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autohomoneurotic · 2 months ago

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After School

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“Sloane told me you bought a suit for graduation,” Gray shoots over Miguel’s shoulder. “Pretty badass.”

Sloane slings an arm around you and pulls you closer, plucking the cigarette out of your mouth and taking a drag. “I know, right? He looked so distinguished. Very gentlemanly.” Your heart all but stops in your chest and your smoke almost tumbles out of your mouth when Sloane tries to stick it back in. You brace for Miguel and Gray to give you both a weird look, or question her, or just do anything at all, but they do… absolutely nothing. They just smile and laugh and say they bet she’s right, and the moment passes. Like it was nothing. Which you suppose it was, really.

i got a lot of (for me) new followers because of my loserfication piece, sorry to disappoint but most of the pieces i post are chapters of a novella i'm writing called 'this thing i'm getting over'. it is about two girl ("girl") best friends named virgil and sloane growing up off the coast of washington state during the 2008 recession and realizing both of them wish they were both boys and what they do with that information while they graduate high school and start considering what exactly they want to do with their lives. most chapters are 'porn with plot' ,to use a fanfic term, but i'm moving more into plot heavy chapters, like this one- think of it as 'autohomoerotic literary fiction', to coin a phrase. i hope you'll read it if you like my writing, you can go back to previous chapters on my blog to find the ones with porn if you arent interested in lore, lol. anyway, here you go, sorry to shit up the forcemasc and aap/ahe tags with non-porn, it's more present in the other chapters as at its core it is a story about one friend forcing another friend to accept she wants to be a boy. i just want to get my work out there :]

(for clarity, although these characters are ftm, i use she/her pronouns for them as they aren't out or don't really get what they're feeling at this point in the story, and i find it more cohesive and interesting to refer to them with feminine pronouns to express the dissonance between their social position and clearly transmasculine interiority. when they accept themselves (or when they are having sex, for funsies) it will switch to he/him, i think that makes their transitions more meaningful in narrative context. if you don't like that then don't like don't read or whatever the fujos say)

When your graduating class is ninety people, your commencement tends to be more of an assembly than a ceremony. A ceremony would denote a stadium, seating assignments, maybe some sort of loudspeaker system to reach the parents in the nosebleeds; South Whidbey High School has none of that. You might find that disappointing if you weren’t so grateful for the tradeoff, which is that it takes all of an hour for it to be over.

You are standing on the side of a collapsible stage that was used by the middle school a week earlier for their own graduation ceremony (assembly), fidgeting with your cap in an attempt to make it look less stupid sitting on top of your hair. It is having a hard time staying on, seeing as to how it has to stretch over the thick headband your mother foisted on you before you left. You’re hungry, you’re tired, and you are almost unbearably hot in the itchy polyester gown under the June heat. But, you remind yourself, it is almost over, and soon you will be free. You were with the S’s, accompanied by Ethan Singer and Lainey Stewart, and you breezed past the T’s, the U’s, and the V’s- again, perks of a small class- and now, finally, you are at the W’s. And there is only one last name that starts with a W at South Whidbey High School.

Sloane is trying to catch her eye from where she stands across the platform. She’s leaning out of line, standing on her tiptoes and grinning in a way that borders on menacing as the measured applause for Lainey subsides and your principal clears his throat to read out the next name. You do not smile back, because you know why she is so excited.

Sloane has been planning what stupid thing she should do when she walks for going on three months now. She somehow got it into her head that this was a moment she simply couldn’t waste- ‘you only get to do it once!’ is what she had said, many times, with increasing insistence, and every time you have replied, ‘no, you only have to do it once,’ and then she flicks you on the arm and goes back to discussing what stunt she should pull with Andrew. You know it won’t be anything too crazy, but you also know that when she does it everyone will be looking at you and wondering what more you could have done to stop this.

Your principal barely gets the last syllable in ‘Webster’ out before Sloane is practically skipping across the stage to him, hand holding her cap onto her head. When he goes to shake her hand, she sticks hers out in return- and then takes it away at the last minute, sliding it up past her ear like she’s smoothing her hair. You guess she decided to go the down-low-too-slow route. You bow your head to hide your face behind your hair- and maybe a smile, despite yourself- and listen to the sound of exactly four people laughing. You can tell that it’s just the guys, if not from the sound than from the fact that no one else would find Sloane’s dumb stunts funny enough to dignify them with a reaction. When you look up she’s walking towards where you stand at the back of the line. You can see in her eyes that she is waiting for you to give her permission to be pleased with herself, so you give her your own small smile back as you grab her wrist when she passes by to pull her into line behind you.

“How was that? Did you see?” She’s whispering in your ear, hands on your shoulders as she shifts from foot to foot- Sloane is essentially unable to stand still if it is explicitly asked of her. You shrug her off and shush her, keeping your eyes forward as Alice and Ben Yang are called to walk. You continue ignoring her even as you can feel her start poking the small of your back, reaching behind yourself to grab her finger and trap it so she cuts it out. She’s attempting to take her hand back when the audience starts clapping and you take mercy on her, freeing it so you can put your hands together along with them.

You keep dodging Sloane’s attempts to get your attention for the next few minutes as your principal gives his closing remarks, about how poised and intelligent this class is, how proud he is to have served you for the past for years, that sort of thing, all the while batting her hands off your cap and resuming the blind tug-of-war between you and her finger until this ceremony (assembly) is finally, blessedly over. There’s one last round of applause- which Sloane obnoxiously joins in on, much too loudly- before everyone around you falls out and begins looking for their parents. You know there’s technically supposed to be some kind of recessional, where everyone stately walks off to orchestral music, but no one here is kidding themselves about that being necessary.

At last you turn to Sloane, and before you can say anything she’s already wrapping you in a hug and spinning you around.

“We’re finally free!” She’s saying as she lifts you up, repeating it a few times- “We’re free, we’re free, we’re free!” You wait for her to run out of steam and put you down before you hug her back.

“We’re free,” you repeat back gravely, smoothing the back of her gown and letting go, taking a look around. “Where’s Kim?”

Sloane points over to where her mother is chatting with a couple other parents, face in its characteristic under-impressed look. “Talking to the other hospital people. Where’d your parents run off to?”

“They told me they’d just wait in the car when the ceremony was over.” You parents are not big fans of ‘mingling’. “Is Austin around here somewhere?”

Her face falls a little and she purses her lips to the side. “He couldn’t make it down from Pullman.”

“That’s too bad, I’m sorry.” You know Sloane was excited to see her brother- he rarely comes home anymore, citing gas prices or homework or something or other, and you can tell it gets her a little more every time.

“It’s fine, I honestly expected it.” She takes her cap off, pushing her hair back and squinting up at the sun before looking back at you with another wide grin on her face. “So, how did you like my moves up there?”

You give her a look. “I told you no one would laugh.”

“Andrew laughed! And Nadir and Cameron! Maybe not Scott, he’s no fun. But the rest of you guys did!”

“I didn’t, don’t implicate me in all of that.”

“But you wanted to!” You elect not to respond to that and she huffs a little. “Whatever, you’re no fun either. Let’s go find them, anyway.” She doesn’t wait for a response before she’s dragging you along behind her by your wrist. You try to keep up, pulling up the hem of your gown so you don’t trip, and as you pass by the last of the rows of folding chairs Sloane’s hand finds its way into yours, lacing your fingers together.

You make the rest of your way around the side of the school like that, hand in hand, hers squeezing yours tight and then dropping it as you round the corner and see the guys where you’d agreed to meet after the ceremony (assembly) was over. Cameron spots you both first and beckons you over, cigarette in one hand and stupid chunky butane lighter in the other.

“What took you guys so long?” He hands you each a smoke and steps aside to let you into their huddle.

Sloane takes her zippo out of her pocket and lights your cigarette for you, then her own- she always starts yours first, to the extent that you almost never bring a lighter with you if she’s going to be around. “Just enjoying our first few moments as high school grads. We’re all kind of a big deal.”

“How sweet.” Andrew is sitting criss-cross on the ground, leaning back on his hands. His tie is slung back over one shoulder. “You weren’t apologizing to Larson for punking him?”

“He knows I didn’t mean it like that.” Sloane starts unzipping her gown and pulling it over her head. You always notice the way she takes things off- from the back of the neck, not by grabbing the bottom. You always catch yourself noticing tiny things like this- how she sits with her knees apart, never crossing them, how she keeps her wallet in her front pocket instead of the back. They’re tiny little things that don’t matter, not really, but you notice them all the same. You follow suit and try to mimic the way she grabbed her neckline. “What did you think about Emma’s speech, though?”

“Right? I’ve never heard her talk for longer than, like, two sentences.”

“I think she did really well,” Nadir remarks. “She was always so good in the school plays.”

“Well, that’s the only time she actually talks!” Andrew prods at Nadir’s ankle with a stick. “What do you think, Scott?” He’s being an asshole by asking this- all of you know Scott was quietly hoping he would be voted to be the student speaker.

“She was all right. It kind of meandered at the end.” Of course, this would be his critique- you don’t think you’ve ever heard Scott admit to being miffed in any way.

“Don’t worry, Scott, we know you could have done way better. The best, even. No meandering at all.”

“Don’t start.” Nadir only sounds menially serious as he says it; you all know there’s really no point in saying anything like that to Andrew.

“What about Virgil as salutatorian?” Sloane puts her arm around your shoulders and presses you against her side. “Who knew my best friend was a genius?”

You duck your head down and tuck your hair back behind your ear. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it’s not like there was a lot of competition.”

“Well, yeah, because that’s just how much of a genius you are!”

“Whatever.” You flick your cigarette onto the gravel, crushing it with your shoe. “Are we going to get out of here?”

“I can’t. I’m supposed to take my grandparents to lunch.” Nadir is always the first to have a reason he can’t go to something. It’s never an excuse, really, but it’s something you’ve all come to expect. Cameron- mouth occupied by the filter between his lips- hums and points to him in agreement, so you suppose that makes two of them.

“And my mom agreed to drive some people home since their parents have to get back to their shifts,” Sloane adds. “I told you, remember?”

“Right.” She had. You don’t even know why you asked- obviously, everyone would have things going on after graduation. You’re probably the only one who doesn’t- like mingling, your parents are not big on celebrating. “Well, how about later, then? Is that bonfire still happening?”

Bonfires are the ultimate, multipurpose festivity for young people between the ages of fourteen and twenty one on your part of the island. House parties can be fun- especially if someone with a lot of land throws them- but bonfires just have a certain something to them. The wide open space of the beach, the egalitarian parking situation, the way the police completely ignore any calls to complain about them- they always just seem to work out. So of course your class would cap this year off with one.

Andrew nods, moving down further to prop himself up on his elbows and crossing his ankles. “Yeah, at eight tonight. We’re all supposed to bring stuff, Evan is tired of no one paying him back for beer.”

Sloane scoffs. “Bullshit, he isn’t even the one paying for it, he puts it all on his dad’s credit card.”

“Nevertheless, it’s high time we all step up to contribute,” he replies loftily. “We’re adults now. We need to take some responsibility.”

“Well, you’re the only one with a fake ID, so that’s all you,” Cameron points out. “I can bring some weed, I suppose.”

“I’ll bring some beach towels, there’s never enough of them.” Nadir offers this like he’s being magnanimous, which he is- but he’s also just too closely watched to ever bring anything else.

Sloane pats her bag. “I went to the reservation the other week with my mom to buy smokes, so I can bring plenty of those.”

“What should I bring?” You really don’t know what else there is to add- booze, pot, tobacco and a place to sit seems like it about does it. No one even bothers asking after Scott because you all know he would insist that him driving all of you around is his contribution, and he would be absolutely correct.

Sloane leans over to tousle your hair. “You just bring your wonderful self, Virgil, don’t even worry about it.” Andrew ‘aww’s sarcastically, and Sloane kicks some gravel at him.

Scott slaps his hands on his thighs as he pushes off the wall and starts fishing around in his pocket. “Well, I’ve gotta split. Still need a ride, Drew?” He jingles his keys and Andrew hops to his feet.

“Only if I get to drive!” He reaches for the keys as he says it and Scott holds them up and away from him.

“When have I ever once said yes to that?” He turns back to the rest of you. “Anyone else?”

No one takes up the offer- their parents are already waiting for them at their respective cars, naturally- so you all say your goodbyes, throw your butts in the grass, and go your separate ways.

You and Sloane make your way back to the parking lot, all partitioned out by ticker tape and orange traffic cones, gowns and caps in hand. She’s humming the tune the choir had sang as the beginning of the ceremony (assembly), which was much too dramatic and emotive for the moment that it actually was in your personal opinion. You’re watching her side profile, how you can see her wifebeater peeking out where she’s unbuttoned her dress shirt. She glances sideways at you and looks you up and down, just for a moment, and she stops humming.

“How did your mom feel about the suit?” You guess she saw your mother’s sour expression as you’d stepped out of the car- not that it had been hard to spot. You’d been hiding the thing in your closet since Sloane had picked it out for you at the mall and dodging questions about what dress you’d picked out for the last few months. Needless to say, she had not been very happy with you when you’d walked down the stairs this morning.

“She kind of lost her mind, but it’s fine. There was nothing she could do about it by that point.”

Sloane tuts and reaches up to touch your headband where it sits behind your ear. “What’s with this stupid thing?”

“She told me if I was going to wear it I had to put something on that made me look less like a crossdresser.” You look at her and see she’s biting her lip. “You can laugh, it was funny.”

“Okay, it is, but like, in a fucked up kind of sad way.” She plucks it off your head and puts it through your belt loop. “That’s so dumb, though. It’s not like you could even see it with the hat on.”

“The cap,” you correct her, and Sloane flaps her hand in the way she always does to show she’s ignoring your nitpicking. “But, yeah. I just wanted her to stop talking about it.”

“Well, I think you look great.” For once, she sounds completely sincere. “I mean, look at me. I’m just wearing what Austin wore to his graduation, it barely even fits me.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been wanting to do that for years.” This is true- she’s only ever mentioned it in passing, but you know that’s always been her plan. Three quarters of her closet is already hand-me-downs from her brother, anyway. “And you look good, too. It does fit you, just… you know.” In a different way, is what you want to say, but it feels embarrassing to say out loud for whatever reason, so you don’t.

“True, I do look amazing.” She puts her hand on her hip and struts ahead of you, turning back around to strike a pose. “I’m gonna make my mom take a photo for him.”

“I think my parents are going to outright refuse to take one at this point,” you say drily, and she falls back into step with you.

“Boo.” Sloane bumps her shoulder into yours as you reach the edge of the lot and spot both of your parents leaning against their cars. Her mom, spotting her, starts waving at her and she puts her hand up to acknowledge it. “There she is. I’d better go make sure I get shotgun. She agreed to take, like, five people home.”

“I’m sure she saved it for you.”

“I’m not!” She’s probably right in that respect, you admit- Kim Webster is not a sentimental woman. “Wait a second, though.”

She pulls you into your second Sloane-hug of the morning. Before this winter you had really only experienced a few- despite being friends for so long (or perhaps because of it) you were never very affectionate with each other. But since this past winter you have come to find out that Sloane-hugs have their own, special quality- they’re tight and they’re warm and since she’s ever-so-slightly taller than you, you can lean your head on her shoulder, the way you’re doing now. It’s nice. You’d never initiate one on your own, but you’re always happy when she does. Then you feel her lips on your neck and you jerk back, looking nervously over at where your dad is waiting for you on the passenger side of the car only a dozen yards away. She rolls her eyes at you, but lets you step back all the same.

“Don’t be lame.”

“I’m not being lame.”

“You are, but it’s fine.” She looks back and looks at her mom again, who you can see is already getting into the car and starting it. “Okay, she will genuinely leave without me if I don’t get over there. I’ll text you?”

“Sure, or just come over when you’re home.”

Sloane gives you one last smile, and turns to jog to where her mom is already halfway through pulling out of her spot. You watch for a moment before you look back over to where your own parents are parked. You feel your mood immediately deflate. You can see your mother in the driver’s seat through the windshield, arms crossed. You really do not want to deal with the shit you’re about to get on the drive home.

But what can you do? You knew this would probably be how it went when you let Sloane convince you to buy that suit, you’d accepted it as soon as you’d hung it up in your closet, and you’d embraced it the moment you saw your mother’s face. And, really, how long could she drag out her low-level psychological warfare over it? A few weeks, maybe? You can deal with that. You’ve put up with much more for much less, actually.

So you unthread your headband from your belt loop, you secure it back in your hair, and you set your shoulders square. You get into the car and buckle yourself in. And as you pretend you can’t hear your mom’s passive aggressive sighs, you look out the window at the passing fields and start considering what you’ll wear to the bonfire that you’re sure she will hate just as much.

—

The road down to Double Bluff beach is bumpy. You know this- you’ve ridden it more times than you can count- but it gets you every time, especially when you’re in the back of Scott’s truck. The air is warm, even in the deep blue light of the mid-evening, and you feel it rush past you as you speed down the hill. You’re glad you decided not to go with the sweater you had been eyeing.

In the back with you are Sloane, Nadir and Cameron- Andrew, as always, was selected to sit in the cab, because he is liable to try to stand up in the truckbed if left to his own devices. Nadir has a deathgrip on the lip of the pickup, shrinking down as small as he possibly can so that he is jostled as little as possible, nestled between the duffels he’d packed. Cameron, on the other hand, is sprawled without a care in the world against the back window, backwards baseball hat keeping his long hair out of his face as he grinds up some weed in preparation for the long night ahead of him. As for Sloane- well. You assume that if someone passed by you all in the low light they would assume she was a dog, the way her head and half of her torso are sticking out over the side. She seems to be trying to lean over to talk to Andrew through the window. You decide this has gone on long enough and get a grip on the back of her muscle tee to tug her back into the bounds of the truck.

“Hey, what the hell?” She has to raise her voice to be heard over the crunch of stones under the wheels.

“You’re going to get your head taken off by a branch if you keep doing that.”

“Will not!” Sloane tries to move back to her previous spot, but you keep a hold on her shirt and she gives in, looking at you as if you’re keeping her from running into a theme park. “Ugh, fine. We’re almost there, anyway.”

Sure enough, the truck soon slows to a halt in front of a familiar thatch of blackberry bushes. The headlights cut out as you feel the truck’s engine turn off and Scott and Andrew hop out, still chatting about whatever they had gotten to talking about on the ride over- you think you hear the word ‘baseball’, so possibly bickering about what to listen to on the radio. They come around to open up the back. Nadir is the first to get out- or, more accurately to his sense of urgency, escape- and he goes to grab his bags.

“I’ll never get used to how horribly you drive on these backroads, Scott.” Even Nadir, almost always the kindest and most soft-spoken out of all of you, is unable to contain his disdain for Scott’s driving skills.

“Oh, give him a break. He won’t admit he needs glasses,” Sloane joins in, always happy to have a reason to shit on Scott.

Scott glares at both of them as he shoulders the bags. “Wow, you’re so welcome. I’m glad you guys appreciate me driving you around for free all the time.” He isn’t wrong, there. Scott never asks for gas money, even though you all can tell he is constantly waiting for someone to offer to give him some, which none of you ever do.

“We do, dude, don’t listen to them.” Cameron is hoisting himself out, dragging the packs of beer behind him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Let’s just get going. It’s going to get too dark to see in a second.”

He’s right, so you do- Nadir holding the bags of towels, you and Scott both left to carry two cases of beer each, and Sloane slinging her satchel of whatever the hell she is always carrying over her shoulder. You usually wouldn’t trust yourself to carry anything even slightly heavy this far, as weak as you are- or, more accurately, you wouldn’t need to, since Sloane would usually take them for you- but she has already run up ahead on the trail to engage in some moderate horseplay with Andrew, trying to jump on his back or trip him up, so you are on your own this time. You walk down the hill side by side with your two fellow pack mules, talking about nothing and who you expect to see and who you hope you don’t, until you come up on the edge of the sand. You can hear the sound of your classmates’ voices and you slow up, just a little- you’re realizing now that you’re likely going to be stuck here, on the beach, in the dark, until everyone else is ready to go, which is usually much later than you are. And you’re starting to regret wearing your best sneakers, and suddenly wondering if you actually should have brought that sweater.

Before you can continue this train of thought you feel someone sidle up next to you, and one of the cases you’re carrying begins to become lighter as someone pries it out of your grip.

“Doing good?” It’s Sloane, obviously, and her voice buzzes a little in your ear as she says it.

“Doing well,” You correct automatically. “I’m fine. Just, you know. Getting ready.”

Her hand comes into your field of vision with a Pall Mall in it. “You’re always a little more ready with one of these…” She wiggles it back and forth before sticking it in your mouth and then flips open her zippo to light it, again. You allow her to do this even as you walk, which makes it all a bit harder, but she figures it out and soon you are taking a very content drag of your third favorite cigarette. It’s hard to see anything at all in the dark, at this point- it’s more of a game of feeling around to find your way forward than a leisurely stroll. This is probably why you don’t notice until it’s already happening that her hand is in yours. “And one of these, too.” You can hear the smile in her voice.

“You’re so fucking lame.” But you don’t take your hand away, even as you finally reach the firepit. Sloane is the one who pulls away first, for once, so she can hop over a piece of driftwood and sit down next to- well, you can’t really see who from the back.

“Miguel!” Apparently Sloane can, and she taps him on the shoulder before positioning the case of beer between her legs so she can open it and offer him one. “How’s it going, man?”

“Sloane!” Miguel returns the greeting and gives her an enthusiastic side-hug, taking the can from her. “Doing fine, how about you?”

“Living the dream, you know how it is.” She reaches back to help you step over and sit down next to her before turning back to him. “Is Gray here?”

A girl with magenta hair leans forward to give Sloane a peace-sign around the bottle she’s holding. “Right here.”

“I didn’t see you two at the ceremony, where were you?”

Miguel and Gray look at eachother. “Well,” Miguel starts, “we decided that we didn’t want to contribute to the elitist concept of celebrating academic achievement, considering how many Americans today don’t get the privilege…”

“His alarm didn’t go off and he was supposed to pick me up.” Gray interrupts him and pats his knee as Miguel shoots her a dirty look.

“Whatever, it’s not like they actually give you your diploma there or anything. We didn’t miss much, I assume.” He doesn’t seem all that broken up about it, but he does seem to be searching for any way to change the subject away from this. “Virgil, what’s up with you?”

“Oh, you know.” You can’t really think of anything to say, so you just settle on that. “Nothing much.”

“Sloane told me you bought a suit for graduation,” Gray shoots over Miguel’s shoulder. “Pretty badass.”

You’re trying desperately to hang on to the thread of conversation after whatever that was when another pair of feet approaches from behind, and you’re snapped out of your daze in order to make room for a pair of Jordans to step onto and then down off of the log you’re sitting on. You peer up to see who it is and realize that it’s-

“Alex, hey!” Sloane, again, is the one to greet him, reaching up to give him some sort of handshake that it seems to you she must have come out of the womb knowing, considering how effortlessly she does it. “Your mom really let you out?”

“What my mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He pulls something that looks like a long, thin tube of chapstick out of his pocket and offers it to the group.

“What the hell is that?” Sloane grabs it from him and holds it up to the light to get a better look at it.

“It’s a dab pen. Got it from my cousin.” Alex sounds very smug about this, and he takes it back to show her how to use it, pressing the button you can now see as it lights up and sucking at the top before handing it back to her, smoke coming out of his nose. “Just take a little hit, if you’ve never used one it’ll smack you in the face.”

Sloane does as she’s told, for once, and only coughs a little (bit of a lot) when she holds it back out to him. “What the hell, is that even legal?” Alex laughs and takes it back, clicking it back off. “And don’t you usually quit smoking when you start training for soccer season?”

“No more soccer to train for, remember?” He offers it to Miguel and Gray, who both politely decline, and re-pockets it. “I got my final team photo in the mail last week.”

“Oh. Right.” She looks at him with her head cocked to the side for a second, like she’s processing that fact. “Well, what are you doing now, then?” She turns to the wider group. “As a matter of fact, what’s everybody doing now?”

Alex takes a knee. “I’m gonna be an assistant coach at the middle school.”

“Oh, shit, really? With Coach Weiman?” Miguel leans forward. “I hated him, man.”

“Yeah, it’s… He’s kind of difficult sometimes. But, you know.” You don’t really know- you had started getting excused from gym class when you were in the sixth grade and started taking Spanish instead. “What are you guys doing, though?”

Miguel sets his empty beer can down on the ground and crushes it under his combat boot. “I got into Whitman for fine arts, so I’m heading there in the fall.”

“And I’m working at the gem gallery downtown and probably going to keep playing with our old band, which is just as impressive,” Gray chimes in, taking Miguel’s hand in hers and holding them up to pump their joined fists. “How about you, Sloane?”

“Oh, you know me. Keeping my options open.” She reaches down to grab a drink of her own and cracks it open, gesturing to you with her thumb. “This one’s going to community college, though.”

“Really, that’s great!” Miguel punches you on the arm softly, in that way guys do when they want to congratulate you. “Studying what?”

“Um.” Suddenly all knowledge of what classes you’re going to take have left your mind. “Communications and, like, rhetoric. And stuff.”

“Nice. You’ll actually be able to get a job with that.” He nods sagely. “My parents think I’m the biggest idiot in the world for going to school for an art degree.”

Gray rolls her eyes from behind him and brings his face closer to hers so she can kiss him on the cheek. “I keep telling him, they just don’t see the vision.”

Miguel lets her perch her head on his shoulder as they all continue talking- about college, about jobs, about summer plans and parents and siblings who are moving up a grade- and you feel yourself start to tune out. The fire is getting bigger and the smoke is blowing towards where you’re sitting upwind, and the smell of pot is encroaching from where you can see Cameron and his old woodshop buddies sitting. You feel your head start to swim, and you stand up.

“I’m just- gonna go for a walk. To the shore.”

“You okay?” Sloane pulls on the hem of your shirt, and you glance down to see a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah, it’s just, I just need some air or whatever.”

“Oh, sure. Well, hurry back.”

“I will.” You turn to the rest of Sloane’s friends- because that’s what they are, Sloane’s friends, not yours- and add, “it was good to see you guys, and stuff.”

“It’s always nice to see you, too, Virgil. Have a good walk.” Gray smiles softly at you, chin still sitting on Miguel’s shoulder, and she picks up his hand to wave goodbye.

“We’ll miss you! Don’t fall in!” You’re already walking away as Sloane calls after you, away from the din of people talking and the brightness of the fire and into the new dark of the sand further down the beach.

You stop just short of the edge of the Puget Sound and slip off your sneakers, peeling your socks off one at a time and tucking them into your shoes. You wore your ratty cargo shorts for this express purpose, almost out of habit- you and Sloane used to always do this together when you came to bonfires, though in recent years she’s become more and more busy at these sorts of things. You wade in up to your ankles and lean down to take some water into your hands, splashing it onto your face. Then, from behind you, you hear:

“Virgil?”

You straighten up and turn to see who’s calling for you. At first you assume it must be Sloane, coming to join you in the water- but there are two figures approaching. “Yeah?”

“I knew it was you!” As the two shapes get closer you realize that it’s Christie Bowman and Rachel Collins. “How are you, chick?”

You haven’t really talked to Christie or Rachel since you were in the eighth grade, when you were still taking choir classes at your mother’s request. They’re nice girls- you just didn’t really have a reason to speak to them after you quit.

“I’m okay.” You can see them a bit better, now, wearing almost identical combinations of denim miniskirts and layered camisoles. “Um, how are you guys?”

“Pretty good! I’m so excited school is finally over, doesn’t it always feel like it drags on forever in the last month?” Christie comes to stand in the water next to you, letting it wash over her jewel toned flip flops. Her toes are a bright, neon pink that almost glows in the dark under the waves.

“Totally.” You don’t really know what else to say to that, so you just kind of dig around in the sand with your foot and move the rocks around.

“...Well, congrats on getting salutatorian, that’s amazing! I knew you were smart, but like, not that smart. No offense, sorry, oh my gosh. Was that rude?” Rachel joins in on your casual water-standing in her own slightly gaudy flip flops, and touches your arm with one hand as she apologizes.

You smile a little at that- Rachel was always the first one to say something like that, blurting stuff out and then realizing it came off wrong, full of ‘no offense’s. “You’re good, I know what you mean. And it’s no big deal, honestly. But thank you.” You cast around for a compliment to give in return, and land on, “um, your dresses were both really pretty at graduation. I liked them.”

Christie beams at you. “Thank you so much, we tried to match them. Like how we did for all the dances, you know?”

“Oh, that’s fun- well, that’s really cute, actually.” You mean it, though you’d never realized that was something they did until just now.

They look at each other for a second- not like they’re excluding you, but in that way best friends do when they’re having a silent conversation with their little microexpressions, the way you’re sure you and Sloane must look at each other as well. “Your… headband was really nice!” You have to hold back a little laugh at how obviously Rachel is trying to come up with something nice to say about what you yourself were wearing. You’re used to girls doing this to you- they don’t know how to compliment you the way they compliment each other, so they just choose the girliest thing you have on and point it out. It would be sweeter if it wasn’t so transparent.

“Yeah, thanks.” You kick at the water a little more before switching gears to the next mandatory track of conversation. “Um… so, what are you guys doing now? After high school, I mean.”

Christie grabs Rachel’s hand and rattles it around excitedly. “We’re gonna go to beauty school together!”

“And work at her mom’s nail salon. To pay for it, and, like, practical hours and whatever.”

Your heart swells a little to hear them talk about it so eagerly- you might not know these girls that well anymore, but you genuinely are happy that they found a good plan, and that they’re going to stay together. They’ve always been so close- you don’t know, maybe it just gives you a little hope for, well, your own stuff. Or something like that.

“That’s really solid. I bet you’ll both do great, seriously.”

“Well, girls will always need their hair done, you know?” Christie gasps a little after she says it and claps her hands for a second. “Oh my gosh! Virgil, we could totally do your hair if you wanted, we’ll need to practice on people for tests and all that.”

You automatically reach up to touch your hair- shaggy, unstyled, more than a little choppy. “Oh, thank you. It’s fine, though, Sloane cuts my hair for me.”

The two look at eachother again- you can read what they’re silently saying to each other this time, as clear as day, which is that they could have guessed that even if you didn’t say it.

“Well, if you ever want to try something new, just call one of us. Or, you know, tell your friends and stuff.”

“For sure.” If you can think of literally any female friends you have, you definitely will. Well, you guess you have Sloane, but. You know.

You glance back up the beach- it seems like the crowd has doubled in size since you got here, and you can hear faintly that someone has set up a boombox. You realize you have probably been down here for much longer than Sloane would like- you’re sure if you got service down here you’d be getting a call by now.

“I’d better get back. It was really nice to talk to you guys, though.” You stand there stiffly for a second, deciding on if you should high five them or something, but before you can do anything you’re surrounded by arms and chests and long, soft hair in a group hug.

“Of course! We should hang out this summer, for real.”

“Definitely.” You feel a little pang in your chest because you know that is most likely not going to happen, but it’s a nice thought. You extricate yourself from the Christie and Rachel sandwich and pick your shoes up from where they’re sitting. “I’ll, um, see you guys around, then.”

“Absolutely! We’ll see you!”

You balance the backs of your sneakers on your fingertips and start trekking back up the small incline of the beach, stopping at the edge of the dry sand to dust off your feet and put them back on. Entering once more unto the breach, as you privately choose to think of it, you look around to locate Sloane and see her sitting some feet away on a patch of towels with the rest of the guys. She’s laughing and gesturing like she always does when she’s telling a story. As if she senses your presence, she looks back at you and starts waving wildly- as you get closer, you can see the red patches sitting high on her freckled cheeks.

Sloane yanks you down by the hem of your shorts when you reach her, and you do everything you can not to fall over as you go to sit down.

“What took you so long,” she asks, stretching out the ‘o’ in ‘long’ and leaning the entirety of her body weight on you. “I thought you drowned or something.”

“I was just talking to people for a second.” You brush some sand off of the blanket and wipe your hands on your shirt.

“Virgil’s just mysterious like that, Sloane.” Cameron holds the joint they had evidently been passing around out to her. “She likes going on little secret missions.”

“Well, she should be taking me with her!”

“Sometimes a man has to go it alone,” intones Andrew solemnly. “To find himself. And, you know, shit like that.”

You tamp down the way Andrew even jokingly saying that about you makes you feel and pinch Sloane on the outer thigh. “Yeah, what they said. A man needs privacy. You can’t always know everything about me.”

“You don’t know that.” Sloane reaches into her bag to grab her pack of smokes to offer you, which you gratefully take, before she shoots upright and hits the towel emphatically with both her palms. “Oh! While we’re all here, you know what we should plan?”

“It sounds like you’re going to tell us.” Nadir is sitting on his own, private towel, pointedly free of debris and ash.

“Fishing trip!” She roots around in her bag for a very dirty notepad in preparation for this event coordination, apparently unphased by the fact she has nothing to write with. “When is everyone free?” Scott, Cameron, Andrew and Nadir all look at each other for a second. “What, what are you looking at?”

“Well,” Cameron starts, “we kind of talked about it the other day and realized, you know...”

“None of our schedules are really going to line up this summer.” Scott finishes the thought for him.

“What? That’s impossible, there’s no way we aren’t all home for at least one day.”

“Yes way, dude. I’ll be working construction with my dad for, like, sixty hours a week. Scott’s gonna be in Castle Rock for his internship, Cameron’s taking care of his aunt over town, and Nadir’s going to have to practically run his dad’s store.” Andrew is, as he is wont to be doing when you’re all together, rolling smoke. He passes Sloane a fresh one and pats her hand as she accepts it. “Sorry, we meant to tell you earlier.”

Sloane sticks the cigarette in her mouth and lights it in a particularly moody way. “Well, that fucking sucks.”

You don’t think Sloane- or really any you- had considered what it would mean for all of you to graduate and start splintering off to find what there was to be done with your lives. You suppose you’d just tacitly assumed things would stay the same, if a little more intermittent- but Andrew’s right, you really are going to be all over the place. And even if you all come back to town after the summer is over- for how long? What happens when Nadir and Scott leave for college, and everyone else has to get a job, and you’re commuting for half the days of the week and working part time? What happens when everyone starts moving out? These have been your best friends for, what, a decade, now- you met in second grade and probably haven’t spent more than a week apart since- is it really all just going to be over, just like that?

The air feels just a little heavy. You can tell Sloane feels it, too, from how quiet she’s being. Even Andrew, who almost never falls below a ‘pleasantly content’ on the scale of emotion, looks a little downcast, and you can see Nadir playing with his lip while he looks into the fire. Without thinking you slip your arm around Sloane’s waist and pull her closer to you, imperceptible to the rest of the guys, but enough that you know she can’t not notice.

It’s Scott who breaks the glum energy that’s fallen around all of you. “Can you all stop being so dramatic? I mean, Jesus. We can go ice fishing at Christmas, it’ll be great. We can knock Andrew into the lake again.”

“What the fuck, asshole? Sloane’s mom literally said I could have died!” Andrew throws a handful of tobacco at him and you all fall into peals of childish laughter.

The conversation starts up again, as normal. Who Andrew wants to go home with (and who absolutely will not be taking him). How much piss Cameron is going to have to wash out of his aunt’s bedpan. Whether Nadir will let you all get away with keeping your unofficial tabs at the general store. You draw your legs to your chest and watch your friends laugh and squabble and spar under the glow of the fire. You still haven’t removed your arm from around Sloane’s waist. You feel her hand slowly snake back around yours, and then under and up your shirt. You shiver despite the heat as she starts running her thumb over your side, slowly, so slowly you’re sure unless someone was really looking they would never notice. You inch closer to her, and you let her.

You’re not sure when you’ll be driving back up that bumpy back road, but you hope it isn’t for just a little longer.

—

“Could you possibly be any louder right now?”

You and Sloane are crowded together on her back porch, your backs propping the screen door open as she fiddles with the inner one’s handle. She is slumping into your side, giggling uncontrollably as she jabs her key in the vague direction of the lock.

“I could, but it sounds like you wouldn’t like it if I was.”

“Jesus Christ.” You snatch the keys from her and insert them cleanly, on the first try, as one is supposed to be able to. You push the door open and leave room for her to squeeze past you, making sure not to swing it back too far- you know how Kim is about the mosquito hawks in the summer. “Just get in, your mom is going to flip if you wake her up this late.”

Sloane gives you an absentminded thumbs up as she trails down the hall, and you close the door as quietly as possible behind the both of you. When you enter Sloane’s room you find her flopped facedown on her bed, legs languidly trailing back and forth through the air. You tickle one of her soles as you pass, at which she shrieks- thankfully muffled by her blanket- and lashes out to strike the offending hand. You dodge her, smiling to yourself at your masterful prank.

“Do you have any clean shirts left?” Sloane lets out what sounds like a prolonged and fuzzy ‘no’. “Great.”

You reach into her laundry basket and pull out an assortment of pajamas, and toss some of them over to Sloane where they land on her back before you start undressing. When she feels the clothes settle on top of her she begins, slowly, to flip around and start shimmying out of her jeans.

“There’s going to be sand all over your bed,” you comment, but you don’t do anything to intervene.

“Don’t care.” She pulls off her top and pulls on her new (dirty) clothes- a commemorative turkey shoot tee shirt from 2001, if the text on it is to be trusted- and finally sits up to grab the cup of water on her nightstand. “How did you like the party?”

“It was fine.” You come to sit next to her in your (her) little tie dye number that you know she had to have made at the YMCA summer camp you both used to go to. You watch her chug her water before you add, “I ran into Christie and Rachel when I went down to the water.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They said they liked my headband.”

Sloane snorts, wiping her mouth off and setting the cup down on the floor. “Oh, I’m sure. Hand me my bag.” You do, and she starts digging around in it, evidently to find her smokes, before tossing it back into a pile of clothes and school papers. She crawls up to where her bed meets the wall and slides her window open, picking up the lighter there and starting her final before-bed cigarette. “Come here.”

You climb onto the bed next to her and take it from her when she offers it out to you; and you both sit like that for a while, passing it back and forth, looking out to where you can see a lone street light shining through the leaves of the tree in her tiny backyard.

“We won’t be seeing a lot of the guys this summer,” you say softly. Sloane huffs a little and shakes her head as she ashes the cigarette out the window.

“I guess not.”

“But we’ll still see each other, right?”

Sloane freezes and looks at you like she’s expecting you to finish some sort of punchline. When you don’t she reaches outside and dashes her smoke out on the outside wall of her house- a disgusting and destructive habit you have begged her to kick- and then, without warning, she lunges straight at you. You yelp and try to push her off, but as you already know from previous experience, she is much stronger than you and there is essentially no point to even trying. You wrassle back and forth for a moment before you let her pin you, your head almost hitting the headboard.

She studies you for a moment from her vantage point above you, before she dips down to put her nose to your neck and bite you, hard, harder than could ever be considered sexy. You hiss a little at the pain and start squirming around again.

“Don’t ask stupid stuff like that just to get attention.” She nips you again, this time on the side of your throat, a little softer, and you laugh as her hair tickles your nose.

“Cut it out! No, Sloane, seriously, cut it out.” When she seems to realize you’re starting to sound more serious, she lets go.

She looks at you for a second longer before she dramatically pulls back her covers and starts getting under them, reaching over to turn off the light. “We’re going to bed now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re clearly too tired to be having a real conversation if you’re asking me things like that.” She continues settling down under her comforter.

You follow suit and in a moment you’re all tucked in, both staring up at the ceiling in the cool darkness.

You’re really not sure what to say, now- it’s been a long day, and you feel like there’s a lot to think about, between the two of you. You don’t want to start some big philosophical conversation- it’s much too late for that, and that’s just not how you two are- but it sort of seems like you should at least say something, or anything at all.

“You keep saying you’re ‘keeping your options open’.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I am.”

“Okay, sure.” You’re silent for another moment before you restart. “But what are you actually going to do, though?”

“I don’t know.” She rolls away from you to face the wall, and you watch her run her finger across the stucco from over her shoulder. “For a while I was thinking about just using what I learned in auto-shop to get a job in Coupeville, honestly.”

“That sounds okay.”

“I could even pretend to be a guy so they’d pay me more.” She says it like it’s a joke, but it really doesn’t sound like one.

You hum a little and don’t say anything- because what even is there to say to that, really?

“Would you come with me?”

“What?”

“Would you come with me, to Coupeville.”

“Um. I don’t know.” You are trying to weigh out how serious Sloane is being about this- when she says things like that it’s hard to tell, sometimes.

She sighs and shifts a little, rolling back over to stare up at the ceiling again. “I know it’s not going to happen, anyway. I’m probably going to have to just get a job at some restaurant downtown so my mom doesn’t kick me out for not paying rent.”

You know how anxious Sloane is about the prospect of paying rent- her mom has been hanging it over her head for months and you know it’s not something they can exactly avoid, but it still clearly occupies Sloane’s mind a lot, even if she usually pretends it doesn’t.

“At least we’ll be able to hang out all the time, right?” You know it’s cold comfort, but it’s really all you have for her right now. Your plans are already set- drive to community college off the island during the week, work at the charity thrift store on the weekends. Save up to move out in the next year or two. You wish there was something more you could offer, but you both know there really isn’t. “We won’t have to stop doing any of the things we like to do, even if all the new stuff sucks.”

“Yeah.” Sloane looks over, a smile flitting across her face. She turns to face you, reaching an arm out to hook you with and bring you closer to her. You comply, threading your arms back around her in return. “You can still stay over, like this.”

“Exactly.”

“As long as my mom doesn’t kick me out.”

“Don’t say that!” You smack her lightly on the shoulder from behind and squeeze her tightly against you, so tight that you can feel her heart beating in her chest. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. But still.”

“And you could always just come stay in my room.”

“Mm, that does sound nice.”

You suck your teeth at the way she says it, but you don’t respond. She doesn’t keep pushing it, this time.

“... I would go to Coupeville with you, I guess.”

“Would you?”

You nod, and hesitate for a moment before continuing, “and we could do it together.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.” You lock eyes with her and try to make sure she does, in fact, know. It seems like she should, at least.

“Yeah.” She does.

Neither of you say anything else; when you look back, you might realize that’s really all that conversation could have been, in that moment. It wasn’t a real idea, not really, but you know that wasn’t why she said it- she wanted to see what you would do, if she did. You hope what you did give her was enough.

You turn over a little, taking her under your arm. You feel her hand come up to press against your chest. Not to push you away- just to let you know she’s there. It scrunches your shirt a little, and then lets go, falling flat against it. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the bathroom fan from the room over, and the trees outside rustling from where Sloane forgot to close the window- Kim is going to be so pissed in the morning, with all the bugs that are going to get in- and the frogs in the backyard that you can never see but you can always hear.

You fall asleep thinking about what you two are going to do tomorrow; your first weekend where there will be no school to hang out after come Monday.

#autoandrophilia #autohomoeroticism #autoandrophile #ahe #aap #original fiction #short story #ftm t4t #t4t #ftm #transfag

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autohomoneurotic · 2 months ago

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cant jerk it 2 army guys for political reasons so all my gear fetish fantasies r abt far left militant rebel groups instead

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autohomoneurotic · 3 months ago

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smoking that weed that makes u want to frot with a knight

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autohomoneurotic · 3 months ago

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I see a lot of roachification and loserfication that centers on intox and weight gain/slob- both beautiful expressions of the genre- but i’d like to present my own fixation in it.

Every male friendgroup has “that one guy”... that one guy who can’t get a girlfriend. That one guy who’s terminally online in a way that makes him offputting to anyone who isn’t used to it. That one guy who hates parties, doesn’t drink or indulge with his friends… That one guy who just can’t seem to grow up all the way. Who’s stuck in his adolescence or his own head.

Sometimes these guys don’t even have a friendgroup- maybe they’re just too weird, too isolated, too much of a loser to even be accepted into one. Or maybe he doesn’t even try- maybe he likes being alone, so no one’s watching all the stuff he gets up to and he can get away with all the ways he’s failed to become a ‘real man’.

You know the type- overgrown, shaggy hair that is never fully brushed through besides with his fingers, never wearing anything other than baggy cargo pants or sweats and oversized hoodies or anime t-shirts to hide his weak frame, bags under his eyes from long nights on his laptop and acne-riddled from his poor diet of shitty delivery food and energy drinks. An apartment full of comics and ecchi manga and fan posters and anime figures, never fully tidied, no matter how much or little he tries to keep it clean. He doesn’t care if it’s embarrassing, to look or live the way he does- it’s not like anyone’s going to see it anyway.

He’s not very good at being a person. Maybe before he transitioned he was never that good at being a girl. He was too awkward, not good at makeup or wearing the right clothes or liking the right things, for girls to ever be friends with him. And guys rejected him, too, on account of the fact that despite obviously being more of a boy than a girl he never really did anything, not play sports or try to socialize with them- he was always kind of just there, absorbed in his computer and the little world he maintained there. He was always a loser. And after he transitioned it just let him sink lower. His appearance deteriorated further as he started growing more stubble that he can’t be bothered to shave, he became even more of a shut-in as he entered college or the workforce and realized he’d never had a chance to, and probably never would, be one of the guys even if he tried, and his sex drive- well. That’s one of the hardest parts.

He’s not just a loser in how he presents himself or lives- he’s a loser in how deeply, uncontrollably he thinks about sex, even though he knows he’s never going to get it. He was already a freak, with plenty of intense or absurd fetishes girls shouldn’t ever have that he fixated on in the absence of company or connection- but as testosterone begins taking over his body, making him more sensitive and desperate, making him so uncontrollably horny that he can barely think of anything else, it starts to take over his life. If he’s not scrolling on the computer or his phone, he’s looking at porn and getting off, once, twice, seven times a day- not even just because he’s horny, but because he’s lonely. He has no other way to feel good. Niche fetish porn and increasingly sadistic and voyeuristic fantasies are all he has that can fill his day, and his body wants it so badly. And he knows he should be out there looking for someone who he can actually touch and feel, to be normal with- but at this point he doesn’t care. If he keeps himself in this constant cycle of pleasure and overstimulation he doesn’t need to think about anything else. He can just feel good, and forget how much of a loser he’s truly become- maybe even revel in it, how testosterone turned him into this debased, loser-y guy who can’t control himself and just becomes more and more disheveled and guy-ish in the worst, most embarrassing way- experiencing some form of teenage puberty he’d never gotten before.

He’s not happy, but he’s at peace with it and he can at least fetishize it, how lonely and weird he is. But no man is an island. He meets someone, at his shitty minimum wage job that he’s barely holding down, who for some reason takes an interest in him. Maybe this new guy thinks he seems like he just needs someone to get him out of his shell more, and show him how to have a good time. Maybe he feels like, being the only two trans guys around, he kind of has a responsibility to make sure they’re buddies. Or maybe he’s drawn to how pathetic he is, how clearly unable to integrate with other guys he is- and wants to exploit it.

This new friend starts giving him more attention, little by little. Saying hi to him when no one else around them does, asking how he is, even if he rarely gets more than a stare or a mumbled greeting in response as he doesn’t look up from his phone. Then, asking about his weekend as they work together and noticing how he never, ever has anything to say. And finally, once he keeps pushing, finding an in- maybe a shirt he wears with a band logo on it or spotting something on his phone, and he’s able to see more about how this loser works.

“Oh, you’re into them? I’ve seen a lot about them, do you like them a lot?”

And he looks at the guy like he doesn’t even comprehend that someone would want to ask him anything about himself. He’s used to being ignored, and this guy- preppy, clean-cut, friendly and personable, successful in his transition, accepted by other guys and clearly wanted by the girls they work with- certainly has no reason to give him the time of day. But he responds with something that allows for more conversation than he has before, and slowly, as he feels more like this guy might genuinely want to talk to him and isn’t playing a joke, he warms up. No, more than warms up- he starts to become attached. And he doesn’t become attached like normal guys become attached to their friends- he starts becoming obsessed. He changes all his shifts just to make sure they always work together, is crushed when he calls out, can’t stop himself from openly staring at him when he interacts with other coworkers in jealousy. He stalks him online, finding everything about him that he can and saves as many photos as he can find into sprawling folders, like he does his porn, and looks at them when he’s at home. Eventually he can’t stop himself from starting to jerk off while he looks at them, ashamed at how much better it feels than anything he’s ever done before and how compulsive it begins to feel. He knows it’s pathetic, and pervy, and gross- but how can he help it? He hasn’t had anyone pay attention to him in so long. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. If he can’t have anything else, at least he can have this.

His friend can tell how attached he’s becoming with him. He’s a little creeped out, and uncomfortable with how clearly he wants him, without any sort of understanding of how to hide it from how long he’s been alone- but at the same time he kind of likes encouraging it, to see how far he can push without him breaking down. He starts touching him lightly, moving him out of the way as he walks past with a hand on his back and feeling how he shivers and tenses up, or just looking at him as he stands outside with him on their lunchbreak while he chainsmokes and watching him shift and try to hide from his attention, like he’s scared if his friend looks at him too long he’ll figure out what’s going on in his head. And he starts teasing him. At first it was just some lighthearted ribbing, about how he should get out more, but the way he instantly gets red and nods makes him wonder what more he can get away with. He starts poking fun at how small he is- “you should try wearing something that fits you, all that does is make you look tinier, I bet I could take you so easily, man”. And how much he stares- “jeez, why don’t you take a picture? It’s creepy when you stare like that.”. How clearly pent up he is and how he needs to get laid, how much he needs a haircut or a shave so he doesn’t look so messy, how much he still has the interests of a teenage boy- anything becomes fair game because he can tell how much he likes it. Every time he just nods along and submits to the criticism with no argument, like he knows how much better his friend is than him, like he deserves it.

At some point his friend wants to hang out outside of work, not just sitting in their car after getting fast food on their break, and he asks to come over. Well, not really asks as much as tells- “I wanna see where you live, I bet it’s really something. Make sure you don’t have any chopped up bodies in your fridge.” He tells his friend that he’s never had anyone over before, and his friend says it’s all the more reason to come- he seems like he could use some guy time. He, as always, can’t say no to his only friend, and so he lets him drive him home after their shift- no time to prepare, to hide all his hentai and food trash and dirty clothes. He’s nervous as he lets him in, trying to hide some of the most embarrassing stuff before his friend can notice, but it’s not enough- his entire apartment is already a testament to how far he’s sunken into his own little world of porn and clutter and loserdom. His friend laughs when he looks around, and lets himself into his bedroom, where the bed (and everything else) is covered in books and discarded drink cans and laundry, either dirty or just never put away. His friend sits down on the bed and tells him to come here, so he does, because what else is he supposed to do? He apologizes for all the mess and his friend just smirks and says he wouldn’t have expected any better from a guy like him. He drags out his laptop and asks if there’s anything he’d wanna watch- isn’t there a new episode of that cartoon he likes? And yes, there is, so he turns it on and tries to make space on the bed for both of them to sit as they watch it.

Slowly, his friend starts getting closer- first just letting their knees touch, and then leaning back with his arm positioned behind him, and then letting their sides press together. He keeps getting more and more nervous and wound up, knowing how much he’s dreamed of this happening. And his friend notices. “Dude, are you shaking?” He tries to deny it, say he’s just cold because of the fan, but his friend doesn’t let him slip out of it and reaches out to put a hand on his thigh. “What happens if I do this?” He can’t help but spread his legs a little further and let his friend’s hand fall down between them, his heart beating faster in his chest. His friend laughs and takes his hand away, instead reaching around to give him a squeeze. “You’re so weird sometimes, man.” He says nothing and tries to focus on the laptop screen. His friend doesn’t take his arm back.

They sit like that for a long time, talking a little, about work and what they’re watching- before eventually he starts getting tired, from the heat of his friend’s body and it getting late and the soothing presence of another person being in his bed, something he’s never experienced before, and he starts sliding down against his pillow to lie down. His friend notices- “getting tired already? I thought you were used to staying up all night, looking at anime titties or whatever”- and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, just says he wants to lie down because its more comfortable. “You can be so lazy, man,” but his friend admits that does sound like a good idea, and goes to recline next to him, propped up against the stained, flattened pillows.

His friend starts touching him again, just a little bit at first- rubbing his scawny bicep, playing with the strings on his hoodie absentmindedly, and then playing with the ends of his grown-out hair. Eventually he says, just to see what will happen- “you know, you’re kind of cute up close. How have you never gotten laid?” He looks at his friend, caught off guard, and he tries to stammer out something about not knowing or just never having gotten around to it, but his friend keeps pushing. “What, are you into some weird shit or something?” When he sees how horrified and embarrassed his facial expression is he knows he’s hit on something. “Oh my god, you totally are. I should have guessed, honestly, just look at you.” His friend's eyes rake over his body and his room. “Just look at how you live.” He turns over to lie on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he looks at him. “it’s kind of hot, how much of a loser you are.”

He goes to hide his face, ashamed of how clearly his friend is seeing through him and how he kind of agrees, putting his face down into the bed. He just says, yeah, and tries his best not to get any more turned on than he already is from how his friend is teasing him and having his obvious failure confirmed to him. His friend, seizing the opportunity, nudges him so his knee is between his legs and pulls him closer, so he’s trapped flush against his friend’s body. “I bet you wouldn’t even be able to help yourself if I told you I’d give you something, even just a little. I already know you’re obsessed with me.” His friend saying that causes him to start struggling to get free and deny it, but his friend just shoves his thigh up between his legs onto his dick and he can’t stop himself rutting against him without being able to control it. “It’s okay, it’s not like you were very good at hiding it. It’s like you’ve never had a friend before. And look at you now, I’m not even touching you and you’re already so desperate.”

The degradation just turns him on more and almost instinctively, like he always does when he’s even the tiniest bit horny now after so many years spent compulsively masturbating, puts his hand down his pants and starts rubbing himself off. His friend laughs at him but doesn’t stop him, just puts a hand on the back of his neck and forces his face into his shoulder. Smelling his friend’s sweat and deodorant and just the smell of boy overwhelms him and he keeps going, faster. “Tell me how much you want this. Tell me why you deserve it.” He starts speaking as much as he can between whining, about how much he wants his friend, how lonely he’s been, how no one’s ever even touched him before and how embarrassed he is about how it’s just too much, about how porn suddenly hasn’t been enough since he met him. And he says he doesn’t deserve him, that he knows he’s just a perverted stalkery loser and he’s lucky his friend even looks at him, how he’s sorry he’s so gross but it just feels so good. “You’re right, you don’t deserve it. Guys like you deserve to be alone, that’s how you all are anyway, I knew it the moment I saw you. You could never be a real man, that’s why all you do is jack off and watch fucking anime all day. But I know you need this. You’re never going to get it anywhere else, right?” He says yes, not able to keep speaking as he sinks into the feeling of his hand on his dick, like he always does. “You like me talking to you like this, don’t you? You know it’s true, and you like it. It’s like you don't even know how to help yourself.”

He really doesn’t; after spending so much time alone, without a single other person, he can’t even pretend to show restraint. He feels so disgusting and degenerate, like he’s violating his friend just by showing him he can even want sex, like if he’s so pathetic and failed so badly at being a normal man he doesn’t deserve it. But his friend lets him keep going, laughing and teasing him for how sensitive he is, and eventually he dips his hand into his boxers to feel his dick. “Jesus, you’re getting so hard from this. It sucks you’re such a virgin, T got you really big. I know plenty of guys who would be able to do a lot with that.” But you can’t, because you’re not a real man, is the implication, and feeling his friend run his fingers over him and test how he feels in his hand sends him over the edge. He starts to cry, just a little, tightening his legs around his and his friend’s hands as his friend laughs, also just a little, like he's amused by the whole thing.

His friend rolls him over so he’s laying on top of him, still shaking and with teartracks on his face. And he lets him lay there, basically ignoring him as he keeps sniffling and thanking him profusely and rubbing his cheek against his chest. He doesn’t say anything back for a long time, just watching the laptop, still playing, and checking his phone like it doesn’t even phase him how much he just rocked his world. “Jesus Christ, chill out,” he finally says. “I was just helping you out. I know you’re kind of an incel but you don’t need to be so lame, man.” He tries his best to calm down and stop crying, like a guy losing his virginity on prom night- except he’s in his twenties, and never went to prom because no one would look twice at him, and this was just his friend taking pity on him, or playing with him to see what would happen. He knows it doesn’t mean anything…

Not right away, but over the next month or two- this becomes their routine. His friend riles him up all day, testing him and teasing him, and then drives him home and jerks him off or makes him go down on him (to teach him how to do it, since he won’t learn it anywhere else) or just lets him hump his leg while they watch movies together, making fun of him for how he never gets less desperate, never gains any stamina or self control. It makes him feel pathetic, every time, knowing his friend is probably still out hooking up with other people and he just sits around waiting for him, never being invited out because his friend doesn't want to be seen with him even if he enjoys his company privately, that he’s still weird looking and awkward and obviously inexperienced, and that all this is is his friend letting him blow off steam so that he hopefully will stop being so fucking weird… but that sense of being so embarrassing only makes him want it more. Eventually it turns into a sort of bargaining game- “your room is a fucking waste site, if you pick up a little I’ll let you give me head,” or, “put on a clean shirt for once and you can use my hand to jerk off while I watch TV, you smell too sweaty for me to focus”. He never actually asks him to do anything too productive- just enough to remind him of how inadequate he is and use it against him. And then, eventually, supplementing his directives with reinforcement, ruffling his hair and saying "attaboy" or "good job, see, that wasn't so hard, was it"?

Over time he can’t imagine his life any other way- being a cooler, stronger guy’s experiment, someone who indulges him in his weird niche interests even as he makes fun of him for them, reveling in the ways his pathetic, lonely, geeky existence make him so different from his friend. How his friend allows him to be perversely obsessed with him, smelling his shirts and boxers and begging him not to leave even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it, knows he’s so much lower than him. And even if it’s embarrassing- even if he feels so small and humiliated, even more than he did before- he’ll never be able to let it go. Because it’s much more fun to be a failed man, a creep, a virgin or a perv when there’s someone there to see it but who won’t ask him to change. He becomes a pathetic little pet loser, and he loves every second of it.

#can you tell the roachification art changed my brain chemistry permanently #and how badly i want to be someones loser boyfriend U____U #aap #autoandrophilia #ftm #ftm t4t #original fiction #loserfication #virgin kink #roachification #loser humiliation #short story #transfag #ftm nsft #boyfailure

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autohomoneurotic · 4 months ago

Text

gone fishing

ao3 link

"Well, if she found some clothes that fit, first of all. I’ve always thought she must be hiding something under all the shit both of you wear. And, I don’t know, she’s so frigid all the time, but she seems like she’d be fun.”

“Okay, Drew, seriously. Don’t be like that.”

“She asked! Come on, you don’t care, right Sloane?”

Instead you just say, “you wouldn’t know what to do with her.”

anotha one... this is not forcemasc at all it is mostly building to a larger story so if that is all you care about my apologies!

this is from sloane's pov instead of virgil's... i like to mix it up... also it would be boring to hear virgil complain all the time she can be like that sometimes. sloane is a lot more fun. i'd love to know what anyone thinks about that if they've read my other work! anyway i will shut up. enjoy :3

(as always i refer to these characters with she/her pronouns for a lot of this because i plan on this being a running series following their transitions and i think it's hot to transition to he/him just for the sex portions, sorry if that is not your thing don't like don't read or whatever)

Today is a very boring day.

It’s a very boring day because Virgil is not at school. She’s been gone since Friday, and you think you might go crazy. It makes you wonder if there’s even a reason to go to class at all, if she isn’t here. So, you don’t.

You’re at the park, as you are wont to be. The guys are here, as they are also wont to be. And you’re chainsmoking and shooting the shit, as you are all wont to do. It’s March, it’s starting to get warm, and you’d all rather be anywhere but inside.

“Remind me, what’s everyone doing for summer?” Andrew’s voice is stuffy as he exhales, and he fiddles with his bag of American Spirit.

“My internship.” Scott raises his pointer and index finger, and fans away the smoke with his other hand. He’s sitting on the lip of the slide and trying his best not to get caught up in the fumes.

“Staying with my aunt.” Cameron, in the grass, is breaking sticks in half and creating a small fence around him with a cigarette held loose between his fingers. “She needs someone to watch her now that she’s in her chair. Nadir?”

“Working at the store with my dad,” Nadir replies. “Deciding what college I’m going to.”

“No need to brag. We all know you got into UW.”

“And UPenn, and Northwestern, and everywhere that rejected me,” Scott finishes, and reaches his foot out to jab him in the shin. “Sloane, what about you?”

“Absolutely fucking nothing.” You’re in the grass next to Cameron, laid out with his vest wadded up under your head. “I’m open for whatever the days bring me.” You’re really supposed to be looking for work, in all honesty, but you’re trying not to think about that until it seems like your mother is serious about kicking you out.

“I wish I had your work ethic, Sloane.” Scott never has anything nice to say about the plans you have for your life, but you see how much fun he has and much prefer your way.

“So two of us are going away, one of us is working… Well, one and a half, if you count Scott, and we have one layabout, that’s you Sloane-” you sit up on your elbows to glare at Andrew and he blows you a kiss- “What’s Virgil doing, again?”

“She’s working, too. At the thrift store downtown.” You answer for her in her absence, and they all nod sagely.

“She’s wanted to work there forever, good for her.”

“Yeah. I have no idea why. That place is a dump.”

“You would find any excuse not to get a job, so that’s no surprise.”

Cameron interrupts before you two can start going at it. “What are we gonna do if we’re all back home at the same time?”

You all sit with that for a second- it hasn’t really hit yet that you’ll all be splitting for most of the summer. And, really, what is there to do here?

“Go fishing?”

“Driving on the backroads?”

“... We could all just go over to Cameron’s and sit in his basement.”

You all mumble in agreement at that, besides Cameron. “No. No more.”

“Oh, come on!” Andrew takes his roach and replaces it with another freshly rolled smoke. “You love having us over.”

“My grandma doesn’t, is the thing.”

He waves his hand. “She'll get over it. She loves Nadir, she’ll let us if he talks to her.”

Nadir shakes his head. “Also no more.” You guess his boyish charm can only be exploited so much.

“Okay, so, no Cameron’s. And Andrew lost his truck, so no backroading.” Scott weighs the option as he sticks a blade of grass between his teeth. “Fishing?”

“Does anyone even have their license?”

Everyone looks between each other for a moment before cracking up. Who are you kidding? No one needs a license for that around here.

“Okay, boys’ fishing trip it is, I guess.” Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it… “Well, and Sloane and Virgil.” Fuck you, Andrew.

“Why do you always have to do that, it’s annoying.”

“I’m respecting the diversity of the group!” Andrew throws up his arms up in an ‘I can’t win’ sort of way. “If I didn’t do it you’d call me a male chauvinist.”

“I promise you, I wouldn’t.”

“Either way. It’ll be great. We can go see Virgil at the thrift store, get some rods, get bait and picnic stuff from Nadir, and use Scott’s car.”

“It’s a date, then.” Cameron finishes his little fence and starts on what looks like a log cabin. “It’s better to go out in the good weather than sit inside all day anyway.”

“We’ll still have to ask Virgil once she’s back, she isn’t the biggest fan of being outside like that.” You say it mindlessly, mostly to yourself. They all share a look. “What?”

“You two have been extra weird lately.” Andrew’s speaking to his hands as he rolls another cigarette, pinching tobacco between his fingers and sprinkling it into the paper as Nadir houses him from the breeze.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just been different. And she’s been less of a bitch recently.”

You reject the idea that Virgil is ever a bitch, but the idea that you fucking her regularly having her noticeably mellow out is intriguing. “I guess, maybe.”

“And we’ve been seeing you less lately.”

“That’s not even true, we come out with you guys all the time!”

“Yeah, but then you leave together to go have your lesbian sleepovers, you never stay over anymore.”

“‘Lesbian sleepovers’, give me a break.” You snatch the cigarette from him as soon as he’s finished twisting the tip of it closed.

The four of them share a look, again.

Cameron is the one who begs the question: “I mean, are they?”

You expected that they were going to ask eventually, but you don’t have to like it. You know they’re all fully aware of how you feel about Virgil, how you’ve always felt about her- it’s just sort of something none of you acknowledge, for which you have always been grateful. They’ve never come right out and said it before. They’ve teased you in a sideways sort of way, said things in front of her that you’ve needed to do damage control for, but, you know. “Don’t be retarded.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t sound so offended by it.” Andrew takes the smoke back and sticks it in his own mouth. “I don’t roll for homophobes. Not cool, Sloane.” Nadir tuts at you, shaking his head in disappointment from where he crouches next to him.

“What do you all get up to when you play your little campaigns together? Are those your gay sleepovers?”

Andrew shrugs. “You’ll never know.”

“Because you never invite us!”

“Yeah, so instead you two get to have your lesbian sleepovers, and it all works out.”

“It’s not like that.” You probably sound a little too emphatic about it. You know Virgil would hate this conversation, which is probably why they’ve waited to get you alone for it- you are definitely one to kiss and tell in almost any other situation. It feels great, being able to dish about hookups, especially the ones you have with girls. You love the respect you can feel yourself getting from them, how Cameron and Andrew will say nice, dude, and laugh when you say the same douchey things they do on the rare occasions they’re able to get anything in, which is much less often than you are, you are proud to say. But with Virgil it’s different. She’s told you not to tell. And beyond that, you don’t want them to see her the way they see every other random girl you’ve been with.

“You’re such a shitty liar,” Scott says. You punch him in the leg.

“No, maybe she’s telling the truth, honestly. I don’t even think Virgil’s into girls like that. And if it were me and her I wouldn’t be hiding it.” Andrew finishes rolling a second smoke and sets it down beside him for later. “I mean, if she cleaned herself up a little.” “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be a dick, Drew.” Cameron leans back against the tree at his back as he watches you squabble.

“What, I’m just saying!” Andrew ‘just says’ a lot of things. He’s always ‘just saying’ the wrong thing and then doubling down. “I mean, it’s Virgil, I’d never do anything about it, but, you know.”

“No, by all means.” You make pointed eye contact with him and cross your arms, daring him to keep going. “Cleaned herself up a little, what does that mean?”

Andrew who, like you, is never one to back off when he should, accepts the invitation to keep being a dick. “Well, if she found some clothes that fit, first of all. I’ve always thought she must be hiding something under all the shit both of you wear.” His eyes say ‘just like you’, which you really don’t like, because you try very hard to forget about what happened between the two of you and you regret it very much. “And, I don’t know, she’s so frigid all the time, but she seems like she’d be fun.”

“Okay, Drew, seriously.” Scott can see how pissed off you’re starting to get, probably by the way you’re clenching your hands together, and cuts in before you can really get going. “Don’t be like that.”

“She asked! Come on, you don’t care, right Sloane?”

Usually you wouldn’t. You’re used to Andrew speaking like this about girls in your class. He’s not being fucked up on purpose, not really, he’s not a chauvinist, like he said- it’s just how he is. And despite how they might usually treat you and Virgil, how much you’ve shown you can keep up- you know you’re still both girls. And sometimes that trumps all of it, and sometimes that makes you so mad and feel so hopeless you can’t think straight. So this time, yes, you do care. Not enough to yell at him, and if you did it would only make it worse, anyway. But it hurts to know Virgil isn’t an exception to their rule, and it hurts that you can’t tell them how wrong they are.

Instead you just say, “you wouldn’t know what to do with her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s not the way you think she is. She’s different than other people.” Other girls, you mean, but saying that feels a little cliche, even if you don’t mean it like other people mean it.

“Of course you think that.” Nadir appears to have gotten the courage to join in on ribbing you. You don’t like how much more confident they get when they realize it’s them against you, when Virgil isn’t here. “You’re obsessed with her.”

“Why am I having to defend her honor to any of you, even? You know her, she’s not some random girl. You’ve known her your whole lives. It’s fucked up.” In your tiny school you could say this for any of the girls Andrew comes up with stories about, but still.

“Hey, you asked.” Andrew seems to be realizing he may have gone too far, and he waves his hand like he’s brushing the conversation away. “My bad, I didn’t realize it was a big deal.”

“Yeah. It is your bad.” You leave it there, pulling out your own pack and starting to smoke to stop yourself from talking about this anymore. You know if you keep going you’ll say something you regret.

Because, damn, how badly do you wish you could say something. It’s already been so hard to keep it in. These are still your best friends, even if they’re assholes sometimes; they do care about you and you care about them and they would be happy to know you two are having fun, even if they might make some choice comments about it, and even if you couldn’t tell them exactly how. And even beyond any lame tender feelings of brotherhood with them- like, it’s Virgil. Andrew isn’t crazy to say he’d brag if he was with her. Maybe you’re a little blinded by the fact you’ve been masturbating to the idea of exactly the situation you’re in with her right now since you started puberty, but still. And you can’t lie and say you don’t feel a little possessive. You’ve always taken great pride in Virgil being your best friend, your person, who you know better than anyone else knows her. The idea anyone would want to make her more feminine- although, you can’t say you didn’t fantasize when you were younger and she was more girly about throwing out all her skirts and dresses and her coming to ask you for clothes, the sort of abstract pipe dream formed in that little pocket of adolescence where you don’t know what sex is yet but start wanting something, so you suppose you’d also appreciated it in a fucked up backwards sort of way- it honestly repulses you. Virgil is exactly how she’s supposed to be. You’re helping her realize who she’s supposed to be, even. But they have no way of knowing that, so you can’t let it chap your ass too much.

“Okay, so no one is having sex with Virgil.” Cameron cracks the awkward silence. “Is there anyone else who’d like to tell us they’re not having sex with eachother? Andrew and Nadir?”

“Don’t even start.” Nadir picks up a woodchip and throws it at him, and they all start to laugh. You laugh, too, and as you do you feel a buzz in your pocket. You take out your phone and click it on after some fumbling. You’re still getting used to phones having touchscreens and not having to flip them open.

V.S: in class?

You immediately tune out the conversation, criss-crossing your legs and typing as quick as you can.

S.W: at park w guys

V.S: want me to pick you up?

S.W: yes plz

V.S: ok, meet by the pavillion

S.W: ok :]

You slip it back away and stand up, stamping out your cigarette. “I’m gonna head back for lunch.”

Scott gives you a skeptic look. “You don’t want Wendy’s?”

“Nah, I’ll just get something on the way back.”

“She’s going to see Virgil.” Nadir is playing in the woodchips again, shaking them in his closed fist like dice. He throws one at your feet and you skip over it. “Obviously.”

You start brushing the dust off your pants. “So what if I am?”

“Watch out, she’ll bite your head off, Nadir.” Andrew smiles at you so you know he’s just playing, and you return it (however tightly, he’s not completely off the hook) so he knows you can tell. “Have fun with that, Sloane.”

“You know, I think I just might.”

“We should probably head out if we want to get into the drive-through early anyway.” Scott spins his keys around his fingers, standing as well. “We’ll catch you later.”

You all exchange your ‘later’s, you and Cameron doing your usual handshake and Andrew giving you a cigarette for the road before you start heading for the park entrance. Before you get too far, though, you hear someone jogging up behind you.

“Sloane?” It’s Nadir. He catches up once you stop, a bit out of breath.

“What’s up?” You don’t talk much to Nadir, one on one. He’s closer with Virgil than he is with you, so you’re a little surprised he’s making the effort to catch you like this.

“Um.” You get the impression he didn’t think this far ahead. “I just wanted to say. Um.” He’s kind of an awkward guy, Nadir- probably part of why he and Virgil get along so well- so you let him take his time. “I’m sorry if I upset you, earlier. And, like, it’s cool if you’d want to keep it just you two, but just, even if they’re being dicks about it I hope you know we’d all be happy for you if you and Virgil were, you know.”

“Did she make it seem like we are?” Your heart skips a little thinking about what Virgil might have told him, that she’d be happy enough about it that she’d want to at all, but you still want to give yourself some plausible deniability.

“Oh, no. I’m just saying- I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m saying.” He pushes his hair back, seemingly a little stressed by this entire conversation. “I guess just, don’t let them make you feel weird, you know? Even if you’re not.” He tacks on the last part hastily, and you can’t tell if he’s correcting himself out of really not knowing or just to go along with the evasive maneuvers you’re pulling.

“Sure, yeah.”

“And I won’t let them make jokes about it anymore, when you’re not here, if you want.”

“They’ve been making jokes about us?” Those motherfuckers.

“You know how they are. And we know you. So it comes up, yeah.”

“Those fucking…” You start seething a little, at the thought of them discussing their imaginary version of you and Virgil’s ‘lesbian sleepovers’, but you see Nadir’s face falter like you’re mad at him and not them, and you can’t be mad at Nadir, and you just sigh. “Whatever. They can jack off to their made up stories all they want, what do I care. They gossip about everyone anyway. But thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The look he gives you feels a little too close, like he’s seeing through you a bit. “But, I’ll let you go find her. I know she’s missed you while she’s been gone.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“It’s just a feeling.” That look again- you don’t like it, but you can mull it over later. You do really want to go see Virgil.

“Yeah, okay. Enjoy your burger. I’ll see you.”

He does his dorky little two-finger salute at you as he turns face and starts jogging back to where the rest of the guys are on the way to Scott’s car. You watch his back receding for a moment before you take back off.

Virgil’s already pulled up to the curb in her Honda. You can see her hair is gathered into the low ponytail she puts it in when she drives- the ponytail that you’ve always wanted to pull on, like some sort of schoolboy urge- and when she sees you she pops the lock.

“Hey!” You hop in on the passenger’s side, clicking your seatbelt. “How was your grandparents’?”

“Oh, you know. Same as it ever was.” You know this means she had to babysit her cousins the whole time. “I got you something on the way here.”

“A present? For me?” You put your hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t have.”

She gestures to the center console, where there sits a paper and a plastic travel cup. “I went to Mona’s.”

“Well, damn.” You take the plastic one and check the color. It’s a perfect, radioactive green. “Italian soda?”

“With two Red Bulls and no club soda and no cream, yes.”

“And green apple and coconut?”

“Well, sure, what else?”

“Virgil!” You drop it back into the cupholder and lunge across the console to throw your arms around her, rubbing your cheek on hers like a cat. “You love me so much, I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t knock them, they’re going to spill! Sloane!” She pushes you off and saves the cups from where they are, indeed, about to tip over under you. “You’re ridiculous.” She picks up hers and takes a sip- you know it has to be a London fog- and puts the car into gear. “And you’re welcome. We can just go hang around in the parking lot while we wait for class.”

You pick up your own drink and test it through the straw, and you slouch down in your seat. “I haven’t had one of these in so long.”

“You had one right before I left, you just don’t go when you’re not in my car.”

“That’s long!” You reach over and pet her forearm as she pulls onto the road, knowing how much she hates when you do that while she’s driving. “You left me alone for so long, I thought I might die…”

“You weren’t going to die, give me a break.”

“I could have, and you wouldn’t have known because you abandoned me…”

“Whatever.” She’s looking at the road, and you can see her trying to push down a smile. “What did you do while I abandoned you?”

“Did stuff around the house. Hung out with Cameron.”

“So you played video games and you smoked weed.”

“You say that like it’s so terrible!” Virgil refuses to join in on you and Cameron’s favorite pastime together, on account of the one time she hit his bong much too hard and got so high she insisted she had gone blind. “It was the weekend and you weren’t here. I had to numb myself so I wouldn’t be so miserable. Also, I cleaned my room.”

“Okay, at least there’s that. Good job.” A thrill runs through you hearing her say that. You’d clean your entire house from rafter to floorboard to get that from her. “Did you do any homework?”

You take another long sip of your soda and look out the window.

“Sloane.”

“Well, no.”

She sighs, not taking her eyes off the road. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m sorry, time just got away from me!” Virgil is pulling into the parking lot. Thankfully the school is so close to the park that she can’t chastise you more as she drives; a very likely thing for her to do.

“I’m sure.” You both unbuckle and you immediately ratchet your chair all the way down, clambering into the back so you can stretch your legs. Virgil lets her hair down and shakes it out; she sips her drink through her tiny little straw.

You really did miss her. It doesn’t matter if it was long or it was short- you would have missed her either way- if you’re being honest it’s that you were just really, really horny. The past few weeks have been great for you (and surely her, too, if you’ve been doing your job right), and it wasn’t easy to have her gone after getting used to that. Like, you obviously just jerked off a lot thinking about everything you’ve already done, but it wasn’t the same at all. But now she’s back, and that can all be over. You’d never let her leave again, if you could.

You allow her a bit of peace for a second- the trip back across the ferry is long and you’re sure her weekend was longer- but eventually you can’t keep quiet, as is your nature.

“When we were at the park, the guys were being annoying.”

“How?”

“They were asking about us.” Virgil starts at that, taking her lips off her straw and looking at you, concerned.

“What? What were they saying?”

“They all think we’re hooking up.”

“... And what did you say?”

You’re stung a little by how worried she seems that you might have let them know. “I told them we’re just friends, don’t get so freaked out. But then Andrew started being a douchebag.”

“A douchebag how?”

You look away and start playing with the loose threads on the hole in the knee of your jeans. You try to keep your tone light so she doesn’t take it too seriously. “Like, just saying stuff about much he’d want to fuck you if you dressed more like a girl. And that you’re probably secretly crazy in bed.”

Virgil develops a very sour expression on her face, and her shoulders roll inward as she makes herself smaller. “I really don’t like him sometimes.”

“I know.” Virgil has always been unimpressed with how Andrew talks about the girls you both know. She doesn’t like it when you join in, either. “Scott told him to fuck off and he apologized, it’s fine.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“No, I did, of course I did.” Why would she assume you didn’t? That’s a little rude, in your opinion. “I attested to your chastity or whatever, don’t worry.”

She narrows her eyes at you and turns fully in her seat so that she’s kneeling on it backwards, draping her arms around the back of it. “And what did you say, then?”

“I told him he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

“Did you, now?” She seems to like that.

“Mhm.”

“And you think you do?”

“At this point, yes.” You let your hand fall to the collar of her sweater and you pull her closer, around the head cushion, until she’s nose to nose with you. “Do you think I do?”

“Sometimes.” Virgil likes to play hard to get a lot. You hate it and you love it.

“Come back here and I’ll prove it to you.”

You know that you probably shouldn’t- the break is short, and even if you’re in the back of the parking lot shaded by the trees you’re still in public- but neither of you care. You guess he missed you, too. He scrambles into the back and you lay down so he can get on top of you, propped up a little by your reclined seat, your hands sliding down to the seat of his pants so you can tip him towards you. You’re kissing, hands all over eachother, and he starts putting his up your shirt to feel your back when he stops.

“... Are you not wearing a bra?”

You pull a disgusted face. “Why would I be wearing a bra?”

“I don’t know, I assumed you at least wore a sports bra or something.” You guess that’s fair- you don’t let anyone watch you change, even him, and in all of your fooling around, Virgil hasn’t touched you very much. He’ll try, but by the time he gets close you’ve usually already gotten him on his back. “So you never wear one?”

“I don’t really need to, so.” You see the mix of envy and desire forming on his face and you grin. “You can check and see, if you want.”

He does. You reach your arms behind you to cushion your head as he slides his hands up under the front of your shirt; they’re warm. You watch his face as he feels you up, how his eyebrows knit together and then raise as he realizes you weren’t lying. At first it's just his palms, but soon his thumbs come down and start to brush over you. You twitch just a little, involuntarily, but he notices all the same. He passes his thumbs over you again, with a little more intention, and you can’t help but push your chest up and into his fingers.

“Is that good?” He does it, one more time, and you shift a little against his knee where it’s ended up between your legs.

“Yeah, that feels okay,” you say like an asshole.

He rolls his eyes at you, taking one hand off of you and going to grab the hem of your tee. “Can I see?”

“Sure, why not.” You lift your hips and torso so he can pull your shirt up. The air conditioner hits you and you can feel yourself start to get hard- upstairs, at least, you were already pretty hard elsewhere. He looks you over.

“Wow.” His palms come back to smoothe you over. “They’re really small.”

“I don’t think that’s something most guys want to hear.” He smacks you lightly on the right side of your chest, and you probably shouldn’t like it as much as you do.

“Shut up.”

“You think you’re being harsh, but I like when you talk to me like that.” He looks at you curiously, but apparently decides that’s something to deal with at a later time. “But, yeah, I guess I’m just a late bloomer.” You’re enjoying how Virgil’s looking at you, like he wants to jump into your skin. “Do you like it?”

He leans down and kisses right on top of you, once, twice, on either side. You shift, again, against his knee. “You already know I’m jealous of how you look.”

You didn’t know that, actually; in a lot of ways you’re jealous of him. You’re slighter than him, but your jaw is much rounder, and he’s shorter, but he’s got all this beautiful dark hair you know you could never grow. “Yeah?”

“It’s like,” He kisses you there again, hands on your ribs to hold you down, “you’re hot, but I also-”

“Wish you looked like me.” You feel his hair tickle your sternum as he nods. You put your hand on the back of his head and run your fingers through his hair. “I know what you mean.”

“... Is it weird if that kind of makes it better?”

“What do you think?” You lift his head by your grip in his hair to look at you. His eyes are dark and gleaming.

You’d really thought there was no one else like you in the world- like, you’d fantasized about him feeling the same, obviously, but it never occurred to you it could actually happen. Sometimes, it kind of feels like you’re dreaming. But with him here, now, you know you’re not. You can feel his hands, grabbing you, firm and strong. You can feel his breath on your chest, tingling and bright. And you can feel his leg between yours, pressing into you, and you realize you’ve started mindlessly grinding against it. He looks down and watches as you do.

“You really like this, don’t you?” He pushes up against you with more intention, fighting against your fist in his hair to dip down and kiss you again. He doesn’t pull away, this time- he takes you into his mouth and he pulls. The feeling runs from that point through your entire body, and you go too weak to keep pretending to be cool.

“I’ll like whatever you wanna do.” You slide your own hands under his shirt, toying with the waistband of his boxers. “I’d probably let you do anything you wanted to me.”

“Anything?” He speaks into your chest, “like what?”

“Um.” Where do you start? You have about five years of ideas, but it’s a little hard to remember them right now. “Like, let me go down on you while you ignore me and study?” He hums and you go limp at how it feels against you. “Or, ah, tie me to the bed and ride me until you’re done with me.” It’s getting a little harder to talk the more slick he’s getting onto you, as you can feel yourself slipping around underneath him and he chases to keep you in his mouth, but you keep going, “or, if you’re really asking, like, what I really want, um-” you know this one is a little out there, but you’re feeling loose- “put our dicks together and jack us both off without letting me touch you?”

He seems to really, really like that last one. He hums again and takes one of your hands in his. He places it on the other side of your chest, positioning your fingers so you’re circling yourself in place of him. His grip on your wrist, how sure he is about it, how little he seems to be concerned with asking you first, turns you on in a way you can’t measure. That combined with his thigh pressing against you steadily is almost too much- you take your other hand from behind your head and wrap it around him, pressing him into you. It feels great, and you can’t stop thinking about how Virgil is touching you, Virgil is jealous of how you look, Virgil wants this, with you, which is almost better than the actual sensation. You close your eyes and move your hips faster, faster, until you feel yourself come over the crest of it and go soft and pliant under him.

She sits up, brushing hair out of her mouth and wiping her lip. Her cheeks and her mouth are a patchy red.

“Was that okay?”

You laugh breathlessly, also moving to sit up. “Virgil.”

“What?”

You move as quickly as you can in the cramped backseat to tackle her, getting her under you so you can squeeze her close and kiss her surely. “I’ve never finished with anyone before.”

“But I didn’t even, like-”

“Yeah, I don’t really need that.” You let her go so she can get back up- it’s gotten a little hot in the car. “Especially if it’s you.”

She bows her head and tucks her hair back, like she does whenever you say something like that. “Shut up.”

“Oh, but I already told you I like that.” You wag your finger at her, turning to look at the clock on the dashboard. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” She looks where you’re looking and repeats after you, “oh, shit, Sloane!” She starts casting frantically around under the carseat for her uniform. She hadn’t changed after coming straight from the ferry. “We’re gonna be late, what are you doing, get going!”

You sit back for a moment and watch her pulling off her sweater and hurrying to button her polo. You hand her her slacks once she’s ready for them and crawl back over into the passenger seat, bringing it back up into its standard position so she has room to put them on. The ice in your soda has long since melted. You run your fingers through the condensation while you wait for her to buckle her belt.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Let’s go.” She gets out of the back and goes to get her book bag out of her trunk, leaving you to follow after her with cups in hand. She slams it closed and turns to look at you.

“Hold on.” She reaches for your collar and flips it down where it was dog-earing up before grabbing her drink from you. “All right, now let’s go.” She starts speed walking towards the school’s main building, clicking the door locked with her fob as she goes, and you hustle to catch up. You don’t dare grab for her hand- you don’t know if she’d drop it, but if she did it would hurt too much for you to even want to try.

Right as you’re about to cross the street you hear both of your names, like, Virgil-and-Sloane, the way people always say it, and you whip your heads around to look. It’s Scott, obviously, with the guys trailing behind. They’re holding soda cups and two brown bags between them.

You take the risk and grab Virgil’s hand to drag her over to them. She doesn’t make you drop it until you get close enough for them to see it, which you think is fair.

“How was lunch?” Scott offers you his cup and you accept, taking a sip before offering it to Virgil.

“Virgil got me Mona’s.”

“Why don’t you ever get me Mona’s?” Andrew looks at Nadir, who flicks him on the arm.

“It’s a girl thing.” Virgil looks at him with a flat expression before turning her head to look at you, right in the eyes. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You both start giggling, hard, and your shoulders and heads come to knock together a little without you meaning for them to. The guys glance around at each other, you see out of the corner of your eye, but they don’t say anything about it. By the time you stop giggling you’re at the front steps, and they say their goodbyes to you and to each other before splitting to their fifth periods. You two stick by each other as you walk up the steps- you taking every other one at your leisure, Virgil pattering up them as fast as she can- and weave your way to your locker to grab your satchel.

“What do you wanna do after we get home?”

“I mean, I have the car- I can just leave on time and give you a ride, if you want.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” It would be great to get that extra forty-five Monday minutes back.

“Don’t worry about it.” She shuts your locker for you and you start making for class. “And, whatever you want. Today can be all about you.” You look over at her and see that she’s smiling behind her waves and waves of hair.

You’re still a little keyed up as you drop your bag and sit down at your desk. You wish you could keep goofing off with Virgil all period- passing notes and whispering, like you used to- but as the year draws to a close she’s become much less amenable. She, unlike you, wants to get into college. Community college, but still. She’s trying her best to keep her grades up. So you try your best to cool down. You take out your legal pad, covered in doodles and puffy graffiti lettering from all the notes you don’t take. You let your foot start tapping and take out your pen to click incessantly. And you start counting down, minute by minute, to the end of the day.

You can hold it together, you’re sure, because today is no longer boring. From now on, today is going to be all about you.

#autoandrophilia #autohomoeroticism #autoandrophile #ahe #aap #original fiction #short story #ftm t4t #t4t #ftm #transfag #ftm nsft

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autohomoneurotic · 4 months ago

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autohomoneurotic · 4 months ago

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class of 2008

ao3 link

You almost can’t believe what you see. A small smile creeps onto your face without you meaning for it to as you run your hands over your chest.

“You like it?” Sloane sounds very fond as he watches you check yourself out. You nod, still unable to take your eyes off of yourself.

His hands come up to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them just a little as he makes eye contact with you in the mirror. “Isn’t it better than some stupid dress? You actually look like yourself like this. This is how you’re meant to look.” He’s very close to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. You can smell the cologne on him.

yayayy i'm actually sticking with writing these things at least for now :D yet again it is really mostly plot but who cares it's my t4t yaoi i can do whatever i want. they go clothes shopping in this one which is always fun when you're psychosexually fixated on gender.

(restating from my last work, i refer to these characters with she/her pronouns for a lot of this because i plan on this being a running series following their transitions and i think it's hot to transition to he/him just for the sex portions, sorry if that is not your thing don't like don't read or whatever)

Spring is in the air. It’s April on the island and graduation is just around the corner. For teenagers in need of something nice to wear, that can only mean one thing.

“Where do you wanna go first?” Sloane is sauntering along in front of you as you walk out of the food court and into the mall proper, smoothie in hand. “I think Spencer’s is having a sale, we can both get a shirt.”

You know the real reason she wants to go to Spencer’s is just to go in the back and inspect all of the sex toys, one by one, before scampering away as soon as one of the workers comes up to check and make sure you’re not shoplifting; you two have been doing it since you were thirteen. “Oh, please. Let’s not do that this time, we’re too old to keep doing that.”

“What?” She pulls a faux-innocent face and puts her straw to her lips. “You’d rather go to Borders and look at your gay comics?”

“Why do you always have to bring that up, that was a long time ago.” You had a phase, and she’s been holding it over your head since. “And anyway, I really can’t be spending extra money. I only have enough to buy stuff for graduation.”

“Oh, boo.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “Whatever, be like that. Where, then?”

You glance between the storefronts surrounding you, from Abercrombie to Francesca’s to Delia’s. “I’m not sure. My mom said I have to get a dress and some shoes, so I guess we can just walk around and look for a while.”

Sloane stops in her tracks. “What? You’re not wearing a dress.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’m obviously not going to let you do that, that’s ridiculous. Why would you wear a dress?”

“It’s not about you ‘letting me’, it’s her money and she told me I have to. You know how she is.”

“Well, she’s not here right now, is she?”

“Sloane.” You laugh nervously, shifting from foot to foot and looking around. “I have to, come on. Let’s just go.”

“You don't have to do anything.”

“I kind of do, though. I can’t get away with that stuff like you do.”

She rolls her eyes, finishing off her smoothie and tossing it into the trash. “What’s she even going to do if you come home with something else?”

“Um, get fucking pissed? Probably take away my phone?” Your mom is a big fan of taking away the phone. If you use too many minutes, no phone. Stay home sick, no phone. Demerits at school for goofing off with Sloane, no phone. You shudder to think what she would do if you spent money she gave you on an unsanctioned purchase. Especially on clothes.

Sloane shrugs. “And then what?” Her parents stopped trying to punish her a long time ago, and has apparently forgotten the gravity of being without a phone. “Is she gonna take you back and force you to buy something else?”

“Probably not, I guess.” You and your mom get into an argument every time you go shopping together, and both try to avoid it as much as possible- that’s why you’re here with Sloane right now and not her. She hates everything you like, and the ‘compromises’ you come to always end up in the back of your closet. She’s basically given up, except for where formalwear is concerned. She likes to make a good impression.

“Okay, great, so we agree. No dress.” Sloane doesn’t wait for you to affirm this and instead just snatches your wrist, starting to drag you through the mezzanine. You twist and turn a little, trying to get free, but her grip is too tight and you eventually have no choice but to give in.

“Where are we going?” You have to trot a little to keep up with her as she weaves through the crowd, catching dirty looks from the passersby as you both narrowly avoid bumping into them.

“Men’s Wearhouse.”

“Sloane!” You start pulling away again. “No, let’s just go to Macy’s or something, we can look at both.”

“Men’s Wearhouse!” She says it in a sing-song voice and continues pulling you along. “Come on, you know you want to.” She looks back at you and flashes her most winning smile as you feel yourself flush sheepishly. “It’s fine, I’ve been there so many times with Ben for his recital clothes. Don’t freak out, you’re always freaking out for no reason.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re freaking out a little.”

“No, I’m not.” You definitely are. But you can’t let her win, so you gird your loins and school your face into a neutral expression. “It’s just, I seriously can’t spend a million dollars.”

She slows down as you reach the entrance- has it always been this intimidatingly large? You’ve passed it a thousand times, usually averting your eyes like it’s a Victoria’s Secret or something. Looking at the mannequins made you feel weird as a little kid. “Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna take great care of you, Virgil, don’t you fret.” She looks into the store and then at you, and you can see the gears turning in her head as she bounces on the balls of her feet and clasps her hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be so fun.”

“Fun for who?” You almost don’t want to ask.

“Fun for me, silly. And you, if you can unclench for once. But, mostly for me.” Before you can say anything she’s already all but skipping into the store.

She beelines for the displays of cologne, and starts spraying them onto the little paper cards as you look on anxiously from behind her. She holds one up for you to smell. “Which one do you like? I like the sandalwood ones, I think I’m gonna ask for some for my birthday.” Her voice, as always, is just a little too loud.

You ignore the question and push her hand away from your face. “Can you chill?” you say it as quietly as possible so as not to disrupt the flat silence of the department store. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Relax. It’s not exactly Neiman Marcus. And there’s literally no one here anyway, look around.” She’s right; it’s basically empty, save a few attendants who are standing around texting or reshelving stock. “But fine. Come on, we’ll start with shirts.”

She makes for the racks and racks of white button downs. Thankfully she remembers your request to not overspend, at least, and starts with the clearance section.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m looking for?”

Sloane pokes her head up from behind the rack and gives you a very condescending look. “No. I’m shopping for you, you have no idea what you’re doing. Did I not say that already?”

You realize that even if she had asked you, you wouldn’t have an answer. “Sure, whatever. Do what you want.”

She clearly was already planning on it, and keeps carding through the hangers. “What size do you wear in our uniform?”

“Like, what size do I wear, or what size fits me?” These are two very different answers to two very different questions. You haven’t worn a shirt that fits you correctly since before puberty.

“What size fits you. Medium, right?” She picks up a few shirts before coming over to hold them up in front of your torso. She considers them for a moment, switching between them. You suddenly have the acute feeling of being treated remarkably like a doll.

She seems to make a decision, putting one back and handing the other two over to you. “Hold these, thanks.”

You follow her doggedly around the store for the next fifteen minutes, from discount section to discount section, picking up trousers and a couple of ties and a pair of dress shoes. You feel rather like a clothing rack yourself- she is basically ignoring you except for when she’s looking at you to seemingly determine what she wants to dress you up in. You get the impression there is some sort of strategy to all of it, though you have no idea what it is. You can’t pretend it isn’t a little attractive, how intuitive it seems for her. By the time Sloane seems satisfied, you are completely draped in clothes.

“Ready to try it all on?” She asks you this as if you have a choice. You have resigned yourself to your fate at this point- there’s no backing out now that Sloane’s mind is so set on it- so you just nod and quietly follow her to the dressing rooms, tucked all the way in the back.

You feel very exposed as you round the corner past the big trifold mirror and into the row of stalls and head to the farthest one, like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing. But with Sloane here, you actually kind of like it. Sloane will keep you safe, Sloane will tell you what to do. You don’t need to think too hard with her around- she’ll take care of you, like she said.

You’ve been feeling like that a lot recently. Ever since you’ve started hooking up, you find it a lot easier to go along with whatever she wants. Sloane has clearly noticed this, and uses it to her advantage whenever possible- like, for example, when she wants to skip class, or force you to crossdress against your will. She’s told you once or twice that you’re becoming dickwhipped, which you find incredibly rude and only a little hot. It’s not not true, really- most disagreements that you two used to have that would end in bickering have always been solved with her promising that she’ll make it up to you later. It’s just that now instead of exclusively meaning she’ll buy you something to eat or some cigarettes, sometimes (a lot of the time) she means she’ll jack you off while you watch a movie. It’s a tossup, really, and a gamble you’ve become willing to make. Either way, she’s taking care of you, and who could say no to that?

Right as you’re about to close the dressing room door, Sloane grabs it and slips in behind you.

“What, without me?” She puts on a disappointed face and you are forced to back up as she comes into the small room.

“It’s a little close quarters with the both of us.”

She tuts and takes off her satchel to hang on the back of the door. “Don’t be like that. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She pokes your side, right where she knows you’re most sensitive, and looks at you coyly. “We’re all guys here, Virgil.”

“Be normal or I’m kicking you out,” you warn her, and she throws her hands up in surrender even as the mischievous look on her face stays put. You unload all of the clothes onto the hooks next to the mirror and start stripping off your top.

Sloane takes the first shirt off of its hanger and holds it out, like he wants you to slip your arms into it. Usually you would insist you do it yourself, but what the hell. It feels nice. You let him button it up, too, as if it's the most natural thing in the world for him to help you like this. His knuckles brushing your stomach and chest through the fabric make you shudder a little. He smiles a little when he notices.

“Now who needs to be normal?”

“Shut up and just give me the pants.” You avoid looking at him as you toe off your shoes, unbuckle your belt and thread it out of the loops on your jeans. You hold your hand out for him to give the pair of slacks to you, and you slip them on. Sloane reaches out to help zip them up, but you bat him away. “Don’t push your luck,” you scold him, and he takes mercy on you, allowing you to tuck in your shirt and fasten your belt yourself. He’s being as respectful as he can be, you think, when he’s still intently watching you change.

“Wait a second.” He turns you around to face him. “You’re wearing them too high.” He doesn’t ask before he unbuckles your belt, letting it out a punch-hole and pulling the trousers to sit an inch or two lower. “They’re not supposed to be high waisted. They should sit on your hip bone. It makes you look straighter up and down, too.” He moves back behind you and readjusts your shirt to tuck it in a bit snugger, his hands wrapping around you and sliding down to the tops of your thighs and then back to go right over your ass before you grab them and give him a look in the mirror. “Sorry, my bad.” His smile tells you he really isn’t that sorry.

Ignoring him and adjusting your belt a bit more, you finally take a full look at yourself. You turn from side to side, smoothing the shirt down over your chest a few times.

“You look really flat,” he comments. “Like, I would never think there was anything there.” You duck your head and mutter a small thank you, rolling your shoulders a bit and standing up straighter.

“Oh, wait!” Sloane reaches for one of the ties and spins you around, flipping your collar up and bringing the tie around the edges of it. “I almost forgot, one second. Stay still.”

You try your best. “How do you know how to do that?”

“My brother.” His voice is softer than usual. It’s very sweet how hard he’s focusing. “He said I should know how to do it for when I was older. He taught me when I was like, nine.” He looks at his work, is apparently unsatisfied, and undoes it. “I’ve kind of forgotten how to do it now though.”

“And the rest of it? Like, the clothes and stuff.”

“I don’t know. Magazines and just coming with the guys when they need to buy suits, I guess, it’s really not that complicated.” You doubt that’s true, but a lot of things like this come easily to Sloane. You can admit it makes you a little jealous.

“Will you teach me?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll keep you from learning, so you always have to ask me to do it for you.”

“You’re so annoying.” You try not to let him see that you’d like that idea, just a little.

“Virgil, I’m kidding. We’ll do it next time I come over.” He finishes knotting the tie again, jerking your neck around just a little as he tightens it. You don’t mind. “There we go. Okay, now you can look.”

You almost can’t believe what you see. You look good- at least, in your personal, uneducated opinion. The shirt doesn’t fit perfectly, it’s a bit long in the arms, but the way it hugs your shoulders definitely makes them look a little broader. And Sloane was right, the way the pants sit does make your hips look narrower. The slacks have enough room around the thigh that you feel like you don’t hate your legs for once. The tie isn’t too long, either- you’d seen Sloane grab it from the junior’s section, which is a little embarrassing, but whatever. The sheen on it matches the slacks. A small smile creeps onto your face without you meaning for it to as you run your hands over your chest again to push down the creases.

“You like it?” Sloane sounds very fond as he watches you check yourself out. You nod, still unable to take your eyes off of yourself, taking your hands in and out of your pockets to test how it looks.

He tells you these secrets a lot. Usually it’s more subtle, but sometimes he comes out and says it, just like that- once, recently, when you were out in the woods smoking and you started playing with his butterfly knife, he rolled over to look at you and said, ‘you’re so good with your hands. That’s how I know you were meant to be a boy.’ You didn’t really think that was necessarily confirmation, but you know he meant it, and you couldn’t deny you’d thought about it every day for the next week. He let you keep the knife.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” you reply, as casually as you can muster. Sloane sighs dramatically, apparently disappointed with your continual refusal to ‘yes, and’ him. He takes his hands back and steps away.

“Whatever. Sit down and put on those shoes and then we can go have you look in the bigger mirror.”

You listen and sit down on the small bench, reaching underneath it to grab the shoes. After you slip them on and go to tie them up, Sloane suddenly bats your hands away.

“Hey!”

“I changed my mind, I’m gonna do it for you.”

“Sloane-” you try to take them back from him, but it’s too late. He’s already kneeling down in front of you. He takes one of the shoes in his hand and starts adding more slack to the laces and handing it back to you. You shift a little where you sit as you look down at him, trying your best to quit when he finally brings his chin up to meet your eye. He looks very, very happy with where he is right now. For the thousandth time today, you indulge him. You slip your feet into the shiny black brogues and anchor them back down on the floor so he can lace you up, which he does, and then you repeat for the other side. You lift up a leg to examine the pattern on the side of the shoe and begin to stand up, but he stops you.

“Just let me look at you for a second, please?”

His hand skims up your calf, then your knee, then your thigh, until his fingers are crooked onto your belt loop, forcing you to lean back and spread your legs further on either side of him.

“You look so perfect in this.” He keeps pulling on your belt loop until you slide down enough that your leg is flat enough for him to perch his chin. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, and he kisses your knee before resting his cheek on it, gazing up at you. “I could look at you forever if you dressed like this all the time.”

“But not if I dress how I usually dress?”

He rolls his eyes at you and kisses you again, in the same spot. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“I mean that I’m going to want to jump on you the entire time we’re on stage for graduation. Do I always have to spell everything out for you?” He untangles his hand from yours and pinches the inside of your thigh to punish you for being uncooperative, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to bring your knees together to keep his hand away. He’s already got it between your legs, so instead you just push his hand directly on top of you. He looks up at you eagerly, like it’s an invitation. “Yeah? Right here, really?”

“What? No, that wasn’t-”

“I mean, we can, if that’s what you want.”

“Sloane, we’re in a store, I’m not even wearing my own clothes.”

He shrugs. “Take them off, then. There’s no one here, and we’re in the very back. It’s not like we’ve never done it in public before.”

“That was different, that was in the car, and it was only once.” You’d both been waiting all weekend to see each other after you had gone off the island to visit family and you had really, really missed him.

“Yeah, during lunch in the parking lot. There were more people around then than there are now, honestly.” You start trying to stand up again, but he grabs your tie and pulls you back down. He fixes his face into a pout, the one he has been using for years to get you to agree to any stupid idea he has. “Come on, please? I want to so bad, and you look so good right now. I said I was going to take care of you, won’t you please let me?”

You really hate when he begs. He knows you can never say no to him when he does it. You sigh a little, peeking under the door for a second to check for any pairs of feet; there are none. You listen for any nearby voices; there’s no sound besides the soft muzak playing over the speakers on the sales floor. You look back at Sloane, waiting patiently for your answer. You swear that if he had a tail it would be wagging right now.

“Let’s be quick. We can’t be in here forever.”

Sloane looks like you just told him he won the lottery, which is always how he looks when you agree to let him do anything to you. “Do you want to stand up? We’ve never done that before…”

“If that’s what you want.” You push him back a little so that you have room to get up, reaching to unbuckle your pants as you kick the shoes back off. You’re underselling how willing you really are, just a bit- the second you saw yourself in the mirror you’d been at least a little excited, and the more Sloane talks the more you’re ready to open your legs for him, as a general rule, but you like to make him wait a little.

“Is that what you want?”

You finish stepping out of your trousers, setting them to the side and coming to stand in front of Sloane where he’s still on his knees. He’s looking up at you expectantly. “Yes, that’s what I want, Sloane. Is that what you want to hear?”

He smiles to himself, satisfied, and starts to tug on your boxers. You start reaching to loosen the tie and unbutton your shirt when he reaches up to catch your arm. “No, wait- keep it on, please?”

“I can’t get them dirty, I haven’t even tried on the other shirts yet. What if I don’t end up buying it?”

“I won’t be messy, I promise, please just keep it on. It looks so good on you, I wanna see it when I look up at you.” He’s still working on pulling off your boxers and you help him out a little, finally getting them off and putting them on top of the rest of the clothes. The air is cold and you are suddenly very aware that you are half naked in a dressing room of the Men’s Wearhouse in your local mall. Maybe you actually would rather keep it on.

“You’re always asking me for things, do you realize that? I never ask you for anything and you’re always begging me for something or other.”

He’s rubbing his face on your leg, barely listening to you as he inches you backwards until your back is flat against the wall. “I just want you, I guess.” His hands are on your haunches and he’s bringing your hips up so he can see you more clearly. “I mean, how could I not?” He kisses you, right between your legs, getting you just a little wet before he pulls away. “You’re a good looking guy, what can I say.”

Immediately you feel yourself get really, actually turned on. “You think so?”

“Mhm. Especially in this outfit.” He traces the hem of your shirt. “I did a great job dressing you up. You’re like a little Ken doll, I made you exactly how I wanted you.”

“Okay, well, I’m definitely no Ken, let’s keep it realistic.”

“Don’t be like that, you know I think you’re better than anything.”

“You’re such a flatterer when you’re trying to get something out of me. I’ve already said yes, just go ahead and do it before I change my mind.” You put a hand on the back of his head and you pull him towards you. He doesn’t resist.

Sloane is always overly enthusiastic when he’s going down on you. Apparently you standing up only makes him worse. You’ve been ready for a while, so it really doesn’t take much for him to start. He spends a bit of time working to center himself on you, searching for you until your legs come close around his ears as he finds exactly the right spot. You feel him moan against you as he bobs his head, and you realize that if you look down at him- from just the right angle- it really does look like he’s sucking dick. You hate to be that crass, but really, that’s what it looks like with you standing up and him on his knees. You almost want to say something, but before you can, he pulls away.

“Is it just me or does it really feel like I’m giving you head?” Of course he’d be thinking the same thing. He’s breathless as he traces little circles into your sides and looks up at you. “And is that really hot, or is that just me too?”

“It’s not just you.” Your grip in his hair tightens and you try to guide him back to where he was but he resists, for once.

“I mean, I’m always actually giving you head, but I’m saying like-”

“Yes, I know, obviously I’m thinking about that, you know I’m thinking about that.” He knows you don’t like to say these things out loud. It never stops him from trying to get you to admit to liking them.

“Okay, okay. Just making sure.” He kisses you there, openmouthed, once more before he starts again- this time taking extra care to get his mouth around you. You know what he’s doing, and you feel yourself get impossibly more turned on. He pulls on you long, slow, and you have to cover your own mouth with your sleeve. You’re usually quiet, but the image in your head of Sloane’s nose bumping up against your stomach as he deepthroats you, if he really could, is making it a lot more difficult. Not for the first time you wonder, what has Sloane done to you? A month ago you never would have seen yourself doing this, you barely even jerked off. You just had no interest or reason to, before that first time with Sloane. It really does feel like you’re both just hormonal teenage boys getting your energy out a lot of the time, now. Maybe that’s what changed it for you. In this dingy dressing room, up against the wall, hand fisted in his hair, it may be the strongest you’ve ever felt it.

You feel one of Sloane’s hands leave your thigh, and when you look down you realize that it’s between his legs. He’s whining, just a little, touching himself to the same rhythm as he’s taking you into his mouth.

“You really like this, don’t you?” He nods, moaning a little against you again, and you affectionately scratch his scalp. “You’re cute.” His eyes come up to meet yours and he looks a little affronted, as if to say, this is ‘cute’ to you? He draws his hand back up and puts it between your legs instead. You immediately regret provoking him. The combination of his tongue and his fingers makes it impossible to keep yourself from starting to bear down on his mouth. Your head tips back and you feel yourself start getting closer, and-

There’s a loud knock at the door. Sloane scrambles to his feet. You expect him to stop and start handing you your clothes; instead, he presses himself flush against you and puts his hand back where it was. He buries your head into the crook of his neck, so you can’t move or make a sound.

“Everything okay in there?” You try to push Sloane off but he doesn’t budge. He keeps rubbing you off and shushes you under his breath.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sloane calls back.

“You’ve been in there for a while.”

He keeps playing with you and you barely keep in the sound you want to make as he keeps stroking his fingers over the underside of you. “Yeah, I can’t decide between the straight or the cutaway collar.”

“... Right. Where’d your friend go?” You’re fucking mortified, holy shit, but Sloane still doesn’t stop.

“Went to look at the cufflinks. Can you go find him and tell him I’m almost ready?” Hearing Sloane call you that is too much. You put your arms around his neck, squeezing him, and try to hold yourself together for just a moment longer as your hips speed up.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just put the shirts back on the back of the door and leave them there, I’ll pick them up later.”

Footsteps recede into the distance, and you can’t hold it in anymore. You finish as quietly as possible, hands balled up in Sloane’s shirt, thinking about him down on his knees and how he sounded coming out of his mouth. He holds you up so you don’t fall, and you’re so spent that you almost forget where you are.

As soon as you’re able to stand, though, Sloane’s throwing your clothes at you. “We gotta go.”

“Are you kidding? What the fuck, Sloane?” You whisper at her angrily as you put on your boxers, still sensitive where your thighs rub together when you pull them up.

“I couldn’t just stop, you were so close! And anyway, it was hot.”

“No, not hot. We just committed a real, actual sex crime. That’s so fucked up, I can’t believe I actually let you convince me to do that.” You glare at her while you unbutton the dress shirt and zip up your pants, searching around for the slacks so you can retrieve your belt.

“Oh, please. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sloane starts putting the clothes back on their hangers and slings them over her arm. “And it’s not like you can say anything, you’re the one who just got off. You’ve got nothing to complain about.”

She waits for you to finish getting dressed before grabbing her bag, but stops you before you reach for the door handle. “You might want to look at yourself in the mirror first.”

You do, and realize in horror that it definitely looks like you just came. Your cheeks are a patchy red, and your hair…

“You have sex hair!” Sloane is laughing as if this isn’t the worst thing that could be happening right now. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. You might want to fix it, though.”

You’re too worn out to tell her to fuck off. You turn this way and that while you run your hands through your hair, fluffing up the flat part in the back and smoothing all the cowlicks before turning back to her. “Better?”

“Yeah, kinda. It’s fine, let’s just go.” She takes your hand and pushes the door open. She pauses for a second to hang up the remaining clothing, like the attendant had asked.

You’re still a little winded, and forcing yourself to walk straight is slightly more difficult than it should be as you follow behind her shakily towards the front of the store. When you reach the register she tosses the shirt, pants, shoes and tie on the counter like they’re poker chips.

“What do we owe you?”

The attendant looks up from the computer and seems to recognize her voice, raising an eyebrow when he sees you. “Is this your friend? I couldn’t find him where you said he’d be.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Sloane cuts you off. “Yeah, I thought he was over there but I guess he’d just gone outside for a second. He already knew what he wanted to buy, so I was holding onto it for him in the stall.” She gestures to the collection of clothes on the table.

“This is for you?” The attendant- his name tag says ‘Eric’- addresses you directly.

“Yeah, for graduation. I was helping him out, he’s never had to buy dressy stuff before.”

Eric looks at you for a second longer, surveying your face- and, unfortunately, your hair- but he is seemingly satisfied with this story. As he rings you up he nods approvingly, taking a look at the pants next to the tie. “Great choices for a budget getup. You’ll look good.”

“Won’t he just?” Sloane is absolutely eating this up. She should never be allowed to have this much fun.

You pay and finally, after what feels like forever, you get to leave. Sloane is practically walking on air.

“Well. I, personally, had a great time.”

“Clearly.” All you want is to get as far from the store as possible, before Eric the attendant realizes that there was no way you could have gone in and out without someone seeing you and you are arrested by mall cops for indecent exposure. You speed walk away, paper bag swinging by your side, and Sloane rushes to catch up. “Let’s go, we can get on the next bus if we hurry.”

“He really thought you were a guy, you know. You didn’t even have to try.” She sounds so proud of you that you can’t help but let a shy smile cross your face.

“Yeah.” Despite how nerve wracking this entire experience was, that part was totally sweet, you can’t lie. You’ve only been mistaken for a guy a few times, mostly by the ancient nuns at school who call you ‘young man’ when writing you up for being out of dress code before realizing who you are. You’ve never had someone around your age think that of you before. You’re glad you didn’t speak and ruin it- Sloane is always such a quick thinker. You open the double doors and exit the mall into the cold sunshine and say, “I really need a cigarette.”

You sit down at the bus stop, side by side, and she hands you the pack out of her satchel. You stick one in your mouth and start to dig around for your lighter but before you can find it the flame from Sloane’s zippo is already in front of you, kindling the end.

You sit in silence for a moment, both of you catching your breath. Your cigarette smolders and Sloane plucks it out from between your fingers for a drag without asking, as she is wont to do. After she hands it back, she turns to face you. “Virgil. Wanna see something cool?”

“I’m sure you’re about to show me.”

“You know me so well, it’s crazy.” and opens her bag and pulls out two plastic bags lined with cardboard. You realize, upon closer inspection, that they are two twin three-packs of Calvin Klein boxers.

“Where did you get those?” The question is rhetorical- you know she stole them. Sloane has a bad case of sticky fingers.

“One for each of us!” She hands one pack to you and puts the other back in her satchel. “You’re welcome, they’re expensive as fuck.”

“You really need to stop stealing, you’re basically a kleptomaniac at this point. We come here way too much for you to be doing this as much as you do.”

“You only think that because you’re not good at it.” She grabs your pack and shoves it into your shopping bag. “But lucky for you, I’ll always be here. Whatever you want, I can take for you.”

You kiss your teeth and shake your head in disapproval, putting the end of your cigarette out on the bottom of your shoe before dropping the butt into the little trashcan nearby. From the corner of your eye, you see her wilt a bit at your dismissal and feel instantly guilty.

“Thank you, Sloane. They’re very nice. And thank you for helping me with the clothes, and… you know.”

She perks right back up at that, and rests her head on your shoulder. Her legs start to swing and her beat up sneakers skim the pavement. “You know I’d do anything for you, buddy.” She’s been saying that a lot lately. You reach up to ruffle her hair to let her know you feel the same, in your own way.

You both stand up as the bus pulls in, heading to your usual rear corner seats. Sloane pulls out her wired earbuds, plugging them into her phone. She puts the left one in her ear and offers you the right one, like always. She chooses the music, also like always. As the bus starts moving you feel her hand on yours, and you open your palm to let her hold it, which is new, but already becoming a habit. She squeezes it once, twice, and you squeeze back as you look out the window at the passing buildings.

It comes back to you, faintly, that when you get home your mom is definitely going to be pissed; but right now, you really can’t bring yourself to care.

#autoandrophilia #autohomoeroticism #forcemasc #forced masculinization #autoandrophile #ahe #aap #original fiction #short story #ftm t4t #t4t #ftm #transfag #ftm nsft

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autohomoneurotic · 4 months ago

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No cis girl is that obsessed with gay men

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autohomoneurotic · 4 months ago

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scout's honor

ao3 link

“Just let me, Virgil, I’ll be the boy,” Sloane mumbles, almost as if she isn’t fully aware that she’s saying it, and you feel yourself get impossibly sore between your legs as that buzzes in your ear.

You don’t even fully think it before it comes out of your mouth, “can we both be boys?”

Hands grab your wrists and yank them down, holding them to your sides. You try to fight it, to be able to hide away from this situation you just created, but her grip is too tight. You can’t do anything but look right at Sloane, at her ski-slope nose and strangely soft expression that you’ve never seen her wear before. Her short hair is fanning out around her temples as she leans over you.

“Is that what you want?”

first attempt at ahe/'forcemasc' (not all that forced at all lol) writing... it was supposed to be mostly porn but became mostly sweet. perhaps in the future i will actually write real porn again... le sigh

(i refer to characters with she/her pronouns for a lot of this because i plan on this being a running series following their transitions and i think it's hot to transition to he/him just for the sex portions, sorry if that is not your thing don't like don't read or whatever)

---

You and Sloane have always been close. She simply appeared, it seemed like, in your neighborhood when you were seven. You can’t remember a time when Sloane wasn’t your best friend.

You had been wary at first. Sloane was loud. She was a little obnoxious, and she had no sense of personal space. She made jokes that shocked even the crudest of your friends, ones that when you were younger had been much too mature for her age. You realize now that at the time she probably hadn’t even understood half of what she said. Once you had gotten over the friction at the beginning, though, you began to get along swimmingly. Yes, Sloane is loud, but she has always spoken up for you. She’s invasive, but it forces you to open up. And you’re shy, but it reminds her to pull back. Your reluctance to try new things forces her to think twice. You, as your mother says, keep her out of trouble, and she pushes you out of your comfort zone. In the end, it just works.

There is also the fact that as the only two girls among your friends, you became a sort of matched set. Both of you are slouching, lanky, and stubbornly plain, with choppy home-grown haircuts (yours shaggy, hers daringly short) and hand-me-down clothes that hung off of you as if you were racks (yours from your friends, and hers from her brother). Neither of you wore a lick of makeup, but you both wore the boys’ uniform at school. You can’t, and sort of refuse to put too fine a point on it- but the resemblance between the type of girl you both are is clear. It’s hard being like that, sometimes. Together, it’s easier.

It isn’t a passionate friendship, after all these years. You often run out of things to talk about, or get sick of eachother, even as you refuse to leave eachother alone. But no one knows as much about you as Sloane. No one understands Sloane’s many idiosyncrasies the way you do. You know her least favorite things, down to her socks. She knows exactly where your family hides their Christmas gifts. You know eachothers’ family computer passwords. You do everything together, talk about everything together, learn everything together. That’s how it has been ever since you can remember. Every class, secret and first time is shared. So of course that would be how this started.

Today is Sloane’s day. That is to say, it’s the day that you go to her house instead of her to yours. You both have a free period at the end of each Monday, which is one of the only times you’re apart; she always chooses to go home, while you stay and read until the bus comes. But after that, you’re together again, walking the four houses down to knock on the other’s door.

As you let yourself in through the back, you can hear the tinny sound of gunfire coming from her room at the end of the hall. “I’m back,” you say as you set down your bag and take off your shoes, which is what you always say when you see her again. It’s never ‘I’m here’, because that is a given. You are always going to be right back, with Sloane. “Having a good game?”

“I’m always having a good game.” She doesn’t bother to look up as she keeps playing. “How was study hall?”

You start to take off your uniform as you answer, unbuttoning your polo and picking a longsleeve out from where you left it on her bed the last time you were here, pulling it over your head. “Mrs. Baxter asked me why I’m always in detention.”

“Hah!” Sloane shakes her head. “That’s what you get for being such a tryhard.”

“Sorry I can’t get a ride home from my mom,” you shoot back, unzipping your trousers and slipping on a pair of Sloane’s bleach-stained sweats before coming to sit down next to her. “It’s just more convenient to wait.”

“You could always get a ride home with me,” she reminds you, moving over a bit to give you room.

It’s true; you could. But it’s always been an unspoken thing that you don’t come around Sloane’s mother. There is rarely a moment where Sloane isn’t actively fighting with, isn’t about to fight with, or hasn’t just finished fighting with her. It’s better to stay out of the way. You don’t say this, because you don’t need to. You just nod, picking up a stray blanket to ball up in your arms and lay your chin on. That’s something you both love and hate about Sloane’s bed; it’s always covered in too much shit. In some cases this means being poked by a pen or finding errant food wrappers, but on the flipside, there are many soft things to hold. You watch as she keeps playing and you begin chewing absentmindedly on the tips of your hair.

Sloane side-eyes you. “Stop doing that shit, it’s awful.” Her hand comes up to lightly backhand you on the cheek. “You need a haircut.” She is always telling you this.

“Leave me alone.” You know it’s gross, but it’s a hard habit to kick and you don't like how much she gets on your case about it. “Be grateful I don’t mention all the weird shit you do.”

“Virgil, one day-” and here she begins her common refrain- “you’re going to go to the doctor and they’re going to tell you that you have a giant ball of hair in your stomach and they’re going to have to operate, and then you’re going to cry to me, ‘oh, Sloane, I should have listened to you!’, and I’m going to laugh at you, and say, ‘I told you so, Virgil, but you were too busy being autistic to listen’. And then how will you feel?”

Her shaming works, and you stop biting your hair and being autistic, pushing the blanket off of your lap. “Just give me a controller.”

You aren’t very good at video games. It’s one of the things you don’t like about yourself very much- you refuse to play them around the guys, because you don’t like being made fun of and it makes you feel profoundly uncomfortable for them to see you fail so spectacularly at them, to be so incompetent. Sloane is the only person who gets to see you play, and that’s only because she will completely ignore you if you don’t join in while she’s doing it. She puts the second controller in your hand, the one she used to use when she’d play with her brother (she’s upgraded to his since he’s moved out) and restarts the game in the multiplayer mode.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I did this weekend?” This past Sunday was one of the first in a long time that you haven't hung out. You have been waiting for it to come up.

“Tell me.”

Sloane grins. “Guess.”

“I’m not going to guess. Tell me.”

“You’re gonna want to look at me for this one.” You hide your character in a corner so it won’t die, and turn to look. She glances at you, still grinning, before turning back to the TV screen. Her side profile gleams in the shifting patches of blue light.

“You’ll love this. You know Eric Friedman?”

You pull a face. “ Eric, who everyone says touched his cousin?”

“It wasn’t his cousin, it was his cousin’s friend who everyone CALLS his cousin. And yes.”

“Oh, okay. Well, what about Eric who touched his cousin’s friend, then.”

“So…” Sloane draws out the ‘o’ as she hops from platform to platform… “When we saw eachother at that bonfire…” She trails off.

You can’t stop yourself from smacking her on the arm. “Sloane!”

“Hey, what’s your problem?”

“That’s disgusting!”

“How is that disgusting?” She lets go of the controller with one hand to smack you back, much harder and many more times than you did to her. “It was only, like, one kiss.” You know this probably isn’t true, but you would rather not hear about that right now, so you let it slide.

“It’s just disgusting, I don’t know. It just is.”

“People kiss, it’s fine.”

“What if you get mono?”

“Does it seem like I have mono?”

“... What if he tells people?”

“Who’s going to believe Eric Friedman? He touched his cousin.”

You laugh at that, but only a little. You remain unconvinced. “I just think that was a dumb thing to do, still.” Sloane has been known to make bad decisions similar to this; there was your friend Andrew, for example.

“Oh, please. Like you’ve never kissed anyone before that you regret.”

You elect to say nothing to that.

“Come on, just tell me one.”

“Don’t you think I would tell you if I did?” You think this is a sufficient answer, but clearly Sloane does not agree.

“Okay, just tell me one you don’t regret, then, even.”

You say nothing again.

“Oh my god!” Sloane’s voice raises, and you shush her, knowing how her mother gets when she’s too loud. “Sorry. But seriously, actually, no one? Never?”

“Again: don’t you think you would have heard about it if I had?”

“Oh my god.” Sloane pauses the game for once, and turns to you. “How have I never realized this?”

“Probably because it’s really not that big of a deal.” You start playing with your hair again, trying your best to keep it out of your mouth and failing. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

From her face, you can tell that you cannot. “I mean, don’t you want to?”

You shrug. “Not really. I mean, maybe if it was the right person, but I really don't care. It will happen eventually.”

Sloane is being uncharacteristically quiet, just looking at you with a faint smile on her lips, like she’s sizing you up. It’s unnerving for her to look so deep in thought- because Sloane doesn’t actually think. She plots.

“Stop making up stupid plans in your head. I would never trust anyone you tried to set me up with and you know it.” You tap her controller to unpause, pick up yours and start playing again to attempt to distract her. She joins you to make sure you don’t die.

“I’m not thinking about boys,” Sloane says, again elongating the ‘o’, “You at least need to practice first. You’re too old to do it without practice.”

“What are you even saying right now?”

“Oh, you know…” She scoots closer to you, until your thighs are almost touching. “It’s always better to try new things with a friend. We’re friends, aren’t we, Virgil?”

You scoff and shake your head. “Fuck off, we aren’t living in a lesbian porn.”

“Come on, don’t you want to be ready for your first kiss?”

“I feel like practicing negates the entire point of it being the first, to be honest.”

You can see out of the corner of your eye as Sloane shrugs and tilts her head back and forth in a sort of ‘you got me there’ motion, even as her mouth spreads into a wicked grin. It’s almost guilty, except for that it isn’t at all.

“I guess,” she says, “but wouldn’t you rather know what you’re doing, when you’re with a boy?” Her thin fingers knock her joysticks around as she talks. You sneak a glance at her sideways for just a moment, just to check her body language and how serious she’s being.

Sloane likes to play with you like this. Usually it’s in public, sidling up close to you and saying some non sequitur in the middle of you talking like, hmm, you smell good, as she picks up a lock of your hair, or, wow, Virgil, you’re so warm, as she pulls you closer to her on the cold metal benches in the park, laughing when you push her away and tell her to fuck off. She lights your cigarettes on the ends of hers when you ask for a lighter, which she insists on calling ‘buttfucking’. She jokingly wolf whistles at you when you get out of the car, pretending to not understand the problem as you brush her off and tell her to shut up. You never know how much she’s doing it to blow off steam, and how much she’s just trying to annoy you- or alternatively, how much she’s just trying to get the guys’ attention.

She’s waiting for you to answer, clearly. You choose to make her wait, silently focusing on the game and trying your best not to chew your lip too much as you think of what to say. She does not like this and begins to whine, as she is wont to do when she isn’t getting her way.

“Come on, Virgil, don’t make it weird.” She bumps you with her shoulder as she continues to play. Sloane has the almost supernatural power to win at video games with professional finesse at the same time as she annoys you. “I’m really not asking that much, it’s supposed to be fun.”

“I’m not making it weird.” You bump her back in a more irritated way and continue to plunge your guy into the next wave of enemies. “Why are you so obsessed with this all of a sudden, you’re the one being weird.”

Sloane charges ahead on the screen, and begins taking out enemies with her characteristic ease. Now, she’s the one who’s quiet.

“... It would be my first time too, you know.” Her voice is so convincingly innocent and timid that if you didn’t know her, you would have believed it.

You shake your head. “Such complete bullshit, literally what were we just talking about.”

She can’t contain her cackle, and you push her until she almost falls over, which she doesn’t seem fazed by in the slightest.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

She leans her head onto your shoulder and begins to rub her cheek on you as she coos, “you’re so smart, Virgil, you have me all figured out…”

“Sloane, stop.”

“You know me so well…”

“Cut it out.”

“It’s like we’re meant for eachother…”

“Okay, seriously, fuck off.” The level ends as you get wasted by the alien horde, your impaled character facedown on the floor. You toss the controller to the side and turn to try to fix her with your best withering look. She remains unmoved, fixing her face into a pout when you don’t budge.

“You’re so mean to me all the time.”

You scoff and take your legs up to your chest as you move up the bed to lean against her pillows. They’re firm against your back in their flannel cases. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Sloane clambers up to kneel in front of you. “Why can’t you just say yes?” She holds her fingers up in a pinching position. “Just a tiny little one, just so you can see what it’s like…” You shake your head and turn it away from her to show just how unimpressed you are and hide behind a sheet of your hair. She is embarrassing you, and you don’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing, although you’re sure she does.

Faster than you can understand it is the pull on your chin, and you are suddenly much too close to Sloane’s face. You can see each and every freckle on her nose, and her eyes are so bright they almost glow.

You can feel her breath, warm in your mouth, between your lips where she’s holding them open ever so slightly. “Hey. We’re friends, right?”

You still can’t tell if she’s joking. You go hot, and then cold, and then hot again, and all you can say is, “yes,” and it comes out slightly muffled due to the grip she has on your cheeks.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, we’re friends,” you breathe out, and her eyes immediately crinkle up as she smiles. You expect her to let go, but instead, her hand simply moves up to hold your jaw and she twines her fingers into your hair.

“And what else are friends for, but to help eachother out?”

It’s really starting to seem like she isn’t joking, from the look in her eyes. This is not what friends do, you feel you should say. This isn’t how we are, you want to tell her. But it doesn’t really matter to you in this moment, not when you can feel the heat of her hand sliding up the side of your thigh. As much as you’re confused about it, since it’s Sloane- you’re suddenly so turned on you can barely move. Even if she’s teasing, it’s hard to say no.

“Fine, yes, sure, go ahead then.” What’s the worst that could happen? It’s only Sloane, after all.

She pushes your legs down and she crawls between them, putting her hands on your shoulders as she lays you back and leans down to kiss not your lips, but your neck. She starts slowly, gingerly, up and down your throat. This was only supposed to be one kiss, you think frantically, and you start to half-heartedly push her away.

You don’t even fully think it before it comes out of your mouth, “can we both be boys?”

She instantly pulls back, sitting up to look at you with owlish eyes. You go ice cold. Immediately, you regret saying it. You feel that pool of shame you hold in your chest so close, so tight, begin to run over, and you cover your face with your hands.

“Sorry. That was stupid. Don’t listen to me, I don’t know why I said that, I know you were joking, I was just joking, I-”

“No, no-”

“No, seriously, it’s-”

“Is that what you want?” Her voice is unusually gentle.

“Um.” You’re about to have a heart attack, you’re so scared. You think you might fall through the floor, you’re so mortified. But you can never lie to Sloane. “Yes, kind of, a little.” You bite your lip and look past her face at the ceiling, feeling your throat tighten. You are suddenly very, very afraid of yourself. “A lot,” you get out, and your voice breaks. You can’t stop the tears that start to well up in your eyes.

“Oh, Virgil.” Sloane lets go of your arms and puts her own around you as you start to cry, folding herself so your face is in the crook of her neck as she helps you sit up. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” She smoothes her hand up and down your back. “You don’t need to cry, it’s okay…”

You shake your head as you feel the collar of her shirt start to get wet. You’re trembling as you grab your arms around her, hugging her closer and trying to take deep breaths. It doesn’t feel okay. You are suddenly so small and so scared and you can’t move from exactly this spot or you might disappear.

“No, it is, I promise.” Sloane begins to rock you back and forth just a little with her hand cradling the back of your head to keep you close, allowing you to get some of the worst of it out, staying quiet except for occasionally softly repeating, I know, I know…

But what could she know, really? You don’t even say that to yourself. You try really, really hard, every single day, not to think about how much you want that- even now, you can’t even say it in your head- because it makes you so ashamed. Sometimes when it’s really strong, late at night when no one is awake, you think you might die from how much you want it. Why did she have to say that to you? Why couldn’t she have said anything else?

Once you’ve calmed down, sniffling just a little every few moments as opposed to the heaving sobs you were letting out, she lets you take her head off her chest to look at her. Your hair in your mouth and your eyes completely red and tear-tracks down your cheeks, you know you must look ridiculous. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, unsure of how to recover after she’s just seen you break down over something so crazy. You ruined it. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. It was just supposed to be a kiss.

She’s silent for a while as she pets your hair. She plays with the ends; they’re still wet.

“I want that, too, you know.” She says it so quietly you can barely hear her. The bottom of your stomach falls right out.

“You do?”

Sloane nods. She seems to be getting up the courage to say something, and starts, “I…” but she trails off. Now it’s her turn to look away, looking anywhere but at you as she fidgets with her comforter before she takes a deep breath and lets it out as if she’s psyching herself up. “I really wish that a lot, actually.”

“That you were a boy?” You can hardly say it, but you force yourself to. You can feel yourself start to shake just from daring to say it out loud.

“Yes.” As always she is much braver than you, and she seems to be getting more comfortable the more she talks. “And, um… you, too, sometimes.”

“You wish I was a boy?” She nods.

“... Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that.

After a beat, you start to laugh- first only a little and then more and more. You laugh at how dramatic and awkward you’re both being. You laugh at the absurdity of this entire conversation. You laugh at how scared you are, and how suddenly it doesn’t seem so serious at all. Sloane looks scandalized, and that makes you laugh more, and then she starts laughing, too. You both sit, her arms around your waist and you sitting in her lap, giggling quietly as you can hear the bathroom fan running in the room over. When you finally quiet down, you're both smiling at eachother, taking in eachothers’ faces like you’ve only just met.

Sloane speaks first, after what feels like a long time. “Virgil?” She tucks some of your hair behind your ear. You feel your heart start to beat faster again.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re really handsome.” She moves her hand underneath your collar to where the strap of your tank top is- one of the compression ones you stole from the athletics store, that you insist on wearing instead of the bras your mother has tried to get you to wear for years- and starts to play with it. Her fingers are cold against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I think you’d make a really good boy.”

“Um. Thank you.” You look down at where her fuzzy, freckled arm disappears into the hem of her sleeve for a while as your head spins before thinking to add- hardly believing such a thing is coming out of your mouth- “And, you too, it’s- I mean, you’d probably be better at it than me, to be honest.”

Sloane shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s true. I think we’d both be good at it.” Her eyes flick to yours again. “Maybe just in different ways.”

“Different how?”

She hums, seeming to turn your question over in her head a few times. “Well, I know I’d be stronger than you.” As if to prove her point, she shifts her palm onto the middle of your chest and lightly pushes you back onto the bed. “But I also know you’d be better at helping people, being a good guy, making people feel safe with you.” She moves to lean over you again. “And when we were together, even though I’d still be the one who’s allowed to boss you around…” Her fingers are in your hair again now, pulling your head back ever so slightly as she dips down, her lips brushing your throat again… “I’d always be trying to impress you, because you’re the coolest guy I know.” She kisses you- right where your Adam’s apple would be, you realize. Every word she says makes it harder not to move your hips up into hers, even if there’s nothing there to put together.

“Is that how you’d want it to be? With us being boys like that?” She knows what talking like this is doing to you, she has to, there’s no way she doesn’t.

“I want that a lot,” you say.

Sloane smiles. Brushes her fingers up and down your arm. “You know I’d do anything for you, buddy.”

It’s what all your friends, the guys, call eachother, something they always leave you two out of. You guess she’s noticed it, too.

“Will you kiss me, now?”

“I was getting to it.”

It feels like Sloane is trying to eat you alive, just a little. His teeth clack against yours at first. It isn’t gentle, like you’d maybe imagined your first kiss being. The hands on your body aren’t either. His hands, much larger than yours, as you’ve noticed with envy before, creep under your shirt to lift up your tank top. They’re cold, and you shiver again as he touches your bare stomach. At first, as he runs his hand over the hair there, you feel embarrassed- you’ve always gotten flack from your mom and your classmates in the locker room for neglecting to shave and wax what you could only call your happy trail, as far as you’re able to have one of those. You squirm a little and try to tug it back down so he can’t feel it.

As if he’s reading your mind, Sloane pulls away and sits upright so he can force it back up. “Why are you doing that, stop.” You struggle a bit more but he was right, he is stronger than you, and he manages to lift it until he can see pretty much everything. His hand comes down again and he runs a line with his thumb down from your navel to the top of your sweatpants, following the line of hair there. “I look at you here every single time you’re changing next to me.” His voice is very heavy. “Did you know that?”

“No.” Your muscles twitch under his finger as he continues to stroke your stomach. He is getting dangerously close to putting his hand down your pants.

“Well, I do.” His eyes don’t leave the spot.

“My mom says I need to get rid of it…”

Sloane shakes his head, placing his hand to where it’s spanning over half of your stomach. “Don’t. I like it this way.” He makes eye contact with you again, saying it plainly: “It makes you look like a boy.”

“Sloane…” Keep talking, is what you want to say, but you’re too embarrassed at how much you like hearing it.

He ducks to kiss you right where the trail of hair leads into your waistband. You wiggle around a bit from how sensitive the area is, but he holds you still as he keeps kissing you all over your hips. “You’re so, so handsome, Virgil,” he mumbles into your stomach. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, I’ve thought about it for so long, you have no idea,”

“You can keep going, I’m really, um, well, it feels-” You’re too embarrassed to say what you mean, which is that you are really, really turned on. You want him to touch you- if you had a different body, you’d be unbearably hard right now. The thought makes you metaphorically harder.

As you consider that concept Sloane finally dips his hand under your waistband, forcing you to spread your legs further. He only puts his hand on you over your boxers for a second, seemingly to test to see how you’ll react, but you can’t stop from pushing yourself right into him. He looks up at you and smiles at what must be an extremely desperate expression on your face and flattens his fingers so you can grind up against them, using his other hand to push some hair off of your shoulder. “Look at you, getting your first handjob,” he says, “you can’t help yourself, it’s like you’re just another horny teenage boy, is that how you feel?”

“Yes, yeah,” is all you can think to say, him putting a name to it turning you on more. “Thank you, I’m sorry, it just feels really good-”

“Don’t apologize, it’s supposed to feel good.” He’s found exactly the right spot from how you’ve been moving, and as he begins focusing on it you feel yourself losing control of your hips. “Let yourself feel good. You’re being such a good boy, you deserve it.”

You definitely do feel good. So good, in fact, that you aren’t sure you’re going to last much longer, especially if he keeps calling you that. “Sloane- if you keep going, I think I’m gonna, um-”

This does not appear to discourage him, and apparently hearing his name only eggs him on further. “So fast?” He teases you, not stopping but slowing down slightly, which just makes you start grinding into his hand faster. “You really are like a horny teenage boy, if you’re finishing so quickly,” he speeds up again, leaning down to talk into your ear and kiss you in between. “You’re so cute, Virgil,” and a kiss, “you’re such a boy,” kiss, “and so good,” another kiss, “I want to be like that together, we can do it whenever you want, you can-”

As much as you want him to keep going, you’re already finishing. It feels so strong and so lovely, so much better than when you do it yourself, and you keep riding his palm through it until you’re too sensitive to keep his hand on you. He takes it away once you start going to grab it and lies down next to you.

It’s over. You feel the moment fading- the fantasy wanes, as strong as it was and as sad as you are to see it go, and you’re both just girls again.

You want to be close to her, still, so you roll over and bury your head in her chest as you wrap your arms around her. Your legs tangle together and the only sound is Sloane’s hands rustling through your long hair.

“How was that? Pretty okay?” Shes sounds very pleased with herself. She clearly already knows the answer and just wants to hear it.

You flick her on the arm. “Don’t get a big head about it, it was my first time.”

“Sure, right.” She lays off for now, electing just to hold you and allow you to go through the tingly feeling that is currently still running up and down the insides of your legs.

Slowly, timidly, you reach for her hand. She gives it to you easily and you lace your fingers together. She pulls it to her lips, kissing the back of it, looking dreamily at you over the tops of your joined knuckles.

“You said, um, you’ve wanted that for awhile?” You’re bad at talking like this, having serious conversations- but you want to know.

“Wanted what, to have sex with you?”

“No, like, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“The other thing.”

Which other thing?”

“Sloane!” You push her shoulder with both of your hands. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not.” She really does seem not to know. “What thing do you mean?”

She’s really twisting your arm, here. “Like…” You stop as the words refuse to come. “Wanting, like,” you try again, “to be, um.”

“A boy?” Sloane finishes for you. You nod. “Hm…” She extricates herself from you so she can lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. You do the same.

“I guess I always have.” She’s talking to the posters on her ceiling. “I just knew. My mom wanted another boy before I was born. When I was a kid, I never understood why she didn’t see she got one, before I really understood who I was supposed to be. And when I realized, I got really mad. Like,” and she laughs a little, “I got so pissed. I was so angry all the time about it for years.” She pauses for a second, her mood becoming sober again. “But after a while I kind of just accepted it. And knew that I couldn’t help it, so I just… moved on. But, yeah, I always knew.” Sloane turns her head to look at you, meeting your eyes where you’re already looking back at her. “How about you?”

You ignore the question. “So this whole time, as long as we’ve known eachother, you felt like that?”

“I guess, when you put it that way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You’re aware that you’re being petulant, but you can’t help it.

“Um, excuse me, why didn’t you tell me?” She’s got you there. You huff a little, crossing your arms and turning away from her. “No, wait, come back!” She grabs your shoulder and pulls you to lie on your back as you were. “I’m just saying, you can’t be mad at me when you didn’t tell me either. Also, you know,” She lets go of you and lies back down, “it’s kind of…”

“Embarrassing,” you finish for her. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“I was going to say private. Is it embarrassing, for you?”

You scoff, like it’s a ridiculous question, before realizing she’s serious. “I mean, yeah.”

“Why?” You give her a look, and she sits up. “No, seriously, why is it embarrassing? Is it so terrible?”

“It’s not terrible. It’s just…” You search for the words; how do you say it without sounding incredibly depressing? “It can’t happen, so it makes me feel a little crazy. I don’t know, it’s just stupid.”

“I mean, if it can’t happen, then what do you call what we just did?” She goes to hold your hand again, rubbing her thumb over yours. “Did that feel like we were girls, then?”

You think about that. No, it really didn’t. Being with Sloane definitely felt like being with a boy, and you didn’t know much about it, but you really didn’t feel like you were the girl, either… But, “it’s still not the same.”

“Does it really need to be?”

Sloane swings her legs to sit over the top of you, putting her hands on either side of your hips.

“Isn’t it enough to just feel like that together? There’s no point in thinking about all the things that can’t happen. Isn’t seeing eachother that way enough?” She laces your fingers together and squeezes. “You’re thinking too much about it, Virgil. It doesn’t need to be so complicated. We can be boys, when we’re together. No one else needs to know.”

Her voice in your ear sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment you think you might cry again, but you force yourself not to, and instead you use all your strength to roll her over. Now, for the first time, you’re the one on top of her.

“No one needs to know,” you repeat, making sure she understands you’re serious.

“No one, I promise.” She wrestles her arm out of your grip and holds up three fingers.

“Scout’s honor.”

#autoandrophilia #autohomoeroticism #forcemasc #autoandrophile #ahe #aap #original fiction #short story #ftm t4t #t4t #ftm #transfag #forced masculinization #ftm nsft

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