Big Hard Girls

by Nikki Crescent

  But I knew it was inevitable. And I knew it would have to end as soon as this week was over.

  CHAPTER IX

  The next few bar appearances went just as well as the first. Crowds instantly formed around me and drinks magically appeared in my hands. I didn’t have to spend a dime, and I was being given cheap liquor either. I was having fun. I was starting to look forward to each appearance. I even started going out with Jenna during the days, to the malls and parks, getting a little bit more exposure. While we were at the park one afternoon, Jenna reached out and held my hand. She slipped her fingers between mine, and it was nice.

  We slipped into a wooded area at the park and then we started to kiss. She sunk her tongue into my mouth and her hands began to explore my body. And then I heard a nearby rustling. I stopped and told Jenna to stop as well. I leaned over and saw the swaying branch where the rustling originated. I saw a glimmer of a face behind one of the trees, and then that face turned and started running away.

  “Hey!” I called out, but the man didn’t stop. Jenna turned around and caught a glimpse of the spy. Would he tell the town what he saw? Would the town feel different about me if they thought that I was a lesbian? Maybe they would even like me more—men love lesbians, don’t they?

  “Fucking Brett,” Jenna said. And it took me a second to realize who she was talking about.

  “Wait—Brett?” I said. “Brett Erskine?”

  “He’s always following me around, everywhere I go,” she said. “Fuck—this isn’t good.” Jenna started pacing back and forth. She put her hands on her head, as if she was serious.

  “What’s not good?”

  “He knows,” she said.

  “He knows what?”

  “He knows you aren’t actually a girl.”

  “How does he know that? Are you sure? Maybe you’re wrong.” My heart was suddenly pounding. Was Brett about to out me to the town? Was he going to ruin my whole reputation and turn me into a laughing stock?

  “I used to dress him up, back when we dated. He loved it. He used to make me fuck him with a strap-on until he came in his panties. But then I found out that he was getting dressed up without me, and prostituting himself out on some tranny escort website. So I left him. He’s a pervert—a real sex addict. Though I shouldn’t judge too hard. I’m a bit of a sex addict myself.”

  “So what? Do you think he’s going to rat me out?”

  “I don’t know what he’s going to do,” she said. I walked up to her and put my hands on her hips. I looked into her eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding, but I didn’t like seeing her all stressed out. “It’s going to be fine,” I said. I kissed her on the lips, but that passion was gone, replaced by trembling anxiety.

  And it was only five minutes later when she got a text message from Brett. “Take me back or I rat him out,” he said. She showed me the message and then let a deep sigh out. “What a nightmare.” Though it wasn’t a nightmare for her—she had nothing to worry about. She could just say no, and then nothing bad would happen to her. Either way, something bad happened to me: either I lost Jenna, or my identity was revealed to my whole town—my friends and parents included. A nausea filled my gut and I suddenly felt lightheaded.

  Jenna looked into my eyes and then she looked at the ground. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I guess I’ll go over to Brett’s and give him what he wants. I’ll run some outfits over to your house later, so you have options for tomorrow and the next day.”

  “So what, are you just going to go and suddenly be his partner again?” I asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What other option do I have?” she asked.

  “Just stay with me. Tell him to knock it off. Maybe we can give him some money. I have all of that prize money—does he want that?” My skin felt cold, even on the back of my neck where beads of sweat were starting to form.

  “He doesn’t want money. He wants me. He’s wanted me for years.”

  And then a cold tingle buzzed into my gut. Jenna was holding her phone, about to tell Brett that she was on her way over. I snatched the phone out from her hands. “Give that back!” she said. But I held it away from her. “You can’t just make yourself a martyr like this. What’s your plan—to stay with him forever, just to protect me?”

  “I got you into this mess. I kind of owe you. And it won’t be forever—a few months at most. In a few months, he’ll have forgotten all about you. He’ll find another way to try to blackmail me. You’ll be off the hook, I promise.” She tried again to snatch the phone, but I held it out of her reach.

  “Too bad,” I said. I quickly typed out a message and sent it off to Brett.

  “What did you say? Are you crazy?”

  “I told him to go ahead and rat me out. So you made a mistake—you shouldn’t be punished for making a mistake.”

  “But you should be?” she asked.

  And that nausea came back with a vengeance. My legs trembled and my head was suddenly light. I’d just told Brett Erskine to go ahead and tell the whole town who I really was. I had a bar appearance in two hours, and I knew for a fact that some of my friends would be there.

  It was a long two hours, waiting for the news to break. Brett never replied to that text message that I sent him from Jenna’s phone. As far as we knew, he could have already told everyone, or he could have just given up in frustration. Maybe it was all a bluff. Maybe he didn’t actually know who I was. Or maybe he went to the press and told them that I was actually a man, and no one believed him.

  For my appearance that night, I wore a short blue skirt with a white horizontal stripe, and a white blouse with blue stripes on the sleeves. It was cute in a Japanese schoolgirl kind of way.

  I put on a pair of thigh-high black stockings, which went well with my black flats, and I tied my hair into pigtails.

  “Ready?” Jenna asked we both looked at me in the mirror. I looked good—it was my cutest look yet, and my makeup was on-point (and I’d done most of it myself).

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. I took a deep breath and then we started towards the bus stop. Jenna gently reached down and held my hand. She squeezed tight, probably trying to comfort me, knowing that my entire reputation was on the line.

  But was it really? Could the town really turn around and laugh at me after celebrating and adoring me all weeklong? Could any of the men really scoff at me? So many of them had bought me drinks and asked for my phone number, and almost all of them had checked me out. And the girls—they all thought that I was legit. Would they really try to get away with saying ‘I knew it all along’?

  The truth had to come out sooner or later. If I wanted to stay with Jenna and make her happy, then there were going to be many, many days out with makeup and skirts and heels and that wig. Sooner or later, someone was going to notice.

  We approached the bar, which was already booming and bustling. Jenna tried to let go of my hand, but I held it tight. It was the only thing giving me a little bit of peace—the only thing keeping my heart from bursting through my ribcage. “It’s probably not too late to tell Brett to keep his mouth shut. I really don’t mind appeasing him for a few months,” Jenna said, looking into my eyes.

  “I have a feeling it’s too late,” I said.

  We started walking up to that door. I took a deep breath and then pushed it open. We took one step inside and then the bar became silent. Even the music seemed to die down as our presence took over that small establishment. Gazes found me and stuck to me and sunk deep into my soul. And then I saw the reporter approaching me slowly. He held up a microphone and said, “Is it true?” And I didn’t have to ask for clarification. I knew exactly what he was talking about. And I knew the truth would turn those wide-eyed gazes in the crowd into frowns, and maybe something worse. Maybe they would be angry. Maybe they would turn on me and chase me out of that bar. Maybe they would chase me out of town, or maybe they would beat me into a bloody pulp for deceiving them.

  “Yes,” I said. My voice was h
ardly a whisper.

  And the reporter was silent for a moment. He cleared his throat. There was an audible gasping in the crowd. “So I suppose that makes you the first ever transgender winner of the Miss Beautiful contest.”

  That silence persisted for a few seconds, and then someone in the crowd started to clap. And then another person started clapping. And suddenly that whole bar was clapping and cheering and hollering. The smiles were back, on every face except for one at the back of the room: the shocked and confused face of Brett Erskine. His lips were parted at his eyes were sunken as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. I was being embraced and celebrated, more than before. No one seemed to care that I’d lied to them. Instead, they were now treating me like I was courageous for coming clean. It was only a few seconds before an expensive drink ended up in my hand and a small crowd formed around me. Everyone wanted to know how I found the courage to come out as a woman.

  “I’m still a guy,” I said. “I just like being a woman sometimes—maybe most of the time. I don’t really know yet. Right now, I want to be a woman. But who knows? Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll feel like being a guy.”

  And the crowd nodded as if they understood. I was telling the truth, but even I didn’t understand. Maybe they knew something I didn’t, or maybe it was just hard to deny anything I said because I was so convincing. I was a convincing man when I wanted to be and I was a convincing woman when I wanted to be—so what difference did it really make at the end of the day if I went out in a wig and a dress or in a t-shirt and jeans?

  Jenna stayed at my side all night. Technically she came out that night, too. Now the town knew her as the girl who loved a trap—and she was receiving almost as much praise as me.

  There was a nice moment where we kissed in front of everyone. And there was a funny moment later that night when I went into the bathroom and found Brett, all dolled up in girls’ clothing, getting fucked in the ass by a big, ripped guy. He looked at me with an embarrassed look, and then I slipped out and went to use the other bathroom instead. Jenna and I made sure to lock the bathroom door before we went ahead and took turns fucking each other. Jenna let me stick my cock into her pussy, which was warm and wet and perfect. I let her stick a dildo she snuck into the bar into my butt. It actually felt nice—no pain at all, like I was anticipating.

  And it was later that night when a friend of mine stood up on a barstool and made a big announcement. “I want to be a woman too!” he shouted. “I’ve always wanted to be a woman, and tomorrow, I’m going to the mall to buy a dress.” And everyone cheered. I’d started a ripple effect. Another young woman announced that she was a lesbian, and then an older man announced that he was gay. That lone reported was frantically scribbling notes, trying to keep up with all of the developments that were happening.

  His article the next morning read: “Transgender hero transforms town overnight.” And that headline got picked up by news outlets all over the country. So it was no longer a secret: the whole country now knew my true identity. Millions of people knew my names: my female name and my male name.

  Millions of people now knew that I was a beauty queen, 2019’s Miss Beautiful. And no one seemed to disagree.

  THE END

  FIRST TIME

  Ed is lucky to be alive after being struck by a car. He’s even luckier to find himself next to Taylor, a beautiful blonde young woman in the hospital, where he’ll have to spend the next month or two while his battered body recovers.

  She’s the girl of his dreams: funny, smart, beautiful, and talented. But there’s one problem: she’s dying. And she’s got one regret: she never lost her V-card. Now, Ed is in a position to help—though there’s a secret dangling between Taylor’s legs that might be too hard to overlook.

  CHAPTER I

  It was a slippery February morning when I was hit by a car. It was my own fault unfortunately. I saw my bus coming and I was on the wrong side of the road. So I just ran, assuming the oncoming traffic would slow down for me like it usually did.

  But apparently I underestimated how slippery the cold roads were that morning. I ended up slipping and falling on my ass, and then the oncoming cars started to fishtail, unable to stop. I heard the clunking of a purple sedan’s ABS, and then everything went dark and that’s all I remember.

  I woke up briefly with four surgeons hovering over me, looking down at my body. I felt the worst pain of my entire life. I groaned and one of them looked up at me. “Oh shit, he’s awake,” said the man. And then I suddenly wasn’t awake.

  Apparently they kept me out for another twenty-four hours, after ten hours of surgery. When I finally woke up again, I was covered in beeping instruments and tubes and needles. I couldn’t move without sharp pains overwhelming my whole body. A nurse came by and looked at me with a surprised look. “Go back to sleep,” she said. “You need the rest.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You were hit by a car and you’re lucky to be alive. Now go back to sleep.”

  “Am I okay?”

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said, and then she tapped on one of my IV tubes and then increased the dose of something that made me very loopy. I fell back asleep after apparently telling her that I wanted to see her tits.

  And then it was a new day. The brightest sun there ever was shone violently through the hospital window, waking me up. Someone was whistling some annoying song in the nearby hallway, and a nurse was going around dropping off foul-smelling plates of breakfast. She put one down in front of me. My name was written on a piece of paper on the plate. I uncovered the lone dish and saw a pile of mush that was less appetizing than baby food that had been left on the counter overnight.

  “Can I get something else?” I asked, my stomach churning with hunger.

  The nurse looked at me with unimpressed eyes, as if she’d spent hours making the food herself. “If you want something else, maybe one of your visitors can get it for you in an hour, when visitor hours start.”

  So I tried my best to eat the sloppy mush. I knew I wasn’t going to get any visitors. I knew my parents wouldn’t bother making the five hour drive to see me, and I knew that the people I called my friends weren’t friendly enough to bother leaving their flats, unless there was free beer involved. But I was surprised an hour later when a nurse came to me and said, “One of your friends is here to see you.”

  She sat up my bed using a button and then I felt a warm excitement tingling in my very broken chest. I still didn’t know what kind of damage had been done to me, but judging by the straps that were preventing me from moving, I figured the damage was bad.

  A large man came into the room and he looked around. I didn’t know the man, so I assumed he was there for the person on the other side of the curtain. But then he looked at me and said, “You little piece of shit.” He came at me and wrapped his massive fingers around my throat. “I should kill you. I really should kill you, you massive, steaming pile of shit.” He had a tight grip. It took three nurses to get him off of me—though I don’t think it was the nurses that eventually pried his fingers off of my throat. I think it was his own desire not to end up in prison. He spat on me and then he left. I found out later that the large man was the one who hit me with his purple car. Apparently his insurance company decided that he was responsible for my medical bills and for the damage to his car.

  I had no other visitors, and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe the one man was enough excitement for the day. I’m sure if my parents bothered to make the drive, they would have done the same thing: taken me by the throat and called me a piece of shit for wasting their whole Saturday and probably their Sunday too. A nurse told me that my mother had called the hospital to see if I was okay. “She didn’t want to talk to me?” I asked.

  “She said she would call back tomorrow or the next day,” said the nurse. “She said that she was later for her book club.”

  So I rolled my eyes and went back to remaining perfectly still, with nothing to do�
��not even a TV to watch or a phone to mindlessly peruse. I only had my own thoughts to entertain me, and the hallway conversations, which I had to strain to hear. I heard one couple fighting—the man didn’t want to spend more than five minutes visiting the sick friend, and the woman thought they should stay for at least an hour. Their fight got so loud that whoever they were talking about almost definitely heard.

  Then I heard another couple fighting over what they were going to get for lunch after their visit was over. The man wanted chicken wings, the woman wanted Vietnamese food. “You get chicken wings every day, you stupid fuck!” the woman yelled. And that was probably the highlight of the day.

  The lowlight of the day was when the doctor finally showed up and told me the extent of my injuries. It was hard to keep track of the long list, but to sum him up: at least four of my organs were badly damaged, four of my ribs were broken, my collarbone was broken, my right arm was fractured, and my spine was cracked—one wrong move and my spine could snap and I could die, hence the straps holding me down. I was probably lucky that the large man with the purple car didn’t kill me when he grabbed me and strangled me.

  “So how long do I have to stay here?” I asked.

  “Until you’re better.”

  “And how long will that be?”

  “A month or two,” he said before walking away casually, as if he didn’t just tell me that I was going to be stuck in a hospital bed with nothing to do for a month or two. My heart stuttered and my gut turned. I would rather spend a year in prison than two months strapped to a bed with nothing to do. Fighting couples could only keep me so entertained. Nurses with big tits could only distract me for so long. I wasn’t even sure I could spend a week strapped to that bed, never mind eight weeks.