by Ariel Schrag
“Rip my clothes off and fuck me,” Casey said to June, ignoring Nadia. And June, with all the passion and pent-up desire that Hazel and Jackie couldn’t even dream of attempting to emulate, threw herself on Casey, tearing at Casey’s tank top and yanking down her skirt.
The crowd exploded.
“Let me get in there,” said Hazel, swaggering forward.
But Casey stood up, looked Hazel in the eyes, and spat in her face. “Fuck off,” she said.
The crowd was roaring; Bodice Whistleblower was going crazy on the whistle.
Adam knew he needed to get out of there now. Not only was he not about to watch his sister get naked and fucked (those days have passed), but he realized he could not have Gillian get a good look at Casey in the chance she ever saw a picture of her or met her in the future. It could already be too late, but he had to act now.
“This is boring,” he whispered in Gillian’s ear. “Let’s just sneak out.”
“Really?” said Gillian. She looked reluctant.
“Yeah, I wanna get you home,” he said. Who was he?
Adam grabbed Gillian’s hand and pulled her back to the treasure chest to trade out his clothes. He threw everything out of the chest, but while he found his shoes and socks, Ethan’s shirt was gone.
“Fuck. My shirt,” he said.
“You can’t find it?” said Gillian.
“It was Patrik Ervell for Opening Ceremony.”
“We could ask up front—they could make an announcement?”
“Fuck, should I just steal this vest?” said Adam.
“Just go shirtless; you’re a guy,” said Gillian.
“No . . .” said Adam.
“Right,” said Gillian, quickly nodding. “Let’s just go. Steal it!”
Adam tore off the face mask—oh, sweet air!—shoved on his shoes, and ran with Gillian through the main room toward the entrance, catching a glimpse of June hand-fucking Casey sprawled out on the cross. Not very Jewish of her, he thought.
They burst through the black curtains, into the front room, where the woman behind the foldout table stood up, saying, “Excuse me, I think that’s one of ours, there’s the ‘B’ for Bound, painted on—”
“‘B’ for ‘Blow me!’” shouted Adam, and he and Gillian ran through the doors and into the night, pounding down the sidewalk, hand in hand, as fast as they could, careening around the corner, Adam’s lungs burning, Gillian laughing, till they were finally far enough, and they stumbled, panting, and Adam took Gillian in his arms and kissed her in the middle of the sparkling city.
***
Back at Gillian’s apartment, Adam’s heart had begun a quiet, consistent thumping. He was entering the unknown.
“Want another beer?” said Gillian, though they were still drunk from dinner. Adam thought back to Gillian offering him a beer when he’d first come to her apartment at the beginning of the evening. It was incomprehensible that it was the same day. He remembered how alive all the objects in the room had seemed. Now, in the shadows, they had gone to sleep.
Gillian came back with the beers, and they sat on her bed, sipping them, looking at each other with nervous smiles. Gillian was so beautiful. Adam wanted to lean in and start kissing her, but in the dark, silent room, he felt shy and hesitant. His eyes wandered to the framed photos on her bedside table. He picked one up. It was a prom photo—Gillian and another girl. It didn’t quite look like Gillian though. Her hair was short and brown, and she was wearing a tux. She stood behind the other girl with her arms wrapped around her in classic prom pose. An eerie déjà vu feeling came over Adam. Like he swore he’d seen this photo before.
“This is really weird . . . but I feel like—”
Gillian snorted and took a slug of beer. “No, you’re not crazy. You’ve probably seen it.”
“What? Why?”
Gillian took the photo, stared at it for a moment, then placed it back on the table. “It was, like, in every newspaper in the country four years ago. There was an AP article.”
“A what?”
Gillian inched in closer to Adam. Their legs were touching now. She lightly kicked at his foot.
“I grew up in this really small town in Oklahoma. And my girlfriend and I were, like, the only gay people. We got harassed a bunch, but it wasn’t a huge deal until we tried to buy tickets for the prom and the administration told us we weren’t allowed to go as a couple. It was completely fucked up. My parents were always really supportive though, and they got the ACLU involved, and there was like this whole public case against the school for discrimination. I was even on TV a couple times. I’m basically famous for being gay. I still get letters from teens saying like, ‘You make me feel OK for being who I am. Thank you for literally saving my life.’ It’s pretty intense.”
Adam realized where he’d seen the photo before. It had been cut out and taped, surrounded by various female celebrities, to Casey’s bedroom wall.
“That’s . . . weird,” said Adam, smiling at Gillian, unsure how to react.
“Well, it is a little weird for me now,” she said, kicking at his foot again. “I mean, dating you . . .”
“It is?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, giving him a duh look. “But I just, I really like you. I think you’re so sexy . . .”
Adam looked down at his beer and blushed.
“And I like that you’re shy,” she continued, “but then when you do say something, it’s like the best thing ever. Like, you’re totally weird—but not in that obnoxious way that ‘weird’ people are, where they’re always trying to show off how ‘wacky’ they are. Your weirdness is like a hidden jewel.”
Gillian leaned in and started kissing him. Her lips made Adam’s body shiver with electricity. They fell back onto the bed. Gillian started to roll on top of Adam, but he knew if she did she would feel his dick, rock-hard in his pants. He pushed her over so that he was on top, on his hands and knees, leaning his head down to kiss her. His dick hovered, pointing straight out, about two inches above her.
“The thing is,” Gillian said, running her hands under the vest across his skin, “I know I could never be with a bio guy. I’m just not attracted to them. I hope that’s not, like, offensive . . . Aiden told me never to tell you that.”
“That’s . . . OK,” said Adam. All he could feel was a mind-blotting hot core of pleasure at the tip of his dick.
Gillian pulled off her T-shirt and unhooked her bra, pushing them onto the floor. The streetlights glowed through the window on her two perfect tits with hard pink nipples. Adam dropped his head and slid his tongue across them.
Gillian started breathing heavy. “I don’t see why it’s so bad,” she said, in between breaths, “liking you just how you are . . .”
She reached down and pulled her jeans off too. Her underwear was thin, and Adam could see a mat of dark hair underneath. He put his hand over the underwear, and it was soft and wet. Gillian breathed harder, opening her legs.
Adam inched back on his knees and slipped the underwear off. He cupped his hand over her again, and this time his fingers slid inside.
“Yes . . .” Gillian said softly.
He moved his fingers in and out, and then brought his head down and pressed his tongue against the slick pink flesh, poking out between the hair. The clit, he thought.
“Oh god . . .” said Gillian.
It tasted like sweat and saliva, and Adam kept pushing with his fingers and sliding with his tongue, praying that he was doing it right, which it seemed like he actually might be because Gillian’s breaths were getting louder and faster, and he moved quicker and harder to match her, and soon it was all a frenzied blur of tongue and wet and clit and breaths and push, and then Gillian stopped and her legs stretched out and she gasped in a way that startled Adam and she tried to pull him on top of her, but he couldn’t because his dick had never been so hard and huge in his entire life and was totally visible trying to jam its way out of his buttonhole jeans. He fell onto his side next to her.
Gillian leaned up and kissed him, smearing the wetness that was all over his face onto her own.
“You’re really good at that,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Adam. His dick felt like a magnet, trying to get at any part of Gillian’s body. He rolled over onto his stomach.
“I really want to do something to you . . .” said Gillian. “Make you come . . .”
Adam said nothing.
“I mean, whatever you’re cool with,” she said. “I totally get it if you don’t want to . . . I mean . . . but I want to . . .”
Adam stayed silent. He wondered if Gillian could hear his heart.
“What do you usually do . . . ?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” whispered Adam.
“Do you like to use, like, a dick?” she asked.
Adam slowly nodded.
“I mean, I have one. Unless you brought one?”
Adam shook his head.
“Would you want to use mine? I really want to feel you fuck me like that.”
Adam found himself nodding again.
Gillian grinned and leaned over the side of her bed, groping around underneath. She pulled something out of a box and showed it to Adam. A large, black rubber penis and the strappy thing it must go in. Sam had tripped when she put hers on.
“You can put it on in the bathroom,” said Gillian. “I’ll wait.”
In the piercing fluorescent light of Gillian’s tiny bathroom, Adam stepped out of his jeans and boxer briefs. His dick, aimed straight at the ceiling, was the size of his forearm and purplish in color. Pre-come was smeared all over the head.
Think, Freedman, he said to himself. Figure this out.
The drag queen at Bound had looked like he didn’t have a dick at all. “Bitch has one fierce tuck.” “Push it up into the crack.” Adam tried pushing his dick down and up against his balls but it was too hard and sprung back. Part of him knew he should just beat off, just get it over with. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t know how yet, but he wanted to come with Gillian. At least in the same room with her, looking at her, somehow.
Think. Think. Think.
Adam opened the medicine cupboard over the sink. He hadn’t known why he did it, but as soon as he did, he saw the box of Band-Aids. He grabbed the box, quickly unwrapped a Band-Aid, and stuck it over his dick, pressing his dick flush up against his stomach. He would need a bunch of Band-Aids to get the job done and hurriedly started unwrapping and sticking until his dick was completely strapped to his stomach in a swathe of Band-Aids, only the head poking out by his bellybutton. He pulled his briefs up high over everything and then stepped into the strappy black thing, pushing the black rubber penis through the hole in the front. He could feel the base of the rubber penis pressing up against his dick and it felt good. He tugged the straps tight. He then stepped into his jeans, pulling them up high as well, buttoned the top button, and pushed the black rubber penis out through the lower open buttonholes.
You can do this.
Adam walked back into Gillian’s shadowy room. He could see the dark mass of her lying on the bed. He felt terrified and silly with the black penis dangling out the front of his pants, but this was what she expected. This was the way it was supposed to be, right?
Gillian looked over at him, her eyes lowering to his crotch. She smiled.
“You look really hot,” she said.
Adam climbed onto the bed and over Gillian. She was completely naked, and he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. They started kissing, and her mouth still tasted and smelled like the amazing wetness below. His dick, which he hadn’t thought could get any harder, strained against the layers of Band-Aids, briefs, and jeans.
Gillian reached down and ran her hand gently over the black penis.
“Oh, hold on,” she said. And she leaned over and took a condom out of the drawer on her bedside table. “I just use these when I haven’t remembered to boil . . . gross, sorry.”
“Cool,” said Adam. He ripped open the condom and, making sure the right side was facing up, slipped it over the black penis. The way he had practiced a million times alone in his room. As if practicing would get him closer to the moment of it happening.
“Put it in my mouth,” said Gillian.
Adam inched on his knees over Gillian, and she took the black penis and put it in her mouth. She moved it in and out, licking the head and shaft.
Adam felt one of the Band-Aids break loose.
“I don’t even think we need lube,” she said. “I’m so turned on by you.”
Gillian spread her legs wide around Adam. He moved back on his hands and knees, and taking the black penis in his hand, aimed it at her open, glistening hole.
This is it. This is it.
The black penis slid right in, and Adam moved his hips, pushing it in and out, but not too fast, for fear something would go wrong.
“You feel so good,” said Gillian, and Adam moved a little quicker. The head of his own dick was rubbing up against his stiff jeans and stomach, and the way it rubbed felt so amazing that he pushed even faster and sweat was dripping down his body and he could feel the Band-Aids breaking off, but he didn’t give a fuck, and he rammed the black penis into Gillian harder and harder, and the friction felt so fucking good. I’m doing it, he thought. I’m having sex, I’m actually having sex, and in that instant his balls clenched up and come shot from his dick all over his pants.
“Ohhhh,” he groaned; it felt like the come would never stop, an endless spewing of hot streams all over his stomach and jeans. Fuck—it might show! And Adam quickly grabbed the mug off Gillian’s bedside table, and in pretending to miss taking a drink, spilled the water over his lap, masking any come that could have seeped through.
“Oops,” he said, laughing. And Gillian, sitting up, laughed too.
“Give me some of that,” she said, and took the mug and drank the rest. “That was great,” she said, looking him in the eyes.
Adam grinned at the print on the mug in Gillian’s hand, then looked back up at her, beaming.
“I love New York!” he said.
Chapter 11
WITHIN TWO WEEKS, Adam had become the preeminent expert on anything and everything trans. He knew more than Casey. He was pretty sure he even knew more than Boy Casey. He was almost positive that if he were playing Jeopardy! and all the categories were Trans, he would go home with a million dollars. Every moment of his life that wasn’t spent with Gillian was devoted to researching, memorizing, and internalizing all things trans.
He knew that a “packer” is what you call a soft, realistic-looking dildo that you wear in your underwear during everyday activity to have the feeling of a penis. He knew that testosterone could be delivered to the body three different ways; injectable (of which the dosage varies between 50 mg and 300 mg per injection, depending on the ester and regimen), transdermal (available in both patch or gel/cream form), and oral (though this method didn’t always have all desired effects, such as cessation of menstruation). There was also research into a subcutaneous testosterone pellet, replaced every three to four months, though no one in the “community”—trans guys on the Internet—had tried this themselves.
Adam knew that Buck Angel was a famous trans man porn star and that many people enjoyed watching his videos where he is fucked in his vagina (“cockpit,” “mancave”). Adam knew that some trans men were OK with being fucked in their vaginas, liked being fucked in their vaginas, but others were not and this area was off-limits (Adam was the off-limits type). He knew that gender identity and sexual orientation are not the same thing and that you could be straight and trans or gay and trans; you could be like Hazel—a girl who used to be a boy but now was a masculine butch lesbian. Sometimes when people transitioned, they found their orientation shifting as well. Adam, who had always been, and still only was attracted to women, was a “heteronormative” trans man.
He knew that True Spirit used to be the big trans conference everyone would go to and w
as where a bunch of community members got to meet for the first time (Adam never got a chance to go) but that it was over, and newer conferences like Philadelphia Trans-Health and Gender Odyssey were gaining popularity. Southern Comfort was also still going strong.
Adam, post-op on his chest (double-incision/bilateral mastectomy) but pre-op on the bottom, was well versed in all the options for FTM genital reconstruction surgery. There was metoidioplasty (cutting of ligaments and removal of tissue that releases the testosterone-enlarged clitoris), there was scrotoplasty (inserting testicular implants into the labia majora and joining the two labia to create a scrotal sac), and there was phalloplasty (the construction of a penis using donor skin from other areas of the body) of which there were several methods: pedicled pubic flap, pedicled groin flap, free tissue flap, forearm free flap. He was familiar with the risks and costs of a hysterectomy and how it is one of the few surgeries that trans men are able to have covered by insurance. He knew that if you were going to have surgery, you should absolutely—no ifs, ands, or butts—quit smoking.
He knew about body dysphoria, and lo-ho and no-ho, and why you should say “cisgendered” instead of “bio,” and what it means to be “stealth.”
Adam knew all these facts and spent hours boring them into his brain and looking up words like pedicled on www.medterms.com, not because he would spew them out at Gillian in moments of spastic trans panic, but because just knowing them made him feel safe. He acquired information like artillery. All these facts, meshed together inside him, formed a bulletproof vest. If Gillian or one of her friends did ask him about any of them, he would be ready. If he wanted to casually drop a reference into a conversation, he would be able to do that.
But while knowing these facts helped Adam feel secure, and the very physical act of researching and memorizing quelled his anxiety, they were ultimately not what made him able to sustain the lie. What he quickly realized, after the night he and Gillian first had sex and he knew there was no turning back, was that in order to lie effectively, he had to believe the lie himself.
And the thing was, there were elements of being trans that Adam related to. Trans people often saw transition as the start of their real life, their true life, rejecting who they were before—and this was exactly how Adam felt. The person he was back at EBP was dead to him. Fuck that loser! That wasn’t the real him—this was, with Gillian. Gillian, who said, “You’re so sexy,” and “Your weirdness is like a hidden jewel,” and who the other night had whispered in bed, “You’re my sweet boyfriend.”