#and a closeted teenage dyke .

[tiktaalic]

my baby sibling is 11 years younger than me (currently 14) and the gayest high school freshman you'll ever see. and whenever we talk i'm like [jokingly] [shaved head hoodie or button up and cargo pants] how do i look. and they're like you look sooooooooo cool every time we talk you're wearing something cool you're like the coolest looking person i know. and it's very sweet. and i assume a 1:1 to what it would be like to time travel back to 2012 to talk to myself at 14 years old. just an instant hit whenever i'm on facetime with them of knowing i'm changing some future gay kid's life in the antique store

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

very few people can comprehend the dyke drama that used to go down on ch*ckensmooth*e dot com

[babybluebanshee]

So I finally got my water heater replaced after more than half a year of it leaking and nearly destroying my floor, but that's not the story. The story is of the handyman that installed it.

Dude's name is Chris, and he's your typically midwestern schlub - friendly, apologizes too much, really likes the Cardinals, maybe a little younger than my parents. Hella nice tho, gets the heater installed quickly, and even offers to fix the floorboards it warped (after nearly tripping over the hump it made in the floor twice). Overall, a stress-free experience.

Then, as he's gathering up his tools - "So, I noticed your, uh, banner. Over your bed."*

*(The closet where my water heater is is located in my bedroom because I live in a mobile home, dude wasn't just wandering creepily into my bedroom)

He's referring to a giant pride flag that's hanging over my bed, with the words "Sounds gay, I'm in"

My anxiety spikes instantaneously, thinking oh christ I'm about to get hatecrimed or at least microaggressioned.

But then he says "Yeah, my daughter is gay, and I was wondering, like...where do you guys, ya know, meet up?"

What.

"Because she met her most recent girlfriend when she was in jail, and I keep asking why she doesn't just find a nice lesbian librarian or something and she said 'dad I know they're out there, I just don't know where'. So...like...where do you?"

So I ended up confessing to this nice man who installed my water heater that I don't know of any real gay culture in our mostly Baptist Missouri town of about 18,000 that routinely freaks out over pride displays in the library (I'm sure it exists but I'm lazy and haven't gone looking for it). My girlfriend lives in an area with a rather bustling gay community (we just did a face painting booth for their pride festival a few weeks ago), so maybe have her go out there with some friends, and also a lot of queers I know play dnd so maybe find a nice group of them and network. I then apologized that I wasn't more helpful in getting his daughter settled with a nice, wholesome dyke.

On the plus side, he was not deterred at all, and seemed to be very interested in the fact dnd was so popular amongst the el gee bee tees. I told him the names of some dms I know and told him to go to town. I do not know if the names will be given to his daughter or hoarded for himself so he can join a group and play like he did when he was a teenager and not be called satanic for it.

He's coming to fix my floor next week.

[atimeofyourlife]

Steve being the one who is actually a fountain of queer knowledge because he has a gay uncle in San Francisco or New York, one of the cities that had the biggest queer communities.

Robin not having much information because she's a closeted teenage lesbian who can't drive, so she has nowhere to source that information without raising the suspicions of her parents.

Eddie doesn't have the chance because he can't afford to spend weekends in Indianapolis or Chicago, because weekends mean parties, and parties are one of the best times to deal. He might go occasionally, but just hitting up a bar to find a dude to hook up with, not getting into queer theory because he doesn't really care to. He doesn't bother to learn about hanky code or anything else, because he's not interested. All he's interested in is getting a little action.

But Steve? He spent a lot of time with his uncle, Hank, while growing up. Anytime his family was in the area, they would stay with Hank. Sure, Steve's parents would try to explain his partner, Joe, as a friend or a roommate, but Steve always knew. He could see how in love they were, even more than his parents.

It became normal for him. He heard the words that other people would throw around, how they would talk about how dangerous, how disgusting two men together was. But he couldn't understand why people thought so badly about it. Because Hank and Joe were so happy together and they weren't hurting anyone.

When he was twelve, they were the first people he told when he had the conflicting feelings of having a crush on a pretty girl named Annika in the grade above, but also really wanting to kiss Tommy every time the other boy laughed at one of his jokes. Joe and Hank just listened to him, then taught him about bisexuality. That it was perfectly normal to like both. They gave him gentle warnings, that he would have to be careful because people were cruel.

And because his parents had left him with them for a couple of weeks, they took advantage of it to introduce Steve to other people. They took him to a tiny queer bookshop that was run by a friend of theirs, giving him a space to learn in safety. Because of them, he met people of so many different orientations lesbians, bisexuals, gay men. Self-proclaimed dykes and faggots. Transexuals, men who were once women and women who were once men¹ and people that pushed the boundaries of gender entirely. He felt in awe of all these people, but also loved and accepted by everyone he met.

A few years later, the summer of '82, age 15 and between freshman and sophomore year, he was sat down for a more serious conversation. The day after he arrived, Hank and Joe sat him down for a serious talk about safe sex, in way more detail than what he got from his parents, which was just a pack of condoms appearing in his bathroom on his fifteenth birthday, with a note saying to use them so he wouldn't get a girl pregnant. The talk emphasized the need for a barrier during any type of sex, and brought up the very real risk of GRID, which had yet to be renamed AIDS², to point out why he had to be incredibly careful with everyone he had sex with. But they also made a point to reassure him that they were both okay, that he didn't have to worry about them. They made sure that he knew that they were always there for him, just a phone call away if he ever had any concerns or questions.

A year later, at 16, they decided he was ready for more information. They provided him with pamphlets and zines, covering everything from rights movements to AIDS to secret codes. He took an interest in the hanky code, but felt a little intimidated about what some of the colors meant. They also provided him with a fake id that declared that he was twenty one and that his name was Mark. While he was staying with them, he joined them out in the community. Meeting the people affected by AIDS, learning about the real effects of it and not just the few scare stories that were breaking through on the news. Hearing more stories of lived life, getting a better understanding of the people around him.

Just a few months later, November '83. When everything went to shit. Steve was terrified when he saw the photos Jonathan had taken from outside his house and developed in the school dark room. He couldn't help getting stuck on the what if? What if it wasn't Nancy he had in his room? What if it had been that night when he and Tommy got a little too drunk and kissed each other? What if he'd finally got the nerve to bring a guy home? His life could have been destroyed in seconds by an asshole being a creep.

He became more on guard, scared that at any point someone could be taking photos in his backyard. Then seeing Jonathan with Nancy in her room, it pushed him further. With the fight the next day, he just wanted to make his words hurt. He dug deep and threw out accusations that he'd never wanted to say. Allowing his anger and fear to take over. The moment the word queer left his mouth, he felt an uneasy sense of regret. Accusing someone else of being what he was, as if it was a bad thing.

After it was all over, the details were shared, the cover stories were given, the paperwork declaring that nothing had happened had been signed, Steve felt lost and alone. Even after apologizing, he still felt dirty for calling Jonathan queer. After a few days, he breaks and calls Hank and Joe, and tells them, well not everything, but what he can. The photos, the camera, the fight. What he said to Jonathan. They understood his anger and his fear. They disagreed with his choice of words, but told him that if he'd apologized and meant it, and it had been accepted, there was no point in him continuing to beat himself up about it. That he couldn't change the past, but he had to try and be better in the future.

The following summer, 1984, he joined them with a new hatred and fear of the government. He felt safer with them, not feeling like he was looking over his shoulder all the time. But he was also so worried, what if the Upside Down came back when he wasn't there to help. He threw himself into helping others, knowing there were so many ways that the government was willing to screw over citizens. Wanting to do the little he could when he could. It brought him some peace of mind, being able to do something.

After Starcourt, after getting discharged from the hospital, Steve confides in Robin. He tells her about Hank and Joe. About how much he'd learnt from them. He tells her that he's bisexual, a word she was unfamiliar with, but she embraces him anyway. He spins a story of all the different people he'd met, people that proved it could be okay for people like them.

It formed an even deeper bond between them, a shared understanding that they couldn't find in anyone else their age. They share secrets about crushes, about realizations. Judging how attractive customers are together once they got the jobs at Family Video. Steve showed Robin the zines, helping her pick up more pieces of information, about how many others there were out there.

Steve clocked Vickie pretty quickly, almost certain she was bisexual like he was. Robin struggled to believe him, not wanting to get her hopes up, or to risk getting hurt.

When Eddie crashed into their lives during the spring break from hell, Steve found himself falling hard and fast. He'd noticed the black bandana Eddie wore tucked into his back left pocket, and wanted it. He had never considered being into s&m, but would be willing to take anything Eddie gave him.

He tried to bring it up subtly to Eddie, only to be met with confusion. Even trying less subtle ways of questioning it, Eddie still didn't seem to get it. Steve had to ask if he was flagging, and Eddie responded by asking what flagging was. Steve felt mortified, and stuttered about it being a code, and he thought Eddie was gay. Eddie assured him that he was gay, but still had no clue what Steve was talking about with flagging.

Steve showed Eddie the zines as well, going through all the different colors of the hanky code. Eddie got a little embarrassed when he realized what he'd been signalling, but some of the interactions he'd had with guys the few times he'd been to a gay bar made a lot more sense.

It took a few more days after that for Eddie to realize what Steve had been getting at by bringing up him flagging. There was another awkward, and slightly embarrassing conversation to confirm that yes, they were into each other, and no, neither of them were actually into s&m.

(And of course, Hank and Joe got a kick out of the story when they were the first ones Steve told, other than Robin.)

¹I wrote it this way, as it would have been a way that twelve year old could understand different gender identities in 1979. Different language and terminology was used. I believe that it is up to individual trans people for how they describe and consider themselves pre and post coming out and transition, as it is a very personal thing. I'm non-binary and I consider anything about myself under the age of 17 to be a girl, because that's how I identified at that time. ²(AIDS was known by a bunch of different names, some less kind than others, including GRID [Gay-related immune deficiency] and 4H disease [Heroin users, homosexuals, hemophiliacs and Haitians], until the summer of 1982. The name AIDS was proposed on July 27th 1982, and came into use by the CDC in September of that year. The term HIV came into use in 1986.)

This was supposed to be a quick little headcanon, and it ended up taking me nearly a month to write 1.5k words. And I now want to write so many parts about Steve with his relationship to Hank and Joe. They're the gay uncles everyone deserves.

[mothmx]

Okay I put it in the tags of my last rb

But sanitizing the queer community is literally going to defeat the point

The whole point is to have a space to be out and real and genuine about our identities even if it’s not palatable to cishetallos.

Yes, that includes kink.

Yes, that includes he/him women and she/her men.

Yes, that including campy, raunchy drag queens.

Yes, that includes trans people who choose not to transition.

Yes, that includes not conventionally attractive queer folk.

Yes, that includes BIPOC queer people.

Yes, that includes butches and studs and femmes and bears and twinks.

Yes, it includes neo pronouns and “weird” genders.

Yes, that includes faggots and dykes and trannies of every race and body type and religion and economic standpoint.

It includes eighty and ten year olds and brick throwing punks and closeted people.

The “weird” and “gross” queers have been the backbone of our community for as long as the community has existed. And frankly, queerphobes see a heavily sanitized queer teenage couple the same way they see the kinkiest, raunchiest drag queens. You being exclusionary and “not like other queers” won’t make a difference.

[son-0f-sappho]

Who wants to see some neat stuff I found poking around the Bi Women Quarterly archives

"Bistory at the Lesbian Herstory Archives"

"I talked with Joan about the principles behind the LHA and her vision of its future. She said that the LHA is dedicated first and foremost to being a lesbian space.

When I asked her what she meant by "lesbian" she offered "any woman who has at some time in her life loved another woman" She also remarked that she would rather err on theside of inclusivity than be too exclusive, which explains the large collection of materials relevant to both lesbians and gay men(such as the Gay Community News), feminist materials, and a small but growing collection of materials on bisexuality. For Joan, the mission of the LHA is "to preserve the multiplicity of lesbian presentations." There is something of interest here for any woman who identifies herself as a dyke, a feminist, a mother, a butch or a femme, a prostitute, a worker in a traditional or a non-traditional occupation, a practitioner of S&M, a woman of color, a Jew, a witch, a teenager or an olderwoman, a closeted woman or an activist, a bisexual, an artist, and the list goes on. The sheer amount and variety of the stuff is testimony to the diversity of the lesbian experience and the vitality of lesbian communities"

A poem "Here I Am" by latina bi dyke Laura Perez

"we dream a world

which bridges the barriers,

i, this

bi-coastal, bisexual

dyke of color

have living proof

the distance is

not so great"

Here's the whole thing go check it out

I also found a bi femme and trans lesbian butch couple- and my freakin heart I wish them the most wonderful things wherever they ended up in life

"How I Learned to Love My Femme Self, Butch Dykes, and Transgender Warriors" by Liz Nania

"Laurie honored my bisexuality and I honored her proud trans butchness. We often felt like poster girls for Bi-Trans Unity. She stood up for me to her separatist-lesbian friends who were disapproving of her dating a bi woman; I stood up for her when I heard trans-phobic remarks- We both know bisexuals and transgendered people are truly natural allies and need to celebrate and further develop our bonds i the community"

And here's a lesbian identified bisexual talking about assumptions

"Dont Assume Anything" by Amy Wyeth.

"They say, "Don't Assume Anything" and "Question Au- thority." No one, including gays, bis and hetero- sexuals, should assume anything about someone's sexual preference based only on the way that person looks. Everyone should question the notions defined or perpetuated by those in positions of authority (e.g. the media, certain powerful icons/members of gay culture, and cer- tain dangerous bigots) as to what a lesbian or bisexual woman looks like. Not all of us feel we are well represented by such narrow definitions."

Just goes to show how timeless the bi witticism of Assume Nothing! really is. I highly recommend just perusing through the archives or even the current isues there's loads of interesting history

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

It’s wild to see a video of a queer person basically saying “Pride is useless at this point because we have all our rights. We have gay marriage legalized in all fifty states, so why are you all being so loud? Why are we celebrating something we literally cannot control? It doesn’t make me special to be gay, and it feels like the gay community nowadays is shoving it down everyone’s throats. You shouldn’t feel the need to convince people to accept you; it’s okay if people don’t accept us. I could be friends with a homophobe. The best thing the LGBT community can do now is be quiet.”

Hello??? We have the whole “Don’t Say Gay” thing going on, and the book censorship to go along with it. Trans people are hyper-visible right now and their livelihoods are on the line and the ballot everywhere. People in other countries are beaten and slaughtered for being queer. Children trapped in homophobic and transphobic households are having to deal with their trauma alone, and many are committing suicide. That person has no idea how much seeing pride parades on the news bolstered my confidence as a closeted teenage dyke. Pride is a wonderful thing just as it is. We need the volume, and I, for one, will not lower my voice. Gay marriage was only legalized in 2015. That was nine years ago; today, some politicians are trying to take that away. We need to speak up now more than ever.

How fucking stupid do you have to be to tell your own community to stop celebrating and fighting?

[that-gay-jedi]

My queued wet beast Wednesday post being a horse this week took me fuckin down memory lane to two separate and very different times in my life that were both defined by socializing with horses lemme tell ya. Because in one I was a physically abled, mentally busted teenage dyke freshly ish out of the closet and newly relearning how to be platonic friends with straight women and girls now that everyone knew I could be attracted to girls and also redefining my connection to the shitty small town in which I was born and using the beautiful remote natural areas that I could only get to on horseback and the relative solitude to kind of form a safe bridge between me and the world whereon I could learn to assert myself and make freer choices on the path to adulthood, and on the other I was a total physical and mental wreck with the most visible and noticeable PTSD in the world and surrounded by otherwise very wise but gender clueless elder straight women who didn't like or trust my proximity to masculinity and it took less than 3 hours for a trained therapy horse to call me out on just how much I'd been shrinking myself for others and nonverbally roast me in the exact way I didn't know I needed at the time.

True as it may be that horses love suicide and homicide in equal measure, a horse is also probably the closest in real life that you're ever going to get to being in a room with a Force sensitive sentient bc those motherfuckers can hear your heartbeat from 6 feet away and you can fool every human around looking confident in where you're going but a horse will NOT follow you down even the safest paths unless you actually ARE confident. The social structure of horses among themselves means that most are absolute experts in followship (the counterskill to leadership) and that makes them more qualified to teach about life than a hundred million bajillion leaders could ever hope to be.

[sharpth1ng]

what do you think Billy's experience being trans would be like if he realized later in life? Like 14 or 15 maybe. How would people around him react/would he even come out at all? Scream turning into an ahead of its time coming of age film instead of a 90s slasher.

Alright, so I think things would have been pretty different if he hadn't transitioned young. The blessing of trans children is that they're too young to be mentally limited by socialization.

Like. It didn't even occur to me that someone would say I couldn't be a boy when I was really young, but by the time I was 14 I'd been fully brain washed by the gender binary and I was trying VERY hard to be a girl. And beyond that, trans men were invisible, like I didn't even know medical transition existed for someone like me. I knew that trans women could take estrogen, but I didn't know testosterone and top surgery were things I could access.

So in the 90's when trans men were even more invisible? I don't think a teenage Billy would consider it an option until he got older. Even just dressing in a more masculine way would get you called a dyke, and I think for Billy, who is attracted to men but also probably knows there's something different about him, this would mess with his head enough to make him go the other way.

He desperately wants to be "normal", and coming out or transitioning in high school would make him way more visible than he'd be comfortable with, and I think in an attempt to convince himself and others he would probably be presenting more fem than he would be comfortable with through high school. Like, he would have those classic closeted trans man high school pictures, where you sort of look like a normal girl but just SO DEAD behind the eyes.

Imo in this version of things Billy probably doesn't come out and transition until college when he's not living with his dad anymore and he's mostly away from people who knew him as a girl. Honestly I wrote him as transitioning young because I wanted to give him what I didn't have, that being a childhood in the right gender followed by a puberty that doesn't feel like a medical error (I know this is not how everyone feels about transition, but for me specifically, I think things would have been a lot better for me if I had been allowed to transition young.)

All that said though, there's one nice thing that could happen in this universe: Billy and Stu would probably have ended up dating in high school. Like openly. Because it wouldn't be "gay" (don't be mistaken it's gay, it's definitely gay, and everything between them would make a lot more sense after Billy eventually comes out, but until then Billy would have been able to tell himself he was in a straight relationship. Which y'know, helps with all the internalized homophobia).

And I think in this version of things he probably doesn't resist his fagotry so much. He grew up with it being ok for him to be attracted to men as a result of being seen as a girl, so when he transitions and he's already dating Stu? It's just not such a big hurdle.

[riverdale-retread]

Saw your post about the hoop dreams ep (this my main blog my rvd one is kevin-keller-artistic-director)

1. Riverdale takes heavy inspiration of Dawson's Creek which as show is guaranteed coded piece about teenagers who learned heterosexuality through watch old cinema as kids to avoid their parent's

the subtext is addressed through the movie nerd way possible and they even use Subtext in the characters lingo it's a masterpiece and recontextuatises rvd in way make it feel more campy

2.aI saw you mention Veronica behavior was similar to Samantha from Sex and the City which is both from early Dawson's creek because her character is very much like the early ark of Jen lindely

2.b Samantha Jones exists in my opinion in fascinating spot wherein she is lesbian who represents a sort homosexual man party scene type of energy but it also lesbian who's overcompensating for her dykeness by constantly talking about having sex men but also there is man who does drag as her so she is also drag queen persona and I thought that V performance of gender which is also like season 1 joey in dw could be something to note

i *love* it when people give me valuable pointers like this. I didn't watch Dawson's Creek so this is a fantastic ask. I didn't' know Dawson's Creek was at this level either - learning straightness through watching old cinema so you don't have to talk to Mom & Dad (!!!!).

Samantha Jones as lesbian as a closeted dyke!! Veronica performance of gender!! (I am way out of my depth on this one because gender discourse is beyond me but this is a lot to think about). I think Mae West's screen persona also did inform a lot of early drag performances (but I know Mae West better than I know drag) so I think I was thinking along these lines too (just not at your level).

Thank you for stopping by!

[boymounter]

aha what if i made you in the sims.... then made me in the sims....... and we kissed 😳😳😳 (and we’re both girls)

[unityghost]

A scenario from my teen years ... *throwback harp riff*

Me: "Hope you don't mind if I talk to my friend on the phone while your toddler is napping."

Parent: "Of course not. Just as long as you don't bring any boyfriends around, hahahahaha!"

Me: "YesIwilldomyutmosttocombattheunquenchablemaniathatismyheterosexuality."

[drella]

if my parents know i’m lesbian can they just like. come out for me. so i don’t have 2

[tiktaalic]

My jensen ackles daydream is we’re at an airport or whatever and I sit next to him casually and then do oh—sorry—you were on that tv show, weren’t you? And he goes ahaha yeah like a celebrity bothered in public does and I go oh! Well I don’t want to take up too much of your time but I just want to let you know that it meant a lot to me when I was a teenager and you really made a difference in my life. And when he’s like well that’s real sweet I cut in with YEAH I mean it wasn’t exactly singlehanded but you definitely played a LARGE part in me remaining closeted in high school because it hurt to think an actor I liked hated me for seeing that part of myself in his character :^) . But it all worked out obviously! I met a bunch of gay people near and dear to me who I never would have met without you hurting all of our delicate teenage feelings by being homophobic. Anyway. Bye. Tell misha he can say dyke whenever he wants I’m personally giving him that pass

[gay-otlc]

I am impulsively checking out all the wlw books my library has, any reccomendations for queer books in general?

I am so sorry I literally just forgot every book I ever read

It Goes Like This by ??? Moreland about a bunch of queer kids who formed a band, the main characters are two sapphics pining over each other, a bisexual who's just vibing and watching the aforementioned sapphics' drama, and a nonbinary person who is honestly just Tired of the other three (but loves them)

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas about a latino trans boy who wants his family to accept him as a brujo instead of a bruja so he summons a ghost and they're solving a murder mystery and those bitches gay good for them

Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan. Ummmm major CW for this one, main character is taken into sex slavery with the king along with eight or so other girls. She falls in love with one of them and revolution ensues.

Symptoms of Being Human by ??? Garvin, about a closted genderfluid teenager who writes blog posts about their gender and Struggles™ in high school. Written by a cis guy and kinda iffy but it was the first time I ever saw genderfluidity written semi-realistically

Dykes To Watch Out For by Allison Bechdel is what I'm reading at the moment and it's just a cartoon about a bunch of lesbians starting in the late 1980s and following them for decades. Entertaining and also good for like learning history and shit.

Girl From The Sea by Molly Ostertog (?). Graphic novel, closeted lesbian falls in love with a selkie.

Not Your Sidekick, don't remember the author's name. Queer supervillains.

[neonponders]

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn’t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value - 

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.