Some Assembly Required

by Arin Andrews

  “Oh, relax,” he said. “No one is paying any attention.”

  “I should go,” I said, and backed away slowly. I was terrified that someone who knew Darian had seen us. Even though I’d been pulling away from Darian emotionally, she was still my girlfriend. And I never in a million years had imagined myself as someone who would cheat. But I’d just done exactly that.

  I got a call from Darian the next day, and before I even picked up, I knew that she knew. She was sniffling when I answered.

  “One of my friends saw you making out last night. Is it true?”

  “Um, no?” I said timidly. I felt like such an asshole for lying, especially since it was obvious that I was. But she was so hurt that I clammed up. I didn’t want her to cry or feel bad, and my flawed logic told me that denying what I’d done would keep that from happening.

  “But they saw you two together,” she said.

  “I mean, he gave me a big hug good-bye when he left.” The words came flying out of my mouth before I even knew what they would be. Tell the truth, I told myself. But I couldn’t. I was already trapped in the lie.

  Somehow I got Darian to believe that her friend was mistaken and that everything was fine between us. But just a couple of weeks later, I ended up making out with Carl again. And once more I got busted by one of Darian’s friends.

  I think by then a part of me was hoping I’d get caught. I hated the feeling of being a liar, especially since I was now revealing so many truths in my life. Emotionally it felt like a huge step backward.

  I still feel terrible about the way I handled it.

  “Is it because you’re not attracted to me anymore?” Darian sobbed over the phone when she called.

  My messed-up teenage brain logic took over again. That seemed like a good excuse to use; it was much less complicated than getting into all my reservations about how she identified solely as a lesbian and how that confused me about who I was. I was too young to realize just how fluid sexuality can be, even though I was starting to understand that I was probably kind of bisexual. Kissing Carl had been really fun, not to mention that I was suddenly living an entirely new existence, one that I could actually engage in. My relationship with Darian had been built mainly on letters and discreet phone calls. And while that had made it so intense and authentic, it had been almost entirely based on an emotional response as opposed to a physical one. I knew that it was time to move on. Still, I should have had more integrity than to use her insecurity as an easy way out. It was stupid and immature, and I still apologize to her about it whenever we talk now. To this day, I hate thinking about what I said next:

  “Yeah, I guess I’m just not into your body,” I agreed. “I can’t do this anymore.” Those last words sounded familiar as they came out of my mouth, and I realized with shame that it was the exact same thing that Andi had texted when she’d friend-dumped me.

  “Fine, Arin,” Darian said, suddenly cold. “I can’t either. Good luck, with everything.”

  I felt miserable, but also relieved that it was over. I knew that it was finally time to try the new me out in the world, in a place where no one knew that Emerald had ever even existed.

  12

  I got my first real chance that March, when Mom decided to take Wes and me on a cruise for our spring break. It would be the first time I got to completely immerse myself in an environment solely as Arin. Mom took me shopping for boys’ swimwear and a suit to wear for the formal nights. “There’s one more thing I’m going to need,” I said once we got home.

  “Yeah, what’s that?” she asked, looking up from her computer.

  “A packer.”

  “One of those fake penises you put in your underwear?”

  “Yeah. If I’m going to be walking around in a guy’s bathing suit, it needs to look like there’s something in there.”

  She didn’t bat an eye. “Okay. Then let’s get you a penis.”

  I sat next to her at the computer and showed her the one I’d been researching. It was from a company called Peecock that offered three different sizes of prosthetic penises with testicles, which attached to a cup that fitted around the entire vagina. The penises came with a special funnel-shaped insert that you could take out and clean, so that they served as an STP (stand-to-pee) device as well—a much more evolved version of my childhood canister lid funnel.

  “What size should I get?” I asked.

  They came in three lengths, and the descriptions were as follows:

  Four inches: “It takes no time to master peeing with it. . . . Remember as they always say, less is more!”

  Five and a half inches: “The efficient all-rounder.”

  Six and a half inches: “ ‘Handsome’ in appearance and almost majestic like! . . . For those who love to strut around proudly with a big bulge!”

  “That one,” I said immediately, pointing to the six and a half.

  “Arin, that’s going to look ridiculous down your pants,” Mom said. “You’re just looking for a bulge, and with your frame, the four-inch is going to be fine. Consider it your starter penis. Besides, it says it’s easier to pee through when you’re first learning.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I’d pretty much mastered peeing standing up before the fifth grade, so I agreed, silently planning on an upgrade at some point.

  Ten days later Mom was fixing lunch when I went to check the front porch for any “packages.”

  “Let me feel,” she said when I took it out of the box, and she grabbed it from my hands. “Oooh, it’s squishier than I thought it would be,” she said.

  “Give it,” I said, snatching it back.

  I ran upstairs and thoroughly washed it off and dried it before taking off my jeans and underwear and holding it up to myself.

  The skin tone was off, and it was obviously not real, but I still felt euphoric seeing it between my legs. I squinted my eyes a little so that everything was slightly blurry, and that was even better—it didn’t look as fake that way. My body was finally morphing into the one that I’d seen in my dreams.

  I gave it a little shake with my hand to see it swing back and forth, and silently cursed myself for not fighting for the larger model. Still, it’s literally better than nothing, I thought.

  I pulled on a pair of tight boxer briefs and stuck it inside those. Then it really looked real. I put my jeans back on and ran back downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Well?” I asked proudly. “What do you think?”

  Mom burst out laughing. “Why is it sticking down your pant leg like that? You look like you’re going to a party with a rolled-up sock taped to your thigh.”

  I looked down, failing to see the problem. I liked it. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “How else are people going to know I have one?”

  “You should be subtle about it,” Mom said. “No woman wants to see the goods up front. Leave a little mystery.”

  She reached down and started to adjust it through my jeans. “Put it in the middle,” she said.

  “I thought it looked weird that way, though,” I said, swatting her hand away. “Let me do it.” I reached down my pants and put the shaft in the center.

  “Hmm, yeah, that looks better,” she said, cupping her chin in one hand and tilting her head.

  Peeing through it while standing up was pretty easy, but it still required a little bit of rearranging first, since the cup tended to move around in my underwear, and I needed to make sure it was pushed tight around my vagina so nothing would spill. So whenever I used the men’s room when I was out in public, I made sure to go into a stall so that no one thought I was playing with myself at the urinal. That was a sound bit of advice that I’d gotten from Taylor during one of our therapy sessions shortly after I’d gotten my packer.

  “Men’s bathrooms have a much different vibe from women’s,” he said. “You go in and do your business and get out. There isn’t usually the same sort of social interaction you experience in the ladies’ bathroom.”

  That was jus
t fine with me. I’d always hated having to talk to anyone when I used a public bathroom anyway, and besides, if there were any risk at all of my dick falling off in front of a group of other men, I’d rather not take it.

  I was feeling giddy about my new equipment and was desperate to flirt with people. I’d scroll through Facebook and check girls out from the safety of my room, but one day I saw a profile of a guy named Austin with blond, spiky hair who was friends with someone I vaguely knew from OYP. In his profile picture he had a sort of confused, awkward What am I even doing here? look on his face. It was so endearing—I felt like I knew that expression well—and before I could stop myself, I shot him a friend request and a message.

  Hey, you’re pretty cute.

  He wrote back almost immediately. Hi. Thanks.

  I figured it was best to be upfront. I’m a trans guy.

  Several minutes passed. Okay. That’s kind of weird.

  He didn’t offer anything else up, so I let it go. I couldn’t afford any more insecurity in my life now that so many changes were happening.

  • • •

  The cruise over spring break was a total success. I passed completely. One day I was walking on the deck when I heard a girl call out, “Hey, you! You, guy!”

  I slowly turned around, praying that she was calling to me. She motioned me over with her finger.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “There is no one else our age on this boat. We need to stick together.”

  That was fine by me. She was gorgeous, short with dark skin and long black hair. Her name was Hannah, and she lived in Florida. She introduced me to a few other girls she had already met, and I spent the rest of the trip hanging out with them.

  I couldn’t believe how much they were flirting with me, and I could openly flirt right back. That was how Wes ultimately came to terms with me as a guy—he saw that I was attracting all these hot girls. He immediately became glued to my side like we were best friends.

  The only problem with the entire trip was that I couldn’t take my shirt off. Whenever we went swimming or got into a hot tub, I’d have to make up some lame excuse like I just got out of the shower and don’t want to mess with my hair again or I got a crazy sunburn yesterday. They’d tease me about it, but I ultimately didn’t care. Even though I was stuck inside a shirt, I’d never felt freer.

  13

  A couple of weeks after we got back, Mom decided to let me start hormone replacement therapy. Taylor agreed that it was time, and so he wrote up his recommendation that I be put on testosterone. I then needed to take the written recommendation to a doctor. We found one who had worked with trans men patients before, and I went in for an initial round of blood work so he could figure out an appropriate dosage for me. We made another appointment for the following week, and provided that everything was normal, I’d get my first shot. I was riding high with that news and my cruise experience, and on top of all that, I was about to go to prom with a beautiful girl.

  You’ll recall how that went.

  • • •

  The following night, while catching up with Dale at OYP, it took me a few seconds to realize that the gorgeous woman who’d just walked in the door was Katie Hill. She looked so bright and alive compared to the time when I’d seen her at the Equality Center. I still wonder now, if I hadn’t gotten dumped at prom just twenty-four hours earlier, would I have had the courage to walk right up to her?

  But I did, and said, “Hi, Katie.”

  She turned and looked at me and smiled. “Hi, Arin,” she replied.

  I almost died. I couldn’t believe she actually remembered my name.

  I told her that I was scheduled to finally start taking testosterone later that week, and she got really excited. “Your voice is going to start cracking right after,” she teased.

  The music switched from Lady Gaga to that ridiculous “Cupid Shuffle” song they always play at weddings. She started dancing, and I swear she was flirting with me. She kept looking over her shoulder at me and smiling, showing off her dance moves.

  I found Dale out back. “Oh my God, I want her number so bad,” I said.

  “Just ask,” he said.

  I’d never felt that nervous before. I’d started the night with such a cocky attitude, determined to make out with a girl, and here I was acting like some hand-wringing wuss.

  “How do I do it?” I asked Dale. “I don’t know what to do!”

  He gave me a disgusted look. “Just do it, man.”

  I crossed the room with my phone in my hand. She was talking to a friend, but I interrupted and just blurted out, “Can I have your number?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. And I could tell by the tone in her voice and by the way that she looked at me that she wasn’t sure if I wanted her number because I thought she was pretty, or if I just wanted to talk about more trans stuff. She put her number into my phone and went back to talking to her friend, and I floated back to Dale, grinning and blushing.

  She left not long after but gave me a hug before heading out. “Don’t be a stranger—text me,” she said.

  Oh, I will, I thought.

  When Mom came to pick me up, I couldn’t shut up the entire ride home.

  “Oh my God, guess who came tonight? Katie Hill! She’s so pretty. I can’t believe I got her number!” I babbled. “What should I do? Should I text her now? Or, like, wait a day and play it cool? I won’t text her tonight. Wait. Maybe I should text her tonight so she knows I like her! No, I’ll wait until morning. But late morning, so it doesn’t seem like I’m desperate.”

  Mom just laughed at me. I could tell she was happy to see me so happy, especially after the previous night’s disaster. We’d come a long way from the days when she would do anything to keep me away from a girl.

  When I got home, I was shocked to see that Katie had already sent me a Facebook friend request, along with a short message saying that she hoped I’d had fun that night. I resisted the urge to write her back immediately.

  I finally texted her at 10:20 the next morning:

  Hey Katie, it’s Arin :)

  The next hour and thirty-one minutes were agonizing. But finally:

  Hey Arin! What’s up hun?

  Just planning my day out, I think I’m going to the movies. How about you?

  Pretty much the same. Did you have fun last night?

  Yessss. Thank you for talking to me last night, I felt like the luckiest guy there, getting to talk to the most beautiful girl in the room.

  Stop it, you’re making me blush!

  I’m gonna be honest here. I’m interested in you. But if you’d just like to be friends I’m cool either way.

  I held my breath while I watched those three dots appear on my iPhone, signaling that she was writing back.

  Well, I admit I think you’re adorable. But I just got out of a bad relationship. So we’ll see. I like to get to know anyone I’m interested in anyways :) Plus I need to see if I’m right about T making your voice crack!

  We continued to text flirty things throughout the day. I wanted to invite her to the movie with Mom and Wes, but I didn’t have the courage after she’d told me she’d just gotten out of a bad relationship. So I was psyched when she asked if she could tag along. Of course I said yes.

  She arrived at the theater a little late, wearing the same clothes as the night before, since she’d spent the night at her friend’s place. I had already staked out seats far away from Mom and Wes, and she squeezed in to my left. The movie, The Cabin in the Woods, was just starting, so we didn’t really get a chance to talk. I was fiddling with a bottle cap, and my hands were dripping sweat. I kept them firmly on my knees. Our shoulders finally touched, and we sat that way for the entire movie. That small bit of physical contact was pure, torturous heaven. I wanted so badly to put my arm around her, but I didn’t want her to think I just wanted to get into her pants. I wanted her to know that I respected her, and respected the fact that she had just gotten out of a bad relationship. She had
explained it a little bit in her texts—the guy had been living with her family, and then he dumped her right after she had helped him put a down payment on an apartment and a car. I couldn’t imagine anyone treating her like that.

  I couldn’t focus on the film at all, and it was over way too fast. Mom found us in the parking lot afterward, where I made the introductions. She couldn’t stop staring at Katie. It got a little awkward, so Katie hugged me and left.

  “I cannot believe that she was born a boy,” Mom marveled as we got into the car. “No way. She’s too pretty!”

  “Told you,” I said as my phone buzzed in my pocket. Katie had already texted me.

  I had a really good time. :)

  • • •

  We kept texting a bunch of silly, sweet romantic stuff throughout the week. I called her beautiful again, and she wrote:

  That’s it. I’m making out with you.

  She had a ton going on in her life. Besides still getting over her last boyfriend, she was wrapping up her senior year of high school while working part time. Plus, she’d found out that a mystery donor had offered to pay for her gender reassignment surgery, which was scheduled for just after her upcoming eighteenth birthday. I felt a twinge of jealousy about that, but swallowed it quickly. She was also being awarded the Carolyn Wagner Youth Leadership Award at the 2012 Equality Gala, a huge annual black-tie affair to help raise money for the Equality Center, hosted at the downtown convention center. It was a pretty big deal.

  But we still found time to hang out. We met up at group at the Equality Center the Wednesday after the movie. I mostly talked about how excited I was to start taking testosterone, and she talked about how honored she was about the upcoming gala. I took her out for pizza afterward, where we chatted about places we had traveled and all the places we still wanted to go. When we were done, Katie drove me to my mom’s office. We got out of the car, and Katie hugged me good-bye and then stepped back slightly, with this look in her eye that said, So, are you gonna kiss me, or just leave me standing here?