying pan there?”
“I assume so,” I say.
He nods and doubles each of most of what’s already in the cart. Next we’re in a spice and herbs section and it looks like he’s on automatic, pulling out packet after packet, without even really looking.
A woman walks to him, “Teaching her to cook, Mr. G?” the woman asks.
“I am,” he says, with a smile.
“New friend? New special friend?”
“Old friend,” he says. “She just decided to sort her life out.” Which I guess is kind of true, but it’s still a bit rude. It’s not like I only ate Doritos.
“Will I get you one your books?” she asks.
“She’s getting an author copy, Rita, but thank you. Sorry you’re missing out on your cut.”
She laughs and says, “A very special friend! A real friend. We make enough from the desperate parents buying it for their idiot children off to school. No mother to make them dinner any more. And do they look at the book? No! They eat noodles straight from a cup! Even though there’s a recipe for that!” She looks at me. “Get Mr. G to autograph it for you. It could be worth a lot of money some day.”
We go to a section with those very same cups of noodles the woman was talking about and G begins to tell me which are good, and the spice levels. After another fifteen minutes of picking various foods up G is loading everything onto the checkout belt with a young man scanning it all through.
It comes time to pay and G stands back. I look at the figure and for the amount of food I have here it’s really not that much. Sure, it’s more than my weekly spend, but there’s things like spices and herbs G says should last months, massive bags of rice and lentils, tins of beans, tins of tomatoes, and more. And what G says is a good knife.
I take out my card and pay. The young man says, “If you ever need the knife sharpened just drop it in. It’ll take about 24 hours.”
“Those small soup Thermoses?” G asks.
“We’re coming into winter,” the man says. “They sell out quickly. Do you want me to set you one aside?”
“That’d be great, Sujesh. Thanks.”
“Do you have too many bags?” the man, Sujesh asks. “I can spare someone to help you carry them.”
I lift one with my free hand, and it’s not too heavy. Heavy enough though. G has grabbed the other bags. “They’re too heavy,” Sujesh says. And he’s yelling something incomprehensible towards the back of the store. “Put them down, G.” G nods. Then a teenager is up to us. “Help G and his friend carry her groceries home. You’re doing nothing else.”
“How far is it?” the teenager asks.
Sujesh impatiently hits a code into the till and pulls out five dollars. “Get those donuts of yours on the way back. This is what you’re angling for, yeah? You’ve been talking about them all day.” Then he looks at me. “Do not tip him! We pay him enough and he does no work. Absolutely none! He’s the laziest employee we’ve ever had. Even lazier than when I started here, and I was pretty lazy.”
I smile at Sujesh, I can tell he adores the kid, then me, and G, and the teenager, begin the walk to my apartment.
The whole way the teenager and G are deep in conversation about donuts. I have never heard anyone as enthusiastic and seemingly knowledgeable about donuts and sugary things as this kid. They’re talking about the best donut spots in the city, and what particular styles they’re good at, as I’m keying my code into the door. I thought a donut was just a donut!
I look at the teen, to take the bags. “All the way to your kitchen,” he says. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“Come on up,” I say.
Then we’re all resting the bags up on my living room table. “Vee, could you put the chicken thighs in the freezer?”
“Sure thing, G,” Vee, the teenager, says.
As soon as he’s gone I turn to G. “How much do I tip him?”
“Vee? Nothing. Sujesh is right, he’s incredibly lazy.” But I think G can read the look on my face. “Two dollars, a token!”
“Are you living in the noughties, G?” I ask, digging in my purse.
“He gets paid to do this, very well for a teenager! He wants for literally nothing!”
Vee walks back into the room. “The thighs are all put away,” he says.
“Thanks for your help, Vee,” I say, handing him five dollars. He quickly glances at it and stuffs it—crumpled—into his pocket. “Do you want something to drink before you go?”
“A beer?” he asks, and I can hear the hope in his tone.
“How old are you?” I ask, holding back from smiling at his audacity.
“Twenty-two!”
“You’re barely even sixteen,” G says. “Do you want a glass of water?”
“I have Coke Zero,” I say.
“That’d be great,” Vee says. Which I’m soon handing to him.
“If you asked for the glass of water you’d have to stay a bit longer to drink it,” G says. “But you got greedy so now you can walk back to the store with your can.”
Vee seems to know he’s played his hand as much as he’s able and is letting himself out. Before he closes the door he turns to me and says, “Any time you need help just ask for Vee.” Then he’s gone.
I look at G, laughing. “He’s so sweet!”
“He’s hilarious. Every woman too old for him he charms the pants off but he has no luck with girls his own age.” I laugh thinking I can full well understand how his enthusiasm and innocence would be off-putting to a jaded, all-knowing 16 year old girl.
We put the groceries away with G showing me the best place to store everything, which sometimes involves a slight reorganisation. Eventually I’m pulling another Coke Zero out of the fridge, for me this time, while G is opening a beer. We sit down at the same table we’d previously eaten his lovely eggs on. “OK, G, you’ve held me in suspense long enough, what’s this book?”
“Me, and my dad, and Rita, wrote a cookery book. It’s not fancy, just cheap-ish printing. Simple recipes covering a range of cuisines. The whole point of it was to give people who didn’t cook much, or ever really before, a quick way into mostly decent and healthy food, affordably. Especially people getting their own place for the first time, or who finally accepted they can’t or don’t want to pay for take-out.”
“People like me,” I say.
“People like you,” he says. He’s zipping open his bag and pulls out some tubs of what appear to be cooked rice, then he hands me a simple stapled book, regular printer paper in size, of maybe 150 or so pages, with a colour cover of a rice dish with veggies in it, and on the back is an advertisement for the chain of stores we’ve just come from.
I begin to flick through and it’s not like any other cookery book I’ve seen before. It’s dense, with small type, sometimes four recipes to a page, no photos rather line illustrations—quite good ones—and it’s entirely in black and white.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say. “I’ve bought and been gifted a few cook books but nothing like this.”
“Yeah...” G says. “It’s functional and affordable. Like the recipes in it. Page 24.”
I flick to page 24 and one of the recipes on the page is for the eggs G showed me how to cook. “Wow!”
“Last page,” G says.
I go to the last page and the recipe covers the whole thing apart from a small black and white photo at the bottom. The same dish as on the cover. After it is simply the text, ‘Good Luck! You Can Cook!’
“OK..?”
“It’s the most difficult recipe in the book, in my opinion anyway. Others find some of the other recipes more difficult, but this one involves spices that seem to intimidate people. If you can make that you can make anything else in there. You’re going to make it now. You ready?”
“Right now!?” I ask.
“Well, in a few minutes. We’ll finish our drinks, and I’ll have another beer while I supervise.”
I nod a few times, thinking. “It’s a little early for dinner, isn’t it?”
“We’ll just eat a small bit, you’ll want to eat more, though. It’s really good. And there’ll be plenty left over for you later tonight when you get snacky. It’s healthy so don’t worry about over-indulging.”
“I didn’t think you could store rice! Won’t it kill you or something!?”
G starts to laugh, and he seems really, really amused. “You’ve never talked to someone from any Asian country, have you? Certainly not about food.”
“Shut up! I’m not stupid.” I hate when he does this to me. Why is he so put together and informed?
“Rinse the rice a few times before you cook it, which you should do most of the time any way, unless you need the starch for a specific reason. Then just put it in the fridge when it’s cooked, it’ll survive a few days. You can even freeze individual portions.”
I scowl at G. “There was no need for the laughs, you could have just said that.”
G laughs again. “And miss out on your angry face? Never!” And I want to stop my angry face but now I’m angrier again. “Come on, let’s get started. Read the recipe a few times.”
“You’ll help?”
“If I have to.”
So I read the recipe a few times, seeming to get into the rhythm of it. There’s a bit of chopping things, a lot of herbs and spices, some of them needing to be crushed, a lot of quickly adding everything in thirty second intervals, waiting to hear seeds crackle, etc. “How do I crush the seeds?” I ask.
“What does it say?”
“Between two spoons?”
“That’s how you do it then. You ready?” he asks. I nod, then he hands me the tubs of rice.
Then I’m chopping, and arranging all the spices in a row on my kitchen counter-top in order of when I need them, along with the amount and variety of utensils I think I’ll need. “Should I put each spice and herb and things in a bowl? Ready, you know? Pre-measured? To help with the timing?”
“Do you want to wash all those bowls?” G asks.
“Good point, yeah. Well said. So now I just..?”
“Do what the recipe says...”
And that’s how things go. It doesn’t take that long to make to it once I have everything ready, and it’s all cooked in one pan, anyway. I ask G for advice at a few stages and whether I’m doing things correctly and he repeatedly says, “Just do what the recipe says,” and, “Keep going and find out when you eat it.” Before I know it, probably because I was so focused on what I was doing, some sort of nice smelling rice is sitting massed in the pan, more orange than the red I expected with the tomatoes, some bell peppers chopped and mixed through giving it some colour.
I put some onto each plate, with G asking for more than what I put on his originally, and even more again. He has more confidence in me than I do. Or he’s just really hungry. He grabs two beers from the fridge and we’re sitting down at the table again with plates in front of us.
“So I just..?” I say.
“Do you need help with how to eat, too?” he says, laughing. I put my hands to my face in exasperation. He knows full well I’m nervous. This is the most complex thing I’ve ever cooked.
I poke a fork into the rice taking a small bit, then figure I have to go in whole-hearted to this, and load up a little more. I put the fork near my mouth, just beneath my nose, but don’t really smell anything. I guess I just have to do it. I stick it in my maw and I don’t know... I don’t taste anything. Then I do. I chew, and swallow. I load up another fork and quickly eat it down. Then one with a chunk of green bell pepper. I realise I haven’t said anything. “Holy shit, this is amazing, G!”
“Yeah,” G says. “And you made it.”
“It’s your recipe! Holy crap! This is delicious!” And he’s sticking a fork of it into his pie-hole, enjoying it too.
“I doubt it’s my recipe. I think it’s an old one I found in my catalogue, whether I got it from my Dad, or some website, or some book, I don’t know. I had it. Now it’s in the book.”
“You stole it from someone?” I ask.
“Are you going to report me to the police?”
“If they arrested you you’d just have to make it for them and they’d set you free. Saying your work was a net positive on the world. Wow, G!” He laughs at this. “Big-G!” I say, impressed, emphasis on the Big.
“Do you have enough on your plate?” he asks.
“NO! I don’t!” He laughs again.
Then we’re both laughing. And just chatting like normal, both drinking beers and eating really nice food. It’s really comfy.
After we finish, after I’ve spooned out more for myself, I’m flicking through the book, amazed at what G has come up with, and his helpers. “Page 12,” he says.
On it is a lot of writing about the noodles we bought, not the brands, specifically, but any that come in a disposable cup or bowl, or any flavoured broth with noodles. A lot of options and ingredients, things you can add to them to make them into proper meals. “This is what Rita was saying about the students?”
“Yeah, it’s really easy. There’s nothing wrong with those noodles, at least if you don’t go for the ones overloaded with salt. And MSG is not something to worry about, pure racism the hate against that. A few additions from the book with decent noodles is really good. It’s how they’re eaten in the countries they come from, mostly. Apart from, of course, the students there. Who are just as lazy, and stressed and strained, as students are anywhere else.”
“Which do I do?” I ask. “And don’t give me this ‘figure it out, read the book’ crap.”
“Whatever veggies you want, or have, or need to be eaten, quickly fry them at work. Really quickly. They’re mostly fine raw but North American tastes generally want them at least a little cooked. Defrost some of the chicken thighs from the freezer overnight, tonight, and cook them in the oven tomorrow. From Tuesday onwards, when you’re back in the office, you can add the shredded chicken once the veggies are heated up a bit. You’ll be amazed!”
I stand and raise a finger to G. I go to the kitchen and get two tumblers and my bottle of whiskey, then I’m sitting back down. I pour me and G a measure each. “What’s this?” G asks. “You didn’t even ask me. What’s up?”
“Remember when Trevor and Steph brought me back here, the kind of first night, and you stayed?”
“It wasn’t that long ago,” G says.
“Yeah...” It really wasn’t, it was last weekend, but so much has happened. “Well... Steph gave me a bottle of whiskey. She said it was for celebrations and special occasions. This is one. I’d like you to share a glass with me.”
G lifts his glass and clinks it against mine and we both take a sip. “What was the first special occasion?”
“I felt really happy,” I say. “Being me. I was looking through the funny pictures websites I always looked through, every weekend for years, except now I was laughing. Properly laughing. Not just saying to myself ‘that’s funny’ and not actually laughing”
I move to G’s side of the table and sit next to him. I have my phone out and am taking a selfie of the two of us, with G holding his glass up. “Thank you,” I say. He smiles.
It goes quiet for a minute and there’s something on my mind. “The night it first happened, me... Why did you, you know..?” And I make the jerk off motion.
“I thought you needed something to cement it in your mind.”
I’m wondering what he was cementing in my mind. Then I remember I have a boyfriend, now. Who’s sitting in his apartment where we, well... “That’s it? That’s all it was?” I say, and I feel annoyed but don’t know why.
“I mean, yeah, it was a little hot, but I don’t make a habit of doing that,” Big G says.
I nod and think. “And the strip poker? I mean, we were all dudes? Not me, I suppose, but I didn’t know that then. But at the time it was dudes sitting around the table.”
G laughs. “What did we say at the time?” he asks.
“I can’t remember,” I say.
“We knew the girls were coming. We wanted an excuse to be naked in front of them. And they said they’d be entirely happy with that. Anyway, Sam is gay and Alan is bi, and I did notice a few glances from you,” and he laughs again. “Hence the...” And he makes the jerk off motion himself.
“I didn’t even know I was looking,” I whine.
“Now you do. And why! And before you ask no-one but Steve knew about the dress thing. We’d figured out he was probably planning costumes ages ago when he kept asking us height, and chest measurements, and shoe sizes, over bets. ‘Who’s the tallest and by how much?’ ‘Guess your weight.’ No-one knew about the dress aspect, certainly not what it would mean for you. Are you unhappy about all this?”
I furrow my brow in thought. “Just wondering. Especially about Steve.”
G is all laughs now. “I don’t think he has a thing for you. I think he just finds you confusing. You’re suddenly a pretty enough girl he’s known all his life. Maybe if the two of you get really drunk together some time... Would it be bad? Leaving aside the boyfriend thing? Friends hook up, girls and boys hook up. Alan and Sam hooked up that night!” Then he puts the glass down and says, “That was a very enjoyable whiskey, thank you, Toni.”
“You’re welcome, but now I’m confused,” I say.
“It’s really simple. It was just a perfect storm. And Jess was honest with you, she has a thing for women, and a thing for trans women. If she knew you were going to turn into a proper bestie I don’t know if she’d do it. She did though, don’t worry,” G says, and he hugs me into him. “Who cares?”
“I care why I’m me!” I say, getting annoyed.
“Who else would you be?” he says.
“You asked me that this morning and I cried my eyes out!”
“Do you want to cry now?” he asks, and he’s laughing again.
“I can’t even blame hormones!” I say.
“Do you want them?” G asks, sounding sincere again.
“Yes, 100%.” I nod, emphatically, or what I feel is emphatic nodding.
“You are so cute,” G says.
“I am not!”
“And adorable. And I don’t think you realise but you have quite a feminine voice, without even trying.” He grabs me around the shoulder again and gives me a rattle.
“What? I do not! My voice isn’t the deepest but it’s deep enough.”
G smiles. It’s his stupid, all knowing smile. “It’s not about how deep it is. Yeah, it’s not always at a female level but most women’s voices, at least here, go up and down a lot. Changes in pitch when they get excited and sad, even within the same sentence. You seem to do that naturally, without trying. You were doing it by the second night I saw you as Toni. You were free to be yourself. Some trans women have the high register but not the uppy-downy bit.” I think of Natasha and realise that’s what was going through my mind about her, I just didn’t recognise it. She does have a female register but she’s really monotone.
Then I realise G has pointed all these ideas out to me. I might stop. “Why did you make me conscious of that!? Just let me be, G!” I say.
“But you’re still doing it. It’s who you are!”
“Stop telling me how much of a girl I am!”
“Then stop pouting when you say things like that,” he says, and he scoffs, filled with scorn.
“Oh go home!” I say.
“No! Unless you’re happy here, on your own?”
“I didn’t think of it but I should probably so some chores, and laundry, you know? And I probably stink, I haven’t showered since early yesterday morning,” I say, and I sniff at my pits.
“OK,” he says. So we say our goodbyes with me thanking him for all his help today, and I give him a kiss on the cheek. Then I’m getting down to chores. It only takes a couple of hours of effort until I’m finally sitting back into the couch.
I decide to message Tim, and I know exactly what to text him. I send the picture I’ve taken of me and G with the text of, “This is the man you should be jealous of.”
A minute later I get back, “If he’s a friend of my girlfriend I know I can trust him. She has superb taste.” And now he’s being annoying, just like G.
I message him the picture Sally took of me in his hockey jersey, being cute, or possibly hot. “This is why you should be jealous!”
A few minutes go by and I hear nothing from him. I’m checking my phone every few seconds and eventually a message does come through. It’s of Tim, and his chest, and a lump in his underwear. I think of that lump and what I want to do to it. It’s really damn hot. And I don’t know how but we’re sexting. I’m doing things to myself Tim was doing to me yesterday and I know he’s doing things to himself. I have the pictures of him doing them, and some video. I feel giddy.
Then we’re saying we’ll message again tomorrow.
I sit back, very happy, but feel something is missing, or was missing. From what me and Tim did. I message Alan asking if I can call and within a few minutes he’s calling me.
“I have a boyfriend!” I say.
“Oh my god! Was it fun? Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks.
“How do you know I’m calling about that?” I ask.
“Oh please! You have a boyfriend and now you’re calling your bi male friend with excitement and nerves in your voice.”
“It was just fingers, but yeah, it was good. I understand why you do it,” I say.
“I’ve never done it!” Alan says. “Done it to other people, yes. Talked to people about it, of course. To myself? Or with anyone else? Nope, nope, nope!”
“You should try it, it’s enjoyable,” I say, trying to sound flirty.
“Nope. But are you calling about what I think you’re calling about?” Alan asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You’ve just had your tiny girl-brain blown and are interested in ‘Self-Care’ now you’re all alone.”
“How do you do this? Am I really this transparent?”
“I’ve known you for years, Toni. I’ve been myself for years. And I know you’re only using me as a font of knowledge. I’ll message you a website. They’re local. And do local same-day delivery. If you order now you’ll have what you want tomorrow morning. Enjoy yourself! Read the guides! Now hang up and call me back later!”
“Thank you, Alan,” I say.
“I want a Christmas present this year,” Alan says.
“I know what I’m getting you, too,” I say.
“I’ll murder you!” Alan says. And we hang up.
Then I’m on my laptop, looking at the website Alan messaged me, for hours, before eventually hitting the button for the fastest delivery. After that it’s a night of messaging friends, and my sister, and a long call with Alan, and more messaging with the football group, before I eventually climb into bed. It’s a work day tomorrow, but at least I get to be me at home.
Toni’s weekend is over—she somehow found herself a boyfriend, Tim—but now it’s back to work. She has to finish her report on the business’s healthcare plan, hopefully getting back a proofread draft from Mallory without too many issues spotted, then submitting it first thing Tuesday. She knows a lot rides on this, perhaps even her job. Will it work out for Toni? Will it be received as well as she feels it’s good? Or will her boss, Greg, get up to his usual rubbish of throwing chaos at her? She has a plan for Greg, though.
Please note the first of what will hopefully be many short stories, and possibly novellas, in the Toni With An i/Light Avenue world was released last week; Not Strong Enough to Run. Featuring Steph and Trevor, and a new character, nurse Paul, it’s set roughly ten years before Toni With An i and fills in some (many?) background details. Or at least gives clues as to what’s going on in the yes/no/maybe? LGBTQ+ bar that is Light Avenue.
I don’t know how many times I’ve groaned this morning. I’m exhausted. Absolutely shattered but I can’t sleep, for some reason. I did sleep, and slept well, but now I’m just awake.
Nothing bad is going through my mind, nothing is bothering me. It’s just one of those things. I am simply awake. I don’t think I’ll even get dressed but I spent the stupidly early hours, at least before official work starting time, going through the exercise clothes Steve bought me. At some point I’m going to have to get a floor length mirror, less of a concern when you’re wearing boring man clothes but I am completely certain I want to be looking my cutest now.
Sitting in front of my laptop I check my emails, nothing important has come in. And there’s been no calls from Greg. I switch on the TV with my personal laptop hooked up to it and play some of the football games from the weekend in the background, just listening to the commentary, occasionally glancing at it, and hearing the roaring of the crowd, along with the odd apology that inappropriate language may have been picked up by the stadium microphones.
Eventually, bang on 11am, Mallory’s edits from my report on our healthcare plan come through. Explaining in her email she seems pretty happy with it, she has a few suggestions, some grammar and clarity edits, along with a few typos the spellcheck wouldn’t be able to pick. Her immediate suggestions are good, and I appreciate them. Then I’m going through the entire document mostly approving her changes.
I think the document is done. It’s ready. I’ll give it a few hours without looking at it and have one last check. I’ve done the best I can. I’m certain of that. I just hope it’s enough. I know this is a test. I know it’s possible my job rests on it. I know someone at the office knows about the real me, and they’re seeing if I’m worth the hassle with continuing to work there.
With nothing else to do I’m pulling the boned chicken thighs out of the oven, enough for the week, like G suggested. I let them cool, then tear some up for the noodles, quickly frying up veggies. The noodles are good with all the additions, much better and much more of a meal than what I’d have before. G has a career as a chef, or at least as a cook, if he wants it.
Then, having eaten, I’m ready to get the drop on Greg, for once. And I know I will. I’m certain of it. I punch his number into my phone and hold it to my ear, feeling both giddy and nervous.
“Tony?” he says, picking up.
“You were going to call me sometime in the next hour or so, and ask me to email you the whole report. To ensure I wasn’t pulling an all-nighter. I can email it to you now.”
He laughs. “I was going to ask you that, but it wasn’t to ensure you didn’t pull an all-nighter. It was to ensure you weren’t worried about it all night, handing it in tomorrow. I already asked Mallory what the draft she saw was like. She said it was good. I believe her.”
“Did you read it?” I ask, getting annoyed that he still, somehow, has one up on me.
“No. I’ll read it when you email it to me. After I send it onto Mr. Mayer. If we agree it’ll get broad distribution tomorrow. There’ll be no further edits from us. This is your work. You stand or fall based on it. Are you happy with that?”
I think about it, a little confused, or maybe doubtful. “Yeah, that’s fine. What do I do now?” I ask.
“It’s 3pm, take the afternoon off. Everyone slacks when they’re working from home. Enjoy the last of it. Do you have anything you want to do? No-one’s going to call you.”
“I’m going to paint my nails, Greg!” I say, trying to annoy him again, realising I will have to take the polish off before work tomorrow.
“What colour?” Greg asks.
“A kind of neutral, pale pink. Like the nail-bed colour.”
“Sounds professional enough to me, as long as they’re not talons. I’ll see you 9am tomorrow. You and the gals can chat about your nails on your break,” he says, laughing, which is fucking annoying. I think I won’t take the polish off. Fuck him!
“Yeah, us gals chatting and talking about boys!”
“That’s the spirit, Tony! 9am tomorrow, my office.”
Which is what I do. The rest of the Monday I spent just chilling out, and eating the last of the cold leftover rice I made with G. Just before 9am, the next day, I’m walking into the office, well rested, wearing my man chinos and a shirt with a warm coat over it. I swipe past security and take the elevator to my floor, heading straight for Greg’s office, my hands balled into fists trying to hide my nail polish.
I knock, and Greg yells for me to come in. As I get to before his desk he stands and extends a hand, as though to shake it. I do shake it, obviously seeing my painted nails and him seeing them too. He smirks. “Congratulations, Tony. You have finally reached the level of work we knew you were capable of. Well done. Now you have to begin to get better than that.”
“My job isn’t at risk?” I ask.
“It never was,” Greg says, looking confused. “We were seeing what changes we might need to make. We do have confidence in you. Maybe our approach wasn’t working. We do make mistakes in hiring people, often, in fact. We didn’t feel we made one with you. We just had to figure out what worked best for you. Now, Mr. Mayer wants to see you. Off you trot!”
“My nails...” I say.
“What do you know of Ben?” Greg says.
“What do I tell other people? Someone will ask.”
“Tell them what you want. Or the truth? That you did it to annoy me. Which you failed at. They’re professional. That’s all that matters. Now go see Ben, then back to me. Take out your laptop and leave it here, along with your bag.”
Then I’m being sent into Mr. Mayer’s office by his secretary after she greets me. Apparently I’m his first meeting of the day. “Tony, good morning! Coffee?” he asks.
“Not necessary,” I say, laughing, and thinking I don’t want to put him through the misery of pretending to drink another coffee with someone, the main role of his job, it seems. And he seems to appreciate it as he smiles, quite genuinely, when I say it.
“Sit down... How was working from home?”
I think for a moment. “It was good. I appreciated the freedom, especially. And that Greg seemed happy to give it to me. It allowed me to sort some things out.”
“That’s good,” Mr. Mayer says. “Did you get to be more yourself?”
I nod, knowing what he means. Knowing he knows I’m trans. “Yes, I did. I think it helped.”
“Your work is very good. It’ll be appreciated by a lot of people, and annoy a few people with what it points out.”
“Therese?” I ask.
“No. She’s delighted with it. I sent it to her last night. It’s going out to the rest of HR in this office this morning. They’ll have a meeting about it later in the week. It will bring about changes, probably even nationally. Some of them quite major.” He begins to fumble in a desk drawer. “Which is why you’re getting this.” He hands me an unsealed envelope with my name on it. “Open it!”
I look inside the envelope and there’s a check for $2,500. “What? Why..?”
“Greg argued that because we pay you, ‘poverty wages,’ in his terms, you should get this straight away, not in your end of year bonus or in your next paycheck.”
“This is a bonus?” I ask, amazed.
“Specifically for you catching there are areas where it’s possible to have our health insurance plan but not be entitled to any specific coverage from necessary professionals. Legal are having a field day with it. It could save the business millions in a settlement, non-public, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, or a few people, lose their job. It’s serious, although less serious than if someone actually needed care and didn’t get it, but we’re checking to make sure that didn’t happen.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “This is a lot of money,” I say. “I just did my job.”
“Do you not want it?” he asks, then laughs as he sees the look on my face. “I’m getting an extremely expensive vacation out of this. I don’t know what Greg is getting but it’ll be more than you. But we’re your bosses, so we’re getting a bigger slice of the pie. Welcome to corporate life.”
“And I get a bonus?” I ask. “Another one?”
“Probably,” Mr. Mayer says. “It’ll be noted this is good work, that’s for finding the gap, work like the report will be calculated at end of year. Keep it up and the bonus could be substantial. Anyway, you felt working from home benefited you... Would you be interested in doing it more often?”
“Yes! Of course!” I say, and this is more exciting than the money for some reason.
“OK, I’ll phone some people. We’ll see. You’re going back to Greg?” I nod. “Fine, off you go. This really is good work, Tony. I’m glad the freedom you gained allowed you to do it. And that Greg insisted we give you this chance, now.”
Walking into Greg’s office, I don’t know why, I blurt out. “Do you know I’m trans, Greg?”
Greg laughs. “I didn’t until now. I did see you in a store with a friend, boyfriend? There’s lots of reasons you could have been dressed like that. You seemed happy, it was your day off. What does it matter to me? Are you happy?”
I suddenly feel very serious. “Yes. Since that weekend. And no, he’s not my boyfriend. I guess he was just buying me a coming out gift.”
Greg actually looks surprised now. “This is this recent?” he asks.
“Yes. Kind of sudden, really...”
Greg nods and seems to think for a few moments. “Whatever you choose to do, I cannot guarantee the full support of everyone in the office. I cannot control people like that. I can guarantee my full support, and Ben’s full support. I don’t feel I’m overstepping to say you will get the full support of this office as an entity. The people, on the other hand... But we’ll deal with that if it arises. And I hope it doesn’t. I don’t particularly like having to get angry with people, it spoils my image of being fun and friendly,” he says. And I’m laughing; he knows full well that’s not his image and it’s certainly not the one he cultivates. “It seems like everything happened in a whirlwind then, just enough things falling into line. Do you want to work from home again?”
“Yes,” I say.
“OK, you’re approved for two days work from home. They cannot be both a Monday and Friday, nor can they be two days next to each other leading up to or after a weekend, unless maybe there’s a public holiday. That’s not the precise meaning but you get what I’m saying, no long party weekends unless they’re approved. Two days mid-week are fine, assuming you have no pressing need to be in the office. You don’t need approval for them but checking with me would be appreciated, especially at the beginning of the process. From 10am to 3pm you need to be available, outside of that time is flexible. A break for a coffee, or lunch break, or to use the lady’s room is fine, of course. Just get back to people as soon as you can. Is all this OK with you?”
“That’s great. I mean, thank you! This really means a lot.”
“This is what happens when you do good work. Now up to HR. Therese will arrange some things with you. And back to me again, after. At least you’ll be getting your steps in.”
And it is more steps, as I’m now trudging to the HR department, where Therese is seemingly ready. She grabs some paper and a pen and brings me to one of the small, private rooms, where we both sit.
“This moved faster than I expected,” Therese says.
“How do you mean?” I ask, crossing my legs beneath the table.
“I know Mr. Mayer, Ben, approved it and said to expect it. The ultimate decision is up to Greg, whatever you said or did he made the decision very quickly. Much faster than usual.”
I cough and again find myself saying some words without thinking. “I told him I’m trans,” I say.
“Good for you!” Therese says. She looks delighted. “However you want to transition, in whatever way you want, we’ll work with you with it. From the healthcare plan or in the job. Whenever you want. If you want.”
“Did you know?” I ask.
She looks thoughtful for a second. “I figured something was going on when Ben took you to our informal LGBTQ+ group, and said to put you on the mailing list. I guessed at it when I read your report, with some of the stuff you spotted on trans plans. The need for electrolysis was a good spot, I hadn’t thought about laser not always being effective. The report is excellent, by the way. Really helpful. Is there anything you need straight away about your gender identity?”
“A drink,” I say, and Therese laughs.
“It’s a good thing I have a sense of humour. Some HR people would be fretting over a comment like that. This is a good office, though, and we have a decent system for work from home. Do you live with other people? Do you have a spare room you can use? Or just some extra space?”
“Hmm.... Give me a second...” I say, taking out my phone and opening my gallery app. “I live alone, but there’s no spare room, it’s just a living room with a small dining table, a couch.” I keep flicking quickly through photos until I find what I want. “This is the space I have.” I show her the photos I took of the apartment when I first moved in, as proof of the condition of the space.
She takes my phone and indicates to ask if she can flick between the photos. I nod. Eventually she says. “This will work, if we can use the entire wall. I assume that’s a normal sized door there.”
“It is, and you can use as much space as you want if I get to work from home.”
Therese nods. “OK. We’ll set you up with a home office setup; chair, desk, laptop dock, a permanent monitor, some other bits and pieces. Little table with a printer, maybe? Wifi we can manage, you’ll use a VPN on your laptop the IT department is updating but you’re free to use our system for personal reasons if your home wifi goes down, just try not to use your work laptop unless you’re stuck. Other offices check it to make sure people are working, this office it’s usually the opposite; to make sure people aren’t working too much. IT will also sort you out with a work phone, but if you leave we get it back and the number is ours. People won’t use your personal number unless it’s an important matter, such as we’re worried you fell ill or something. Or Greg wants to annoy you, we can’t control him. All this OK?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, a little shocked at how sudden this is. I hadn’t realised so much had ridden on my report. I thought it was about keeping my job and it seems almost as if I’m getting a promotion. “I hadn’t expected this week to be as crazy as my last week.”
“Sorry, Tony,” Therese says. “And if you can think of something you feel you need for working at home say it to me today, there is a budget for specific needs an employee has that not everyone might. If you think of it straight away we can sort it out straight away.”
“A floor length mirror?” I say, taking a chance. Everything else seems to be working out.
Therese sucks air through her teeth and looks skyward, or at least ceiling-ward. Almost straining. “Those windows in your apartment are small, and quite high. I know natural light is very important to health, physical and mental. I can see how with a tall, free-standing mirror you could move you would boost the natural light around your workspace. Do you concur?”
“I do,” I say, with a smile.
“Do you feel better having people know?” she asks.
I know exactly what she’s referring to. “I do, yes. And working from home let me be me. And the whole thing is giving me some purpose, something to latch onto. I’m happier. I thought the report I was working on was about keeping my job, not about giving me opportunities.”
Therese puts her fingers to her lips, and furrows her brow for a few seconds. I can tell she’s battling something in her mind. “There were concerns you weren’t motivated, that you weren’t even challenged, really. People were waiting for you to get angry and stand up for yourself. Greg, with Ben’s help, went a different direction. The challenge, yes, and an opportunity, but he’d begun to feel concerned that you didn’t have the freedom to express yourself. To gain that confidence. He got it right. He usually does, eventually.”
I gasp at what I’m hearing. I can’t help it. If Greg had tried what he tried even two weeks ago things could be very different. Then I really think about it, this couldn’t have happened two weeks ago. Greg tried what he did because he saw Big-G buying me a purse. I pick up my phone while saying, “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How things are coming together for me. It feels like I was lost for so long and now things are really working.”
“That’s a common story for LGBTQ people. Come back to the group when it’s held again. I can arrange one for next week if you want. I’ll come up with a reason. People will come for the pastries and gossip, no matter what.”
“Let me think about it...” I show Therese a picture of the purse Big-G bought for me, with the stitching of the frog by a brook in an enchanted forest. “Greg saw a friend buy me this. A coming out present,” I say.
“That suits you,” Therese says. “But if Greg is stalking you I can get him fired. It’d be hilarious.”
I laugh. “Not stalking me, but I do need to see him, again.”
So I’m knocking on Greg’s door, letting myself in when he barks. “Fancy over-engineered German high-tech whizbang wizard chair?” he says.
“That costs far too much,” I say. “I might sell it on the office furniture black market to make up for my poverty wages.”
“Now you’re learning the business! But not today, you’re going to lunch. Take Mallory. Nice move on thanking her explicitly in the report. And early. She’s already written me a bitchy email saying other people should be so respectful.”
I laugh. “Well, they should. No-one ever thanked me when I did edits. Anyway, what’s this with lunch?”
Greg gives a passable impression of a Gallic shrug. “Partly reward, also if you keep doing good work you’ll eventually graduate to wining and dining clients. They sometimes like to see the peons we have working on their accounts. Order what you want, even the extremely expensive steaks. You don’t strike me as a steak woman—don’t worry, that’s out of understanding for you, it does not go further than me and you, and the people I get drunk with, which believe me is no-one in this office—just please no alcohol on the bill. Once the booze starts in that restaurant they’re very good at keeping you topped up. It’s a close walk to there and our car service will take both you and Mallory home. I’ll email you their number, and the name of the restaurant. Give yours and Mallory’s name. They know how this works. You get to tell Mallory.”
I have absolutely no idea what’s happening with all this, other than it is a test, as everything seems to be. “Thank you, I guess. That does bring something up. We have a kitchen, a staff kitchen, don’t we?”
“We do,” Greg says.
“Can I use it to cook?” I ask.
“Cook what?” Gregg asks, looking suspicious.
I try to give him a confident stare that tells him I have no plans to cook human brains or anything like that. “Just fry some veggies, to add to noodles. I have some pre-cooked chicken thighs in my bag I should really put in the fridge there.”
“Yeah, that’s no problem. It actually sounds intelligent given what we pay you. Just no microwaving fish, please.”
“What do I work on until lunch?” I ask.
“Minesweeper, solitaire, your choice,” Greg says, waving his hands.
“My laptop doesn’t have them. I’ve checked,” I say. “They were removed by IT. And I can’t get them through the store on the laptop.”
Greg laughs. “Your laptop has the full work from home upgrades now. There are other upgrades available if you achieve them. For instance I can play chess and backgammon, and the like, online. Browser games, old flash games, that kind of thing.”
“What if I make it to the C-suite?” I ask.
“You’ve heard of corporate raiders?” Greg asks.
“Yes?”
“C-suite are World of Warcraft raiders. Still playing it decades later. That’s all they do. They have one of the highest ranked raiding guilds on their server, someone’s child or grandchild, or niece, or something introduced them,” he says, nodding assuredly. “At least it’s not flight sims...”
“I’m not too sure you’re entirely lying,” I say.
“Wait until you see the corporate room on the top floor,” he says, laughing. “Are you happy to be seen with your nails? It’s really no issue, not with me, but if you’re worried I have some nail polish remover in my cupboard of wonders.”
“Cupboard of wonders?” I ask.
“You know how in elementary school there was a teacher who had a cupboard filled with items for literally any problem or emergency?”
“You see us as elementary school kids?” I say, still not insulted by Greg’s madness.
“There’s some of you I doubt are fully potty trained. Now, if you’re happy with your nails visit the kitchen, explain things to Mallory, then get down to some gaming before lunch. Gaming is extremely important!”
Which is exactly what I do. Explaining the lunch thing to Mallory she looks surprised before saying, “It’s about time we got some recognition!”
And soon I’m sitting at my laptop playing solitaire. I do check in on my emails as they come in, or as soon as I think to look. There’s nothing major, apart from a scan of the cheque I received from Mr. Mayer’s secretary. She says it should be good enough to use if my online banking has the facility to accept it that way, which it does.
After another few rounds of solitaire, and some moments I feel I could scream at stupid Minesweeper, I check my email again. There’s an email from Greg to my entire department, the elementary school, as he seems to think of it, which I guess is what it is. We’re all new-ish hires who’ve yet to be moved somewhere permanent. It’s my report, with Greg telling everyone to read it when they get a chance, as it’s the standard of work he expects from people. And a threat that if such a standard is not met, soon, “there will be consequences!!!” Actually with three exclamation marks, which makes me laugh. He’s so full of bluster!
After thirty minutes I notice there’s more people passing my desk. I eventually ask one of the women who seems to be loitering what’s going on.
“People wanted to get a look at Wonderboy. Great job at mentioning Mallory, by the way! That’s something the higher ups never do. Glad to see you’re one of us,” she says, as she smiles. “And what’s the story with your nails? They’re really pretty. Some of the women are being thundercunts about it. Fuck them!”
“Yep, they are pretty. I like them. When Greg asked me what I had planned after I emailed him that report, yesterday, saying I could take the afternoon off, it annoyed me. So I said I was painting my nails. Now...” I hold my fingers up and waggle them.
“Keep getting them done. Maybe it’ll get Greg even more pissy. He’s such an asshole.”
I laugh and go back to playing Minesweeper, determined to finally beat the fucker. I soon start hearing laughter and mention of nails and it pissing off Greg. Before long it’s time for my lunch, and I’m walking into a comfortable, classy restaurant like you’d see in a New York mob film, maybe a little more glass frontage, and a little more spacious. They have no problem with our booking and see us to a table, sitting Mallory against the wall and me on opposite the chair.
There’s bread on the table, quickly, along with some water in a jug, and some oils and vinegars, and butter.
“Right,” Mallory says. “What’s your name?”
“Tony,” I say. She knows my name. She’s emailed me.
“Bullshit! Your real name! Those nails weren’t done yesterday, and certainly not to piss Greg off, and your eyebrows are shaped. You’re trans. What’s your name? Spill it.”
“Toni,” I say, somehow shocked at the reveal. Then realise she’s ready for another round if I don’t explain the difference in what I’m saying. “Toni with an i.”
“Toni, fine. I bet you’re cute.”
“I am pretty cute,” I say, smiling.
“There’s gonna be another bitch hotter than me in the office, soon, then,” she says, annoyed.
“I don’t know about—”
Mallory makes a low growling noise. “OK, fine. Not a bitch. You are hotter than me though. I can already see that. I shouldn’t be mean, you’re the only person who’s ever thanked me in a final report. And fuck me, what a report!”
“Really?” I ask. Why has it caused such a buzz?
“The bits on women’s healthcare? Real insight! They’re things that needed to be said,” she says. “And now they’re written, in a document, that people will see!”
I smile thinking of Jess and Sally, then I remember where their conversations went to in the chat. “Yeah, my friends helped me with that, just in a group chat. They were disgusting when they got going!”
Mallory laughed. “You have real friends then,” she says, as some menus are placed in front of us.
“Do you need some drinks now?” the woman asks.
“Fizzy water, a bottle of it? Please?” I say. “Mallory?”
“That’s good by me,” Mallory says.
The woman nods and is walking away as we begin to look at the menu. The steak menu is longer than the rest of it, which has enough but isn’t over-laden with options.
“Are we doing starters?” Mallory asks.
“If you want. Do you know what you’re getting already?”
Mallory has a huge smile on her face. “I’ve heard my Dad talk about this place with reverence. He says they do an aged steak. I don’t know about starters. This restaurant is actually why my Dad told me to apply to the office here, this place is close-by.”
The woman is back with a large bottle of sparkling water, chilling in a bucket. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
“We’re unsure on starters,” I say.
“I’m happy to make some recommendations if you have a main course picked, however it’s up to you.”
Mallory nods at me and I nod back. “I’m having the aged steak. The one you’re famous for,” she says.
The woman smiles. “Do I need to ask how you want it cooked?”
“You do not. The chef will decide best. The same for sides.”
The woman smiles, even wider, then looks at me. “The seafood pasta,” I say, pointing at it on the menu. “The one with the spinach.”
The woman looks to be in thought for a few seconds. “With the seafood pasta I’d suggest the ox-tongue starter. There’s no other choice for you,” she says, turning to Mallory. “You have to have the oysters. It’s the classic experience.”
“Perfect!” Mallory says.
“It sounds great,” I say. “Thank you so much for the help.”
“Do you need to be back to work soon? Or have plans?” the woman asks.
“No, we can take as long as we need. There’s no rush on anything.”
“So you’re happy for me to time this? The pace of your dining.”
“Of course,” Mallory says.
The woman takes the menus after loosening the metal cap on the bottle of sparkling water. I notice she’s left the drinks menu, which is much thicker than the food menu.
“Greg said they have a way of making you run up the drinks tab here,” I say.
“Maybe next time,” Mallory says, actually looking annoyed. I don’t particularly need a drink, though, despite what I said to Therese earlier on. This feels normal. Like when I’m the real me. It’s easy.
We munch on a bit more bread for a few minutes, telling each other which oil to try. Then Mallory looks at me, all serious-like. “Do you have a picture of you?” she asks, and the seriousness falls from her face.
I should have expected this from the start, but I do reach for my purse before remembering I don’t have a purse today. I reach into my pocket instead, and take out my phone, finding the picture of me and Tim. “I’ll show you this, but then we talk about you. I’m sick of talking about me. Everywhere I go things are about me,” I say, handing my phone to Mallory.
“He is so hot!” Mallory virtually moans.
“What about me?” I ask, annoyed.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re cute. Cute enough. But him? Damn! Who he is?”
“My boyfriend,” I say, feeling giddy.
“Oh, fuck you! You are a bitch. I retract everything nice I said to you.”
“Fine! Now we talk about you,” I say, holding my hand out for my phone. Instead of handing it to me she’s flicking through more of the gallery. I grab it out of her hand and quickly shut it off.
I wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes are wide. “You naughty girl!” she says. “I saw that! So what’s he like?”
“Fun!” I say, sternly. “Now you, what do you do for fun?”
“Well my next bit of fun will involve thinking about your boyfriend! But when I’m not doing that I mostly listen to baseball.”
‘Listen to baseball?’ I think. “How do you mean?”
“Baseball is better on the radio than on TV. Best in the stadium, of course, but radio is pure. I listen to recordings, new games, old games, classic games. Everything. And I do stats stuff. My Dad got me into it.”
“I like football,” I say.
“They’re meatheads.”
“Soccer-football, I mean.”
“Divers,” she says. “And cheaters.”
“From what I know of baseball you shouldn’t really be calling any other sport cheaters,” I say, laughing.
“A more honest form of cheating in baseball,” Mallory says, then we’re both laughing, as the starters are laid down.
We start into it, and the food is simply amazing. I have one of Mallory’s oysters, and she has a slice of my ox tongue. Apart from that we don’t really say a word about anything, we’re just focused on eating, and making impressed-faces at each other.
After we finish we’re just looking at each other, as the woman is picking up our plates. “How was that?” she asks.
“Amazing!” Mallory says. “Everything I’ve heard about this place is correct.”
The woman nods and smiles.
I take a drink of my water. “I—”
“I wonder if oysters really do make you horny?” Mallory says.
“Why?” I ask, concerned.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. I really need to get out more. I don’t really like going out at night, though. Which makes things difficult. Only on special occasions.”
I think for a second. “I usually watch a soccer game with a friend, sometimes friends. It’s early Saturday morning, like 7.30am early—”
“Ew...”
“But there’s another game around 10am, and another at 12.30. If you want you’re more than welcome to come.”
Mallory makes a Hrrrmm noise. “Convince me...” she says.
“There’ll be a lot of men there,” I say, but she looks doubtful. “The food is really good.”
“OK, give me your number, remind me later in the week.”
So we exchange numbers, like friends. My first real work friend. And she actually knows about Toni. Then we talk about sports, mainly. What drew us into them. Some of the work she seems to have done on baseball, with the stats, sounds incredibly intricate, but she says she’s really rehashing old ground, mostly.
Then we’re talking about family. She rents an apartment with her sister, who sounds really annoying. I actually bring up my parents, and how I don’t know how to tell them about me. Mallory says it didn’t even occur to her that she’d see me dressed as a woman on the Saturday, that she already sees a woman in front of her.
I’m surprised when the woman who served us earlier is standing next to us, with another server behind her holding more dishes. She places Mallory’s food down, saying, “The steak, with sides of green beans and mashed potatoes.” Then she places my seafood pasta down and asks if I’d like some freshly ground black pepper, or lemon, but I say I’ll manage it myself.
Somehow the food is even better than the starters. Mallory’s steak tastes like nothing I’ve ever eaten in my life. The spinach doesn’t even taste like actual spinach, it’s like a seasoning to the fish and the creaminess of the pasta.
We’re again just looking at each other when we finish. I take a piece of the bread, which has been refilled at some point, and mop up as much of the pasta sauce as I can with it, offering to Mallory before doing one for me.
“Ladies,” a man, in a suit, and holding a drink says, as he sits down on the wall side of the table next to us, next to Mallory. Another man sits down on the seat opposite, on the side next to me. They don’t seem to be being seated by anyone.
“Ladies?” Mallory asks, sounding incredulous.
“I’m sorry for my co-worker,” the guy says, next to me. “I know it’s ‘women’ these days, it just doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Neither of us are fans.”
Mallory laughs. “You look at us and think ‘ladies?’”
“Fine, yeah, a woman and a dyke,” the first guy, the more drunk guy says. “Secretaries getting a treat? No alcohol allowed, of course.”
Mallory nods. “I’ve been told to have a conversation with Toni, here. Get her wearing something more appropriate to her gender.”
I snort. “I don’t see you wearing a skirt, Mallory,” I say. “Anyway, you know what the men are like. They get handsy if you dress as hot as we can be, you’ve seen me in a dress.”
“You wear a skirt and I’ll wear a skirt. Maybe one of the bosses will take a shine. Leave their wives for a younger model. We’d never have to work a day again if we get them bothered enough they forget the pre-nup.”
The female server is back again. “I don’t think I need to ask how the meal went,” she says, taking some of the plates. Another server is placing two champagne glasses down in front of us. “On the house. I know your account says it won’t cover alcohol but we wanted to apologise for the troubles we really should have seen. It won’t be on your bill,” the woman continues, as the other server steps back.
“Standards have really slipped here,” less drunk guy says.
“Sometimes things slip through without our noticing, but we try to do our best in such circumstances. We do apologise,” the woman says.
“Champagne, I hope?” drunk guy says.
“Sparkling house white. Our own label,” the woman says. “I thought our guests would prefer it.”
Less drunk guy beckons the woman speaking to us, while holding a drinks a menu. She hands off the plates she’s carrying to another server who’s appeared and she is soon behind less drunk guy, very professionally holding her hands clasped behind her back, leaning in to look at something he’s pointing out. “A great choice, Sir,” She says. “How many glasses?”
“Two. And a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue for us, two fresh glasses.”
The woman nods and stands upright. Then looks towards me and Mallory. “If you’d like to freshen up while the table is cleared let me show you the way,” she says.
We both know this is more of an instruction than an inquiry, so we stand, watching yet another server fuss with our table.
She begins to walk with me and Mallory to her side. “I’m Irene. If those two bother you just give me the nod. Or anyone. We’ll recognise it. We’ll have someone watching your table at all times, so don’t worry. Mainly it’ll be me.”
“Why—”
“You two seem capable. And I like you, Toni, and you, Mallory. You really enjoyed that steak. The bread on the pasta sauce, Toni? The kitchen will be delighted. The lady’s is there. Take your time. Like I said, someone is constantly watching your table. I don’t think those two are dangers. Just fools.”
“I can—” I begin to say, but I’m cut off.
“Use the women’s bathroom as it’s where you’re more comfortable, with your friend,” Irene says, rubbing my shoulder.
Then we walk into the bathroom, where Mallory just stares at me. “What’s going on?” she asks. “I was just playing with them, but it seems everyone is.”
I give a tired laugh. “Everyone’s playing with us. Everyone! Greg picked this place for a reason. I bet you they’re reporting back to him. It seems everyone is trading on secrets and information. Do you know he told me everything anyone does for him, in his department, is partly a test?”
Mallory shakes her head as she says, “What do we do?”
I shrug. “Take part? Play the game? Try to pass the test? I’m not too sure you can really fail. I think they just gather more information, until your case is terminal.”
Mallory pinches at her lips. “We continue to fuck with those guys?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I say. At which point Mallory salutes me. Then we use the bathroom for actual bathroom reasons, and we’re walking back to our table.
A man is placing down another ice-bucket, this time with its own stand, in between the table the drunk guys are sitting at and our table. Irene is also placing down their whisky, and two glasses for them, with another bucket of ice except no champagne bottle in it, just some tongs.
As we sit I see two cards in front of me, business cards. There’s the same in front of Mallory.
“Given our roles we don’t have business cards,” I say to the fools.
“Dress a bit sexier and we can get you jobs, the pay will be much better than wherever you are,” less drunk guy says.
“We can do the interviews now, if you want,” drunk guy says, then he starts making slurping noises.
Mallory makes a disgusted-looking face at me and says, “I think we’d need something a little stronger to even imagine doing that.”
Drunk guy picks up their bottle of Johnnie Walker and pours some, a very small amount, into our empty water glasses. “Do you drink whisky?”
“I’ve had a little,” I say. “Nothing like this.”
Somehow Irene is standing next to the drunk fools. “You wanted something?” she says.
“Is Simon working?” less drunk guy asks.
“He is,” Irene says. “Do you have a request?”
“Could he imagine up an introduction to whiskies for our soon to be secretaries?”
Irene nods. “Any instructions for him?”
“He knows best, he’s the expert. He showed me an entire world I hadn’t seen before. He’s never wrong. Just keep them coming for the ladies as long as we’re here. We can’t have them responsible for the bill.”
Drunk guy makes slurping sounds again.
“How do you take your whiskies, ladies?” Irene asks. “Coke, ginger, ice, no ice, drop of water? Any way you want Simon will work with.”
“Coke Zero is tempting, but just straight is fine for me,” I say.
“What Toni says,” Mallory says, as I’m taking a drink of the restaurant’s sparkling white wine, not realising it’s gone.
Yet another fucking server is standing to my side, taking the champagne out of the ice-bucket and pouring me a glass. “How was the white?” he asks.
“Amazing!” I say. “Like everything here.”
He laughs as he pours Mallory a glass.
Drunk guy has somehow finished his whisky, already, and is pouring himself another measure, and topping up his friend’s glass. Less drunk guy is dropping ice-cubes haphazardly into the whiskies. A lot of ice. “Your minds will be blown by that champagne, then,” drunker guy says.
I take a drink of the champagne. My mind isn’t blown. I put the glass down. It’s nice, really nice. That’s all it is though. The house wine had something special.
Irene is quickly back with some fresh water glasses for us, and two tumblers with a small amount of whiskey. “Simon would like your opinions on the whiskey, so he can tailor what’s to come.”
Me and Mallory both take a taste of our whiskeys. It’s nice but not the best I’ve had. Not like the one Trevor gave me, not even like the one Jackson gave me. But there’s still something to it. “I’m not very good at describing tastes,” I say. “It’s interesting. It’s not complex, there’s a kind of evenness to it. I’ve had some really complicated whiskies I couldn’t even begin to understand but this is just normal. It stays normal for ages though. Like I can taste it being normal, still.”
“That’s a good description,” Mallory says. “There’s no real tastes to it beyond whiskey. Irish whiskey, I’d say. Not cheap but not fancy. Better than everyday stuff.”
Somehow drunk guy is pouring yet more of the Johnnie Walker Blue for himself. “If Simon didn’t start them on a Scotch he really is slipping, just like this place.”
“How about your champagne?” Irene asks.
“I preferred the house stuff,” Mallory says. I give my agreement.
“Simon should have enough from that. Whiskies will be produced while your gentlemen friends are here to cover the bill.”
Which is how the afternoon goes. The fools getting drunker and drunker, and ordering beers as well, while small glasses of whiskey are found for us, once we give our reports for Simon. I’m really eager to meet him. There’s also various small plates of food, and nibbly bits, that both me and Mallory really try getting the fools to eat some of, but they refuse.
At one point Irene stands next to us for another whiskey tasting, not waiting for the report. There’s two small jugs of water as well, with the instruction from Simon to take a few sips of the whiskey, then try it with a tiny drop of water, then a little more. Irene says it’s fascinating that I preferred it without the water, but I don’t feel like it’s a judgment on me.
After it’s been dark outside for hours, while the two bros are fully slurring their words, and nearly falling off their seats, they order another bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Irene tries to protest but they’re having none of it.
They’re so drunk they actually give us a proper glass, for the first time. I feel like I’m about to slur my words too.
Me and Mallory are taking our first real drinks of the Johnnie Walker when Irene places a bill in front of the fools. “Your account has been settled, gentlemen. I’d suggest you hold onto the bill, and don’t forget your card. Your car is waiting for you.”
“What car?” the originally less drunk fool, but now totally drunk fool asks.
“When you arrived you insisted we reserve a car for you for precisely 8pm, should you still be here, and said you had to be gone unless something came up. I don’t know what that something is, but I don’t believe it’s happened.”
“We said that?”
Irene nods. “And I have to insist, I’m following your own instructions you made while in a much more early-morning frame of mind; while not enraptured by good company. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you missing out on a reservation elsewhere.”
“We just got the bottle. Is there somewhere we could store it?”
Irene shakes her head. “That’s what I was trying to warn you about, but you made yourself clear. And we don’t have an alcohol license to let you take an opened bottle off the premises. I’m sure the ladies will try to finish as much as they can, they can stay here all night drinking it.”
I’m about to speak up to protest when I feel Irene’s hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, sure, fine. Another fun day, as usual. We’ll be back,” drunk fool one says, looking tired.
“I’m sure you will,” Irene says, as two male servers are helping the fools collect their belongings, including slipping the bill and credit card into the guy who started out more sober’s pocket.
Then they’re gone, and me and Mallory laugh. “Wow!” Mallory says.
“Are you two OK to walk?” Irene asks.
“I hope so,” Mallory says. “We drank a lot.”
“Small glasses, and you paced yourselves. And you tried to get those two idiots to eat while you were eating. Leave your stuff and follow me. Someone will bring it along in minute.”
Mallory grabs her purse and stands, holding herself still for a moment, as I also stand and do the same. “Yeah, fine, I think,” I say, just about fine. “What’s going on?”
“You really don’t know?” Irene says. Me and Mallory look at each other. “It’s what those drunks have been aiming for for years. This both of your first times in here?”
“For me, yes,” I say.
“Yeah, same,” Mallory says.
We’re led down a corridor and through some double doors, then down another corridor. We go through a sturdy door, where Irene stops. The room we’re in is like an old gentleman’s club, not the strip club kind. There’s no cigar smoke, though. There’s leather everywhere, and wood. There’s a bar at the top of the end of the long room. At almost every table, with people around it, or often just one person, there’s bottles of spirits, and sometimes buckets with ice. Some people are drinking beers, some glasses of wine, but again it’s mostly spirits. There’s plates of food too, mostly snacks, and charcuterie plates, meats, cheeses, various pickles. Breads as well. One person has pie and ice-cream.
The whole room looks more formal than the restaurant but actually feels more relaxed. People aren’t as dressed up. There’s people of all ages, at least ages older than us. A few heads have turned as I’m looking, there’s smiles on their faces, but apart from that there’s no reaction.
“You like it?” Irene says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Yes!” Mallory says.
Irene nods and someone behind a bar rings a bell, just the one ring. All the heads now turn and applause breaks out, polite applause, and smiles.
“Welcome,” Irene says.
“What?” both me and Mallory say.
“What would you like to drink? Anything? Just describe what you want.”
“Some of the wine we had first?” Mallory says.
“Toni?” Irene asks.
“A light beer. Not low calorie, light in alcohol. And if you don’t have that a shandy? Half beer—”
“We have what you want,” Irene says. “Sit over there.” She points at a table with some leather seats around it, up against a wall with a reserved sign on it.
Me and Mallory sit and just look at each other. We’re offering people ‘Thank yous’ as they carry our stuff in from the restaurant, them saying ‘Congratulations’. And ‘It was something!’
Eventually Irene is back down with a tray; two glasses of beer and a glass of the sparkling white wine.
She places one beer in front of me, the wine in front of Mallory and another beer in front of a third chair. She takes her waiter’s apron off and sits herself down, picking up the glass of beer and taking a sip, or more a gulp.
“Oh! That’s so nice!” she says “Long day, but worthwhile.” Then she looks at me and Mallory, and begins to speak. “We’re a club. We’re inviting you to be members. We’re not really like other clubs. You don’t need money to join. You can’t buy your way in. We don’t care who you are. Although we do have some impossibly wealthy and successful members that is not why they’re members. Did you two have fun today?”
Mallory and me both laugh, staring at each other. “Actually, yeah,” Mallory says, smiling.
“We know,” Irene says. “We enjoyed watching you having fun. That’s how you get to be a member. You don’t have any pretensions or ideas about what it took, not that we can see. In your cases you didn’t even know this spot existed, which can be helpful, but also a hindrance. It’s slightly more difficult, for some people, if they don’t know about us. We’ll challenge you more to see how much you enjoyed yourself. The staff were pretty quick on you. That you came from Greg means we were already aware it could be in your future, and he decided to send you here. He’s a member.”
I sigh. “A test. Are you going to report back to him?” I ask.
Irene laughs and takes another long drink of her beer. “You’re on a corporate account, a corporate account setup by members. That’s how we make a lot of our money, typically reporting on staff, new hires, potential hires, junior staff, especially, etc. We won’t report on clients or possible business partners unless we feel something is seriously wrong. I would have reported on you had you not been offered membership tonight. I’ll be doing a report on the two idiots you had fun with tomorrow morning. They’re frequent fliers. If you choose to take up membership I will never report on you. No-one will. It’s simply not done. You’re in. Greg can see the bill, if he asks for it, it’s a business account paying for it, but he has to put a request in to see anything but the final figure. If we can find the bill. You can, of course, just show him your copy.”
“How is our bill?” I ask, worried.
“A little bit higher than normal for Greg’s first timers. Not many go for that steak their first trip here. It’s balanced out by your pasta, though. The starters were within reason, just about, and you didn’t get desserts. You ate a lot of bread, however.”
“The bread was amazing,” Mallory says.
“It’s not in house. I’ll get you the name of the bakery.”
“What about the drunk fools’ bill,” I ask, wondering how deep in it they’re going to be with their bosses.
Irene smiles and wipes at her eye. “Their bosses won’t care. Greg will explain if you show them the business cards they gave you. I can’t report on them to you. It’s not as high as you think. The whiskies you drank were all from members in here, from their personal collections.”
“So who’s this Simon guy?” Mallory asks. “The one picking the drinks?”
“The staff... The members... Mostly the staff. People like to think there’s some genius behind what we do here but it’s mostly just experience in the industry. If we said that people would get annoyed and disagree with what we say. When we tell them it’s Simon choosing things they respect his knowledge.
That’s actually one of the rules of here. You can get any of our own label drinks from the bar in here, wine, beer... Anything else you have to buy a bottle of. You can store opened bottles if they’re the style of drink that can be stored. You can obviously store unopened bottles of wines. However, the point, if someone is being tested for membership, like you with the whiskeys, any staff member can take from a bottle you have opened in your locker that’s more than half full. For you two it’ll be two-thirds full as that’s your stopping point. You’ll be joint members.”
“Joint members?” Mallory asks.
“We know you as a couple. It’s usually husband and wife, or spouses. Sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend, or the variations on that. Very occasionally a parent and adult child, or adult grandchild. We have a few friends. Usually they’re retired friends. Sometimes younger. It just means one of you could clear out the locker without the other realising. It can be a bit of a test. It happens with breakups.”
I’m beginning to feel tired. I’m not thinking when I say, “This is such bullshit. How do you keep all this going?”
Irene begins to cackle. “What did you think of our food? In comparison to other places? And I saw you looking through the drinks menu. What did you think of that?”
I think for a few seconds, deciding to be blunt. “It’s actually not that fancy,” I say. “Not based on how those guys were acting. A lot of things are affordable. I could come here for a treat with my boyfriend. The bill would be expensive but I wouldn't squirm, even with a bottle of wine.”
“Yeah!” Irene says. “And you’re welcome to bring one non-member in here at a time, if we don’t object after we see them eating a meal. Just tell us you want to take them in before you order, so we can watch, and judge if they’re worthy. But that’s what we do, we’re exclusive in the sense we don’t let anyone join. We’re not exclusive because of price or anything like that. Certainly not compared to other places. This city has the highest amount of member’s clubs in the country. We have a lot of members from the hospitality industry. The challenge is in finding drinks, foods, and the like other people don't know how to find as usually people just go on cost. We like affordable quality. Of course we offer the high-end too, but it’s not what we’re about. Any more questions?”
Mallory’s drained most of her glass of white wine. “Why us?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why? Why us? Why so quickly?”
“You trusted me from the start, trusted my opinion on the starters. You loved the food. It is really good food, not cutting edge, good! The chefs were interested when they heard of you sharing bites from your plates. They were lobbying when they heard about you wiping up the sauce with the bread and sharing it. You were patient, you took your time, you had fun, you enjoyed the whiskies and were happy to talk about them. You weren’t cruel to people, even people treating you badly. You bit your lips, and accepted what you thought was drunken hospitality, with some schadenfreude. You could work in the hospitality industry if you wanted, you’d be great at it. You were marked for membership, at some point, because of all that. Why tonight, so suddenly, is because you tried to get the drunkards to eat when you were snacking away. That was a really normal thing to do that not many people would do. Not after how they treated you.
I do have one question for you, though, Mallory, how did you know about the steak? Who told you?”
“My Dad has been raving about this place my entire life. He stopped coming when my Mom got sick... He said he couldn’t be in here without her. He made me take the job I did because it was near here.”
“OK... I think that’s everything explained. Do you want to be members? You have until we close to decide.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again. “What’s the downside?” I ask.
Irene stops for a while, really thinking deeply. “I suppose you know the one downside. You’ll know you’re always being judged, to some degree, when you’re in here. Especially the people you’re with. You two will be fine with us as long as you don’t do anything horrific, same as anyone. You’ll be members. And if you don’t join, in the future, when you’re here for the corporate stuff, we’ll be reporting back on you. I just need your surnames if you want to join. There’s no fees or costs, or expectations. It’s not literally a member’s club, or even legally, it is a business, just one that was established with a certain purpose in mind. It’s stuck to it. If you join and never come to even the restaurant again you can show up in fifty years if we’re still open and it’ll be OK. We’ve been open more than fifty years, already.”
Me and Mallory exchange a look, shrug, then tell Irene our surnames. She goes to the bar to sort our ‘membership.’ We sit in silence for a while, then Mallory asks the question I’ve been thinking about too. “Do you think my Dad, and maybe my Mom, were members here? When she... Why he talked about here?”
“Maybe...” I say. “I’m sorry.” I want to explain how I didn’t know any of this, or didn’t intend any of this, but Mallory knows this. It’s just something weird that happened.
Any words, at all, don’t seem appropriate in the moment, with a few minutes passing while we both think about what this means. Something incredibly funny happened, and fun, and now it’s horrific for someone who’s my new friend. At least in her memories.
Eventually Irene is back. “You’re members, but it looks like you’ve figured out what I was checking. Yes, your parents were members, Mallory. I’m sorry. Your Dad still is, of course, he's just not been here since your mother passed,” she says.
“I did say my Dad wanted me to take the job because it was close to here, he must have been hoping I found my way, into the restaurant at least.”
Irene smiles. “We don’t encourage phones in here but people would understand this call. I don’t think you want to make it in public. There’s a private phone through the doorway by the bar, on the way to the smoking lounge. The number has been the same since he was last in here. If he’s kept his phone up to date, and I think he will have, he’ll be happy to get the call. He left a bottle for you, should you ever join. I have someone rooting it out at the moment. We’ll have it for you by the time the call ends. Even if you just want to tell him you love him.”
Mallory stands and slowly makes her way to where Irene described. Me and Irene sit for a few minutes, and more drinks are dropped to us.
Irene explains that for the first night all the house label stuff is free, but that table service only happens in extreme circumstances, and she can’t ever remember a circumstance like this.
We continue to sit, quietly drinking, waiting for Mallory when some bottles are dropped down to us. “For your locker,” Irene says. One has a light layer of dust. It’s obviously the bottle Mallory’s Dad left for her. “The two bottles of wine are just gifts, nothing special. The whiskey is that one you preferred undiluted. It’s a small brand. Irish. Cask strength, which would typically mixed with water. It’s from a staff member’s collection. He hasn’t found anyone who likes it as much as you. Convinced everyone his should be the selection from staff. The sparkling wine is from me, as I served you.”
I talk, deliberately, and feeling quite sober again. “Is it expensive?”
“Not really. And staff here pay cost price, anyway. A perk. We’ll all split the cost with him, a few bucks each. He has quite a few bottles of it. The other amusing thing which I forgot is you actually have access to your corporate locker. It’s quite large. And completely untracked. You and Mallory are members, and we know you’re part of the business from Greg’s instructions. You have the run of it. And you could, theoretically, not tell anyone about your membership until they come in and think to check your names on the list. You can do that, as a member. Here’s your card.”
She hands me a membership card. On it is the name of the restaurant, an ID number, and the words Toni Mallory — Joint Members. “She’s Mallory Toni. Your real names are in the database if anyone needs to check. Don’t worry about your actual ID or whatever you go through in the future. Staff will keep everything update. An i or y here or there won’t make any difference. And if all that fails I’m sure you can just say you’ve met Simon.”
I smile and take another drink. “A multi-faceted man, Simon. Lots of dimensions,” I say, but jokes like that don’t really feel important with what Mallory is going through.
Finally Mallory comes back, and it’s obvious she’s been crying, but she’s also smiling. “How was it?” I ask.
“Amazing. We both cried. It’s the best I’ve felt in ages. Is that the bottle?” Mallory asks Irene. Irene nods. “Could you pour us each a measure?”
“Of course,” Irene says, picking up the bottle.
“No, please. No, Mallory. That’s yours, that’s from your Dad.”
Mallory sniffs again. “He recognised the number. And my voice, immediately. He began to cry and I did too. He explained him and Mom were members, and it was a special treat to come here, when they went out for a night. When she... Well... He said he couldn’t come back here unless it was with someone he loved. But he didn’t want to force it on either of us, me or my sister. I explained what happened today, as best I could, and your report, and you thanking me in it. We cried, again. He knows I’m a joint member. Him and Mom were joint members, didn’t even know the club existed when they got brought in. He says what happened is special. He couldn’t dream of it happening in a better way, and he has dreamt about it, a few times. He wants us to drink it. As much or as little as we want, but just one drink, at least. You know... In memory? And celebration?”
I find myself rubbing at my eyes too, as Mallory sits down, and Irene places the glasses in front of us. “Toasts aren’t allowed in here. Just sharing drinks,” she says.
So we all drink. In memory.
It’s a simple day for Toni, right? She’s back at work, she’s had her surprise lunch with Mallory, that Greg told her to indulge in. She somehow got to join a private members' club, for people who like food and drink, and simply enjoy the pleasure of it, not the status and money. And now she just has to knuckle down, back at her regular job. That’s all she has to do, right? Life is going to be normal—as normal as it can be for Toni—until Friday when she gets to see her friends, and her boyfriend, again. Right? A normal day back at work for Toni? Right!?!
I walk into the office building and the headache pills seem to have stopped working. I don’t know why exactly, they should be strong enough. I don’t feel too awful, just the effects of last night, and an intense week and a half, or so, catching up on me. It could also be the lighting. It was overcast outside and there was no glare, but the lights in here? They’re intense.
I make my way up to my floor on the elevator, with my head bowed and eyes closed, looking up each time the doors open. Not my floor.
Then it does get to my floor. I’m looking up. Greg is standing there.
“My office!” he says.
“Greg?” I say.
“Go to my office!”
I shake my head. I have no idea what’s wrong with him. Sure Irene, last night, said she wouldn’t report on either me or Mallory to Greg, we’re now members in that restaurant’s private club, so it’s not done. What else is there? The bill wasn’t huge. I saw a copy. I even have a copy!
I walk into Greg’s office and sit myself down. He has two chairs set out.
After a few minutes Mallory walks in. She looks brighter than I feel. She’s even giggling.
“Oh no! We’re in trouble!” she says, in an exaggerated tone.
I laugh too.
Greg storms in, launching the door closed behind him.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“Are we late?” Mallory asks.
“At the restaurant?” Greg continues.
Mallory looks aggrieved. “What you told us?” she says. “Or what Toni told me you told us. And I know she didn’t lie.”
“I know something happened!”
Mallory has less resting bitch face now and more of an active bitch face. “Were you watching us?”
Greg looks like he’s biting his tongue. He’s staring at us.
I reach in my coat pocket and take out the receipt from yesterday. “I assume you need this, and it’ll probably be easier than requesting it from the restaurant. Their record keeping might not always be the best,” I say, sliding the receipt across Greg’s desk.
Greg picks it up and examines it. Checking it two or three times. “I assume you got the oysters and steak, Mallory?” She nods. “A lot of bread. One or two snack plates.”
“Thank you, Greg. We had a great time,” Mallory says. “I assume everything is in order.” She’s looking ready to stand.
Greg glares at Mallory. “Did you pay for the drinks yourself? On a separate bill?”
“We didn’t buy a single drink!” Mallory says.
Greg shakes his head. “You’re not good enough with words, Mallory, to have that attitude. Tell me what happened and there’ll be no issues.”
“There should be no issue,” I say. “We did what you said. We didn’t order a single drink in the restaurant. We did get some complimentary drinks, among others. But they were given to us. And Mallory wants the same work from home setup as me.”
Greg slaps the desk. “That’s how you negotiate, Mallory! There’s no contention, yet. No need for fists, and Tony offered up something to pique my interest. I’m the boss! For now! We’ll consider your work from home, if you’re clear on what happened in the restaurant!”
“Some men thought Tony should dress more femininely, and they’re right. And they wanted us to experience what Simon could come up with, so arranged for us to taste whiskeys—on their dime—while they got drunk and said we could work for them as secretaries if we passed their blowjob based interview style.”
I’m back in my wallet again, getting the membership card to the restaurant. “This should answer your questions, Greg. I’m guessing you got told you wouldn’t be getting a report. And didn’t expect this...”
Greg takes the card from me, looks at it quickly, then hands it back. “You too, Mallory?”
“Mallory Toni,” Mallory says.
Greg nods, and I can’t read his face. “OK. No negotiation, now. You had your fun. Tell me from the top...”
So we do, me urging Mallory, at first, then both of us picking up memories the other has forgotten. We leave out the details about Mallory’s father, only saying he’s a member who hasn’t been there in years but he hadn’t told Mallory anything about the place.
Eventually Greg is satisfied, and a quiet has fallen. He sits back in his chair. “You said these men gave you their business cards, do you have them?”
I nod and hand over the business cards, looking at my wallet again and thinking I really need to get something prettier than my old and worn, imported leather football one. Although I do quite like it.
Greg laughs, looking at the cards, before handing them back. “Those guys want membership, badly,” he says.
“Yeah, that seemed obvious once we were clued in,” Mallory says.
Greg shakes his head. “That’s not it. The firm they’re with... A very old finance firm. It handles extreme wealth. Money few of us could even dream of, certainly not you. Going back generations. To move up the business, and to handle the wealthier clients, their staff are set challenges. Given finance people it’s usually about behaviour. If they were set a challenge to join that place, as a member, then someone obviously doesn’t like them. Or thinks they need a big lesson..”
“They were assholes,” Mallory says.
“They do need a lesson,” I say.
“Are you OK to work today, Mallory?” Greg asks.
“It’s a Wednesday. Of course,” she says.
Greg makes a lifting motion with his hands and points towards the door, with one, while indicating for me to stay sitting with the other.
As Mallory leaves he looks at me. “What did you learn about Mallory?”
“She’s nice. Fiery,” I say. I don’t know what Greg is looking for and don’t want to volunteer anything not necessary.
“What style of work?” he asks.
“Finance, technical detail, statistics, data. All that, definitely. She said she’s not a qualified accountant, and she didn’t go the full analytics route, but took an interest in both. She blogs explaining baseball stats. She says she has some readers. I think that’s right...
“She has a good knowledge of a lot areas but not deep enough in any one area to commit to something. I think ‘translating’ as it were, technical details, would work.”
“Do you know her blog?” Greg asks.
“I do not... And if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know it, though, so there’s no point trying to cajole it out of me.”
Greg writes something on a notepad. “Is your home tidy enough that we could set up your work from home today?”
I think for a few seconds, running around my living room, mentally, and my kitchen. “Yeah, sure. It could take me a day or two to get it setup, but to have movers? Or deliveries? That’s no problem.” I wonder when I’ll get to see Tim, as I’m saying that. I can imagine him helping me with building the desk and chair. I think I’d just watch him, though. And maybe hope he notices me watching him. We could both get sweaty...
Greg nods and keys in a four-digit internal number into the phone. Holding it to his ear, after a few rings, he says, “Yeah... Tony... Yeah. No problem with it... This afternoon..? I’ll tell them. And to let you know one of the fashionistas might be complaining about makeup... I don’t know, Therese! I’m not a woman. It’s under her... Yeah, ‘their!’ I don’t believe Toni minds me referring to her as a woman. At least among people... Yes! I know! ‘As she’s ready..!’ I’m hanging up now... No, I’m really hanging up... Call Ben then!”
Greg does actually hang up. “HR is the worst invention in modern business. People say they’re corporate cops. They’re not. They invent rules as needed to justify their own martial law. The problem is we don’t pay you enough to tolerate the bullshit and they barely pay me enough to get results. It’s an unhappy balance. Give people money and time off, and a little respect—something that works their grey matter, or skills—then everyone’s happy. You don’t need one of those useless fucking MBAs to realise that! Work in a fast food restaurant for two weeks and you’ll discover that! If you’re in fast food you have none of that. Poor fuckers!”
I’m touching my finger beneath my eye, where my cheekbone disappears towards my nose, and realising Greg did see I was wearing makeup. Just a little, beneath my eyes, as I was not looking too great as I dragged myself out at the alarm. “It’s just a little BB cream,” I say.
“BB cream? What’s that? I know about concealer, it’s heavier than foundation...”
“It’s a lot lighter, really light coverage, if you have good skin. Which I guess I do because for years I just washed it and didn’t wear anything... But if anyone—”
Greg has obviously picked up on where I’m going with this as he interrupts, “If any of the dressed up weapons give you issues you can try either, ‘I’ll stop wearing it if you do,’ or, ‘I’m sure HR would be happy to deal with your concern.’ Do not fucking send them to me!”
I can hear the tiredness in his voice as he swears. “You need a holiday, Greg.”
“I’ve got a big day coming up. Important milestone.”
“Retirement?”
“Ha! You’d be floundering if I retired. No.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out two packages. “This is what you’re doing until we find you a project. I will find you a project. Hopefully by the end of the week, or the start of next week. For now though I want you taking notes on some of the interviews we’ve done. You don’t need to know what particular industry or business question it’s for. This is adding value, picking up little details others might not notice.
“This afternoon you’ll be organising your work from home setup. Another bit of martial law! Ha! Supposedly you’ll sue me if you get a sore wrist from the wrong kind of mouse. Would you do that to me, Toni?”
I laugh. “Maybe not you, personally, Greg,” I say. “Maybe...”
“Take the headphones and case. They’re expensive. And now you’re a member in the mob boss’s restaurant go wild on the business’s private stock. That disappears as soon as it’s bought. And Toni..? Eat lunch. And drink water. For your skin, at least. You won’t always be young and pretty.”
I stand with Greg looking at me, walk towards the door and feel the need to turn around, Greg calling me ‘pretty’ like a loudspeaker in my mind. “Thank you, Greg,” I say.
“You’re doing really well, Toni. I’m happy for you, as both my employee and a person,” Greg says.
I don’t know why but I walk out of Greg’s office feeling a thousand feet tall.
As I sit down at my desk I realise I’m still hungover.
My laptop is booting up as a woman approaches me. “How much were your nails?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, incredibly tired, eyes almost blurring, certainly given the conversation with Greg. I feel drained, and somehow elated. “Less than fifty bucks,” I continue. “But I got my eyebrows done too.” I have to add the eyebrows part because she’s thinking I spent fifty bucks on nails.
She zips her mouth shut. “Your secret is safe with me. You look amazing! And you’ll look better when you’re ready... To... You know..? Be yourself!? I’m telling you, girl. Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. The real women have your back! That’s exactly what you are! You’re gorgeous! You need to know that.” She’s put emphasis on the ‘need’ in her words, as she she walks away, almost strutting, beaming lasers into anyone who looks at her as she passes them.
As my laptop finally wakes I look through the staff directory, seeing if I can place her. Eventually I come to a name; Megan. That’s her. Hired straight from university, from what I recall. Something unusual for this place. Typically people do a year or two with a smaller business then try to move up; getting stuck in Greg’s madness, with his ‘tests’ to escape his insanity.
I unpack the headphones and plug them in, going through my emails—nothing important. Apart from one, linking me to a directory with the videos I should watch; I load them up and start watching, a notepad next to my laptop, me taking extensive notes.
Before I know it it seems I’ve skipped the morning break, and my stomach is rumbling. I go to kitchen, and it’s mostly empty. There’s a couple of stoves, proper industrial stoves, an array of cutlery including sharp knives. microwaves, plenty of generic oils, salts, and sauces in one of the massive fridges, along with people’s food in tupperware. In the second fridge are my chicken thighs and veggies.
I get down to preparing things, cleaning as I go. I realise I probably don’t actually need as much of this food as I brought. Yesterday I was sent out for lunch, and I don’t know what will happen later in the week.
The kitchen also has an industrial boiler, and a bean to cup coffee machine, with dire warnings of what will happen to any employee who uses the milk frothing attachments without cleaning them printed on the front of the machine. I imagine whoever typed up that message was channelling Greg as they wrote it. And in one fridge is both sparkling and non-sparkling water, ‘When you take one replace it!’ With my meal ready I sit down with a bottle of the sparkling water.
As I take my first bite I realise I am actually quite hungry, but in a strange way. It’s not necessarily a nutritional hunger, I ate really well, yesterday, although my noodles, with chicken thighs and veggies, is hitting the spot, it’s a hunger for, I don’t know, success? Growth?
As I’m halfway through my noodles a few people have come in. They’re preparing their own food, mostly using the microwaves. Therese also comes in, and waves as she spots me. She comes over. “Finish your food while I have a coffee, then we’ll get to your place and get you all situated.” She’s smiling as she walks to the bean to cup machine and bashes in her drink, a straight, double strength, black coffee.
Sitting down, opposite me, she says, “I don’t know why people go the cafés in the building, or farther. These are free, here... Well... I do know. People want to get away from work. They’re expensive though! I could never justify a $5.50 coffee no matter how much money I had. It’s wasteful!”
“I’m becoming acutely aware of finances, with my life, well... Taking off?” I say, and I know I can’t live at the same pace I have done for the past ten days, or so, no matter how much fun it might be. Either for my bank account’s sake or for my own health.
“How are you doing, Tony?” Therese asks. She takes a sip of her coffee.
“I want things to move fast, as well as, you know, taking my time. I don’t know how to explain it. There are some things I want right now, immediately, and some things I just want to appreciate.”
Therese grips onto her coffee with both hands, and leans in towards me. “If you want to go talk in private we can? Or if you just want to hint at things, or even say nothing, that’s fine. Or just eat.”
I nod, finishing off my noodles, considering things, while Therese sips at her coffee.
“I think I need to speak to a therapist, and I want to start on hormones. Soon. Like, yesterday.”
Therese laughs. “And miss your lunch? I heard you had fun.”
“Maybe not yesterday, then. But that’s the thing. I don’t know how if I have time to fit everything in and still keep myself healthy.”
“OK, let me think. And if you’re ready to go I’ll grab my things and you grab your things, then we’ll meet in the lobby and get a car to your place. Are you sure you’re ready to have everyone come into your apartment and get you all setup? There’s no rush if you need to prepare. It can wait! Which is my problem, not yours.”
I tell Therese I’m sure.
I gather all my things and go down to the lobby. Eventually Therese joins me, apologising for the delay as something came up in her office, then we’re getting a car to my place, both of us in the back seat, casually chatting, at least after a few minutes. We hit on her wedding, somehow. I didn’t realise I had an interest in weddings.
Therese and her girlfriend are getting married. They just want something small, at least as far as traditional ceremonies go. Sure, lots of people, but in a bar they know, that’s willing to set aside one of the rooms for them, and have dedicated bar staff. They’re building their own playlist for the music, and getting a friend to DJ for people’s requests. The ceremony will be in the morning, with just a few, close people, then it’s a restaurant they both like for a meal before the trip to the bar and the dancing. It sounds like a real celebration for two people who are entirely comfortable with each other. I can’t even begin to imagine my own wedding. I never contemplated it before, but now I’m thinking do I want the big, white dress wedding? Is that even who I really am? Am I a woman who can actually marry a man?
Before I know it I’m keying the code into my door and we’re taking an elevator to my floor, where I let us both into my apartment.
I set my things down and Therese sets her things down, both on the coffee table in front of my couch.
“Do you want a coffee? I only have instant or a drip machine.”
“Are you a big coffee drinker?” Therese asks.
“Some, a little... It’s not a massive deal for me,” I say.
“A water would be fine, then,” Therese says, as she’s unpacking her laptop and dialling it into her phone’s wifi.
I’m back in with a water for each of us, and sit myself down on the armchair.
Therese begins explaining my new phone to me. It’s a dual sim phone, with two partitions of storage. I can keep my personal phone on it, and my work phone, and still keep the two separate on a single device. It’s mostly already setup, but she does transfer my personal details onto it, and all my photos and apps. It doesn’t take too long. Then she calls me from her work phone, with the work directory built into the office side of my new phone, explaining how things will appear depending on the origin of them. I think I get it, and she has a print off of my number for me to put in my wallet, and my purse.
I do show her my frog purse, which she oohs and aahs over. The words, ‘very cute,’ coming out of her mouth.
She’s explaining some of the setups the business can do with hormone treatment, and with therapists, and I’m explaining that I have some friends looking for a suitable therapist for me, friends who know my story, when her phone rings. It’s the people delivering my work from home setup.
We both go to the front door, telling them the code. There’s three of them. All big burly dudes, or sort of burly, powerful, even if one is wiry. You can tell he’s able to carry things all day long. One of them stays in the truck to avoid parking fines, and the other two begin carrying boxes up to my apartment.
Eventually it’s all delivered and I say, “I didn’t realise there’d be this amount of stuff. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get it put together.”
Therese laughs and says, “You’re not setting it up! That’s what these guys are for, aren’t you?”
The men laugh. “Health and safety keeps our business going. Can’t have you pretty office dwellers breaking a nail.”
I quickly look at my nails, realising they are painted and these guys know nothing about me. Therese slaps my hands down from where I hold them up in front of me, staring, and laughs at me.
“How does Toni’s apartment rate on apartments you’ve delivered to?” she asks.
“If we could get a water from a fridge it’d be a full 10/10.”
I quickly leap to my feet. “Oh shit!” I say. “I’m sorry! Do you want a Coke Zero, or something? I think I have a Sprite or two, as well, with sugar.”
“12/10 apartment, Therese!” the wiry guy says. “Water is fine, really. Thanks, Toni.” He knows my name. “Even tap water.”
I get them two chilled waters after arranging a few more things in my fridge. They don’t even pause to drink them, just sipping as they go, while thinking, and making, and screwing—with small drills—occasionally looking at printed diagrams. And hefting bags of screws. The two look like they have a secret language between each other. Just moving around each other, knowing what the other needs, with the occasional instructional grunt. It’s quite beautiful really. Even sexy, somehow. I even notice Therese watching. And she’s gay!
The first thing they put together is the floor length mirror. It’s a simple, pine surrounded mirror. A long, rectangular pane—with the pine encasement— on a horizontal swivel, set atop a pine box with two deep drawers in it.
“We’ll move this one, fellas,” Therese says. “I assume the light you need to bounce is in your bedroom workspace?”
The two men look like they want to object, but I nod at Therese, and they back down after I open the door to my bedroom and they catch a glimpse of, well, a mess, at the end of the room.
Me and Therese lift the mirror, carrying it, then setting it down inside my bedroom door so I can stand at any distance to see myself from the bottom of my bed.
Of course the first thing I notice when I walk into my bedroom are the clothes scattered everywhere; on one half of my double bed, and across the couch in my bedroom that was left by a previous tenant. There’s dresses, tops, jeans, skirts. Shoes, panties, pantihose, bras... All my work-out clothes that Steve bought me.... There’s my sexy date night dress hanging up in the dry cleaning packaging hanging outside my wardrobe. There’s even makeup and pink razors on the night-stand next to my bed.
Thankfully Therese doesn’t say anything and we’re quickly back into the living room, sitting down again.
“Are you thinking of joining the gym I mentioned at the meeting?”
“How do you mean?” I ask.
“I saw all your work-out clothes. A lot of new purchases. I can send the email from here if you want.”
I’m a little taken aback, I hadn’t even thought about it. This feels normal, somehow. I’m Toni, now, not Tony. Right now there doesn’t seem a difference. “I haven’t had time to think about it, to be honest, those were just... It’s a long story. I’m not sure I even have the time to go to a gym”
“You need to use your holiday time, Toni. You have a decent amount built up. Enough that it’s actually a problem, or could become a problem soon. We do expect people to use it. You’ve used very little since you started working for us. It’s getting to the point we’re going to be instructing you to use the time, with no choice in the matter. Especially if you carry it over into yet another year.”
I stroke at my nose, thinking. “I guess I really never had a reason to take time off, or a desire to go anywhere, or do anything?” I realise I’ve never felt pressure in work. Nor have I felt pressure in my life. It was all a blur. Or maybe more a fog? Downcast? Drizzle? The shits?
Therese seems to consider this. “Has that changed in the past few weeks?” she asks.
“Yeah, I guess it has. But it feels like my career is beginning to take off in new ways. I’m not sure I want to risk it by not being available.”
Therese clicks her tongue a few times. “Do you mind if I step into the kitchen to make a few calls?”
I shake my head and Therese says to give her those few minutes.
She spends a lot longer than a few minutes, longer than thirty minutes, even, occasionally stepping out to point at her phone with a grimace; she’s waiting on more calls.
After about forty-five minutes, maybe a little longer, she’s back into me, sitting down. “You owe Greg a favour, if you go ahead with this. He yelled at my boss. Apparently he was a right A-hole to her, but not enough she’s taking it out on you. You’re approved for ad-hoc time, if you formalise that you’re seeking medical treatment for something with me. It’ll never be recorded what that treatment is, until it becomes necessary for something in work, i.e. should you wish to transition in work—which will not be an issue, by the way,” Therese says, seeing the look on my face. “Even then it’s not a medical issue. Not in this state, although you do have some extra equality laws protecting you.
“All this means is there’s a record that you’re facing a serious medical issue. And need time, as allocated to your holiday time, to deal with it. Ultimately it’ll be up to Greg to approve it, and track it. That’s why he yelled at my boss. Apparently, to quote him, or the report from my boss on him, the words were, ‘Give the fucking kid whatever the fuck they fucking need!’ Or something like that. He was angry. Sorry about the kid part, those are his words.”
I simply nod, it sounds like Greg. I do feel like a kid, with people arguing. Not that my parents argued. My sister did, but they shushed her, with patience. But this feels like what being an actual child is like. People calling me an idiot.
“He also gave a, something along the lines of, ‘She could be really important to us in a few years time, do you want them, and our hard work, to have fucked off before we reap the fucking benefits!’ And then there were some slightly personal insults directed at my boss... Questions of her ability to function... She doesn’t typically deal with Greg, that’s what I’m for. I felt it necessary to call him in though as she was being stubborn.” Therese laughs at that, seeing the look of horror on my face; her choosing to inflict what sounds like actually angry Greg on someone.
I shake my head, or more rattle my brain about, hoping it slots back into place. “What are the consequences for me?” I ask. “For Greg? For you!?! You didn’t need to do this!!”
“For me? Nothing. This is my job. Toni, really... This is my job. I’m good at it. Don’t doubt that!” Therese smiles. “For Greg? People already call him an asshole. The downsides for you are there’ll be some record you had a medical issue. I’m sure people will be able to put 2+2 together when and if they track the timeline of your transition, should you transition, but there’s no official record of that. We don’t have access to your medical reports. Obviously I know but it’s not written anywhere. Other people will know but there’ll be nothing actionable. Will people remember in the long run? Not if Greg is right...”
Therese sees me looking a little shocked, at least that’s what I feel she’s looking at.
She leans forward on the couch she’s sat herself down on, leaning towards me, almost keeping the words quiet from the two men in here with us.
“Toni... As far as I know no-one at the LGBTQ group is trans, but they have dealt with issues mostly like this; the consequence and prejudice. It’s up to you. Personally I think it’s worthwhile, and I say that as someone who likes you. It was worth it for me, coming out about my sexuality. You have people in your corner. That’s what you want, and need. Now it’s up to you, if you want. As long as you, and I, and Greg, even Ben, are here that’s how it’ll be. You’ve impressed people. Just a little. I don’t know that for sure but you’ve got some people talking about you. Everyone talks about everyone but the people talking about you? That’s not me being HR. That’s me seeing a young woman—if you don’t mind me abandoning my HR role—who could do with a few breaks.”
I sit back in my chair, unable to de-tangle the thoughts running through my mind. “How do I do this?” I ask.
“You just tell me you have a medical issue you need to deal with, and need to use holiday time to deal with it.”
“I do,” I say, words coming out of my mouth with certainty. I do have an issue. It does have to be dealt with. Greg has been superb, my friends have been superb, Therese has been amazing. I’d like to see Tim, to have him hold me. I need time, and if I can get a little more of it it’s the best thing for me.
I uncross my legs and crouch forward, shaking my head slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” I say.
“It’s good you recognise that,” Therese says. “Now go get dressed, the lads are finishing up. We’ll go for a drink. One or two beers, or something. Please, no more! I have to save my big nights out, and I can imagine you’re exhausted, and I don’t want to be loading you into a car.
“Somewhere you feel comfortable. I’ll be clocked off, but I’ll still use the car service. I can drop you home if you’re ready to go home. If you need tomorrow morning off I’ll put it down as needing to put the finishing touches on your setup here. Is this all OK with you?”
I take a deep breath and stand. “It is, thank you.”
Then I’m walking into my bedroom, shakily, gently closing the door that looks out to my work from home setup that’s nearly completed.
I get dressed, a simple pale, ocean green, calf length, straight and heavy skirt, trainers, grey, opaque pantihose and a light, baby blue hoodie. I’m back outside in my living room after I’ve done my hair with dry styling products, in my new mirror. It’s not a showcase piece but it works. It’s simple. It didn’t cost a lot. I figure it won’t get noticed on review.
The guys working on my setup don’t even turn their heads when I walk out, dressed femininely, and go to the bathroom, with my heart pounding. I do my makeup, really taking time to look at my eyes before I apply my mascara. Then I’m back again, and ready.
“OK, we just need you to try your laptop in the dock, login to the wifi, and make sure your email is working,” Therese says.
I pick up my laptop and arrange it in the dock; the laptop set off to my left, on the stand, with a large monitor in front of me with a webcam on top, some speakers to either side, a printer/scanner on a little side table.
The laptop, as it powers up, detects the dock, and keyboard, mouse and speakers. There’s a lot of extravagant beeping from it after I log into the operating system, the laptop’s fan whining, as well as the fan of the dock.
Therese, standing by my shoulder, and as the laptop finally begins to calm down, says, “The password to the work wifi, the one we’ve provided, is on the router. It’s 5G, I believe. I’m sure you’re familiar with all this stuff...”
I check the password, a few times, still shaking, every so slightly. I login to the wifi, which is seamless, and then into my email, which I drag to the main monitor. There’s a few new emails I begin to click onto but Therese tells me to ignore them. “Any changes you need with the setup?” she asks. “Physically? Heights, comfort, anything like that?”
“Nope,” I say, after swivelling my chair to the left and right.
“OK, close down and stand back, I need to get a photo for our records.”
I feel a panic thinking Therese is going to take a photo of me at the desk, dressed as I am, but she waits until I’m standing back. She pushes the chair in underneath the desk and snaps a few photos with a flash.
“Everything’s great, fellas. Thanks,” she says. “You can take the last of the boxes.”
“Hang on!” I say, and quickly dart into the kitchen. I come back carrying a six pack, chilled, and hand it over to the wiry guy. “Thanks for all this.”
“Is this OK, Therese?” the wiry guy asks, but he’s already clutching the six pack, so I’m not sure what he’s asking.
Therese nods. He reaches into his pocket.
“Toni, this is my sister’s business. She’s just starting out. Started on soft furnishings and the like, sewing, that kind of thing. There’s plenty of people in the city who can do that so she wants to get into interior decorating. There’s a code on the back of the card, 25% off, minimum spend is $250. I don’t know what that is after the discount.”
I look at the back of the card and it says, ‘TREY25.’
“Trey is you?” I say.
He nods.
“Thanks, sure, yeah. Of course! This place is kind of stark.” I look around. It’s busier with the work from home setup, but compared to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, even Jess’s—Sally’s is an old family home—it’s a young person’s apartment that no-one has ever settled into. It needs something. Something I’m not sure of.
For some reason I imagine living with Tim, then quickly push that thought from my mind, telling myself that’s stupid. Mouse is a better home-maker, anyway. Do I want to live with Tim? Could I imagine my life with Tim? I can imagine sex with Tim...
The wiry guy, Trey, smiles. “Thanks for the beers, and check out my sister’s website. She’s good.”
They both nod, the bigger guy taking two beers from the six pack into his hand while carrying the last of the cardboard boxes in his other hand, and they’re gone. Except there’s a stack of plastic packaging left sitting on the ground. Plastic packaging, with something soft in them.
“You’ve spotted that?” Therese asks.
“What are they?” I ask. They look like cushions.
Therese moves to then begins to rip into them. There’s hoodies, work hoodies, and t-shirts being thrown over the back of my couch. “I figured these might be more fitting to your circumstances, just to wear around the house,” she says.
She hands me one of the hoodies and I hold it up, then hold it up to my chest. It’s one of the work hoodies I’d gotten before, when I got them in the wrong size; from various business milestones, and projects. Except these aren’t in the wrong size. They’re the right size, and they’re the female cut.
“If you ever have to take a video call and are inappropriately dressed just throw on one of those. Maybe you’re in your flowery PJs or something?” Therese laughs. “A quick way to professionalism. I can’t work from home, not often, unfortunately, I need to be available to people. I’d kill to work in my PJs! Don’t you think HR would be more approachable if we were wearing something fluffy and soft?” She smiles at me, and I laugh. I laugh even harder thinking of Greg’s comments about HR as martial law, and what he seems to have said to Therese’s boss.
“Are you ready to go? Do you know where you want to go? You look ready for a drink? A pizza? Whatever you want... I don’t get to work from home but this is a privilege I’ve finagled my way into when settling Greg’s people into work from home setups. When he’s an asshole on your side he’s very good.”
“How off work are you?” I ask.
“Pretty much 100% but I can’t abandon all knowledge I have of that place, at least not that easily, I do have to do one thing, though,” Therese says, and goes to her laptop bag, taking a package out.
The parcel is rectangular, and hard, quite thin. Too big and thin to be a book, and too stiff.
It’s wrapped in what appears to be recycled, or at least pre-used birthday wrapping paper. She hands it to me and slings her laptop bag over her shoulder.
I open it. It’s a framed Harvard Business Review. I think it’s from the months I started working in the office.
In gold pen, at the bottom of the framed HBR are the words, “To Tony. From Greg.” And scribbled on the white matting are the words, “Sorry about the Tony part, but that’s all part of growth.” Along with two heart symbols, what appears to be a stamp of a Sonic, and a shark, along with the name, ‘Greg.’
“He’s such an asshole,” I say, laughing at the idiot. “A fucking Harvard Business Review!”
“That he is,” Therese says.
I settle the frame, with the pop-out stand, to the left of and just behind the printer/scanner, and ask Therese to take a photo. She says she’ll send it onto Greg in the car, which has been called, then asks me where we’re going.
We wait a few minutes outside my apartment for the car to arrive. When it does we hop in and Therese tells me to say the bar to the driver. He seems to know it, apparently it’s an occasional drive, for him, at least. Then we’re stepping inside Light Avenue, me feeling nerves that I’m now, in some way, crossing my work life with my... I suppose it’s my real life? I don’t know what’s real though. Which part of me is real? It’s all blurring together.
As we get into the front area of the bar Therese shakes herself out, mumbling something. I walk to the bar, to see if there’s any seats available, but there’s none. After about a minute Steph appears and seems to point towards the long bar, mouthing that she’ll open it.
I take Therese’s elbow in my hand and direct her where to go, sitting us up at the counter. She’s busy looking about, seemingly very interested in something.
Steph is soon standing in front of us at the long bar. “Toni! My beautiful! My favourite woman! What can I get you?” I feel a wave of relief through me at the normality of this—this is all fucked up though, right?—of Steph being kind to me, and her effusiveness, in calling me a woman. It’s sort of where it all began; me being who I am. And now people seeing the real me. Is this the real me?
Is that all it was? I had to be me? It’s ridiculous. Totally stupid, just being me. Is life this stupid?
I cross my legs, a little clumsily, as Therese sets her laptop bag down and takes her coat off. I do the same and rest the strap of my purse on the hook on the bar.
“Can we get two businesswoman drinks, please,” Therese says to Steph. “Corporate account, if you catch my drift? Clear, low calorie, packs a punch. Would knock men off their feet!”
“Oh! Toni! I didn’t know you were moving this fast!” Steph says, laughing. “How corporate?” she asks Therese.
“Big junior position night out,” Therese says. “Something of a graduation drink. But still something unofficial.”
“I catch you,” Steph says, moving to grab some shakers, and then some bottles, after loading the ice-buckets with ice.
Therese turns to me. “She’s senior, isn’t she?” she says in a quiet tone. “I vaguely remember her from my drinking days. She’s been here a while.”
“Steph’s the manager,” I say.
Therese elbows me with a quick popping out of her elbow. “I knew you were a mover and shaker,” she says. Then she calls out to Steph, “With a little kick!”
“A little kick?” Steph asks, pouring drinks.
Therese nods. “A little teensy, tiny kicky,” she says, with a gnarled looking mouth on her.
“You got it! If you take responsibility?”
Both Therese and Steph laugh, and soon two drinks are being settled in front of me and Therese.
The glasses are somehow clear, but the liquid looks thick. When I take a drink of it I feel air being blown out my ears, neither cool, nor warm. It’s a room temperature air, almost equal with my surroundings, and who I am. I even feel it out my nose. I feel my eyes bulge.
“This is fucking...”
“Dry!” Steph and Therese say, both laughing.
And at some point I forget what’s happening. There was a second business-woman drink. And there was a message from Trevor, who I gave my phone number to, via Steph. I wasn’t even that drunk, just clueless. Excited! It was the name of a therapist? A therapist who Therese didn’t recognise but said she’d look into. Steph explained what she knew about informed consent as I had my third, possibly fourth drink.
I told Steph, or maybe Therese... Maybe I told both, two times, what I would fucking do to those guys who put together the office. I think I involved detail. Was there a shot involved? I think I involved tongue with those guys? Either my tongue or theirs. Possibly both? Both of their tongues? And me? Oh I fucking would!
There was laughing, and another drink. Possibly a bottle? It had no label.
I either danced, or fell off my seat, I’m not sure. There was more laughter. I wasn’t the only one laughing. I think Steph sat down too. Did Steph dance?
I think Therese danced? Steph mumbled something. I definitely stumbled.
A woman from security argued something with two guys? Or three guys? It was Anna-something, from the first night I was in here. I wished I was as built as her. I told her that, and she took me for a smoke, and a glass of water.
Really I showed Steph, and Therese, my moves. Killer fucking dance moves. I was amazing! I managed two shots while dancing!
There was a fifth drink, or a third? Did we do double shots? I don’t remember. The bottle was taken away. Steph explaining to a bartender how to make it, asking for comments from us. I think I contemplated what numbers meant, aloud. Or how irrelevant they were. There was a sixth drink where the bartender was all on their own. I don’t remember it, not really. There were other drinks, I feel? I’m not sure.
I think Tim carried me home. Did Therese call him? Or was it Steph talking to him? I called him, trying out my new phone. And apparently, according to Steph’s words, “Someone’s wasted and needs a man taxi.” Why she didn’t get a taxi I don’t know, either way Steph is insisting she drives Therese home. Or someone drives her home. And Steph certainly can’t drive. They’re talking about definitely going home...
Tim is being all sexy but refusing to fuck me. I don’t know why but Columbo is interrogating him. Is Columbo interrogating me? He has a question for me? I don’t care though because I’m trying my best to get slobbery with Tim, who’s a stupid asshole and busy laughing. But I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, or is it my tongue in his mouth? Maybe I’m biting his ear? Did he scream?
I mock his girly scream as I try to unzip his pants, which he rejects. That’s fine. Pants are too complicated! Skirts for life, I scream, as he carries me, I think.
I feel light as air and someone’s undressing me. They’re taking my pantihose off, and my underwear. Men can’t unfasten bras but somehow he does. I’m a woman, I say. And he tells me to go sleep. And he refuses to play with my boobs. Eventually I get him to rest one hand there, on my tit, and I think he likes my naked butt squeezing into him. I reach back and give him a handjob, or at least I think I do. I hope I do.
I still feel him pressing into me, and I force myself to stay awake, struggling with his giant... Arguing I just want him to...