The Queer and the Restless

by Kris Ripper

  “You got anything here? I’ll start right now.”

  “I could find you some more appropriate reading material. Oh god, Ed, keep doing that.” Both hands slammed down on the wall over my head. “That feels so good.”

  This position was better. I arched up and took one of her breasts into my mouth, playing my tongue against the hard nub of her nipple.

  She groaned. “Ohhh yes.”

  I slid my hand inside the back of her pants, squeezing her ass.

  “You better make good, you brat. Damn.”

  I’d make good. But I needed a little more freedom of movement. “Can I take these off? Not that I’m complaining about how tight they are, but right now—”

  “Take ’em off.”

  I was already moving, thumbing the button, tugging the zip. I needed to be inside Alisha, and now. Right now, before I lost my nerve, before whatever spell made me feel this confident departed. I pushed her pants down, and she laughed, tumbling to the side, trying to shimmy out.

  “This isn’t how I normally get undressed.” Her braids shook loose, spilling all around her head as she tried to wriggle out of her pants, and she just kept giggling, like this was the most hilarious thing she’d done in months. “I must look ridiculous, oh god, Ed, help.”

  “Do you usually have assistance to get undressed? I’m, uh, willing to volunteer for that job, if you’re hiring.”

  “What, you’d come over every night and assist me in taking off my pants? Like what would that even pay?”

  “I can think of a few worthy trades.” I shifted down to corral her pants at her feet. “Seriously, how did you get them on in the first place?”

  “I must have been more coordinated then.”

  Between us we managed to finally get the damn things off, and then it was just Alisha, black underwear, no bra, braids every which way, lying back against the head of her bed with white lights making her look slightly wild.

  I crawled up over her legs, kissing a trail that wound slowly toward the inside. When I reached the elastic of the panties I pulled them out enough so I could press my tongue beneath them.

  “You— Ohhh, fuck yeah—”

  More of a tease than anything else because I didn’t really want to go down on her with her panties in my way, but I did want to tease her, surprise her, delight her, and I definitely wanted her to keep making the little moans she was making as she tried to thrust up into my mouth.

  I shifted a little and pulled the fabric tight over her skin, rubbing my cheek against it. She smelled spicy and almost sharp. I wanted to turn her on as much as possible without actually touching her.

  She tried to hump my face, but I withdrew before she could.

  “You’re such a bastard. Get up here.”

  “Are you sure? I’m not exactly done—” Before I could even finish my sentence she was dragging me up until she could kiss me and, fuck, that was good, that was fantastic, that was marvelous, Alisha’s tongue battling mine, her hand hard at the back of my neck, both of us tangling into each other.

  “You’re messed up, you know, teasing me like that,” she panted in my ear.

  “I do my best.”

  “I want you on top of me. But I need you to talk, Ed. I need you to tell me what works for you and what doesn’t.”

  I went stiff, but she kept kissing me, nibbling at my earlobe, letting me hide in her hair.

  “Yeah, I get you want to be the strong silent type right now and please me without demanding anything for yourself, but that’s not how I roll. It’ll be so much better for me if you tell me what you want.”

  “I shouldn’t have to do My Body 101 just because I’m trans,” I argued. Weakly.

  “If everyone did My Body 101, people would have way better sex.” She rolled until we were on our sides and I could no longer hide. “What do you usually do? Get your partner off and hope for the best?”

  “Sometimes. Most of the time. I mean, that works for me, so it’s okay—”

  “Who the hell have you been sleeping with who don’t care if you’re actually having a good time?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Lesbians.” Which wasn’t fair, but at the moment I was seriously considering getting the hell out of here. This was too intense, and I didn’t know if I could deal with someone looking at me the way Alisha looked at me, as if she wanted to see into me.

  She laughed a little and shoved me lightly into the pillow. “Don’t be a dick. Lesbians who treat your body like a woman’s body?”

  “They knew I wasn’t. But when I take my clothes off . . . I guess I can’t really blame them.”

  “Well, you can’t blame them because you didn’t talk to them, but I think anyone who approaches sex with someone new like it’s a language they already speak is totally missing the point.”

  “Oh yeah, wise one? And what’s the point?”

  She grinned, tracing my lips with one fingertip. “The point is that this is an adventure, Ed. The point is that every time you open your world to someone, it’s an adventure both of you are taking, without even leaving home. You’ve had sex with women, but you’ve never had sex with me, so that makes this new. Right?”

  “Speaking of sex.”

  “I want you on top of me. When I’ve fantasized, that’s what it’s been, you fucking me like that. If you don’t want me to touch you, it’s okay. It’s so totally okay. But can we give that a shot? I mean, unless you don’t want to.”

  “I definitely want to.”

  “Oh good.” Eyebrows raised. “So. Your pants?”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  It was harder taking off my pants now that we’d made this “talk about sex” rule. With other people, sparse though they’d been, it had been less about talking and more about pleasing, which suited me. I was good at pleasing. But trying to explain how my body worked, what it wanted, what it liked, made me feel horribly exposed. And I suspected that the questions would intensify from here.

  My disrobing was a lot more dignified than Alisha’s. I hesitated over the binder.

  “Leave it on. I swear to god, baby, it’s fine.” She tugged me down over her again and sighed. “Oh fuck yes. I love this feeling. I love having someone on top of me.”

  I could definitely get used to being on top of her, pressing between her legs. I ground down against her, and she latched on to me, trying to tug me in tighter.

  “Oh fuck, I can feel you. Jesus, Ed—”

  She was hot and wet, and I played with the sensations, rubbing side to side, up and down, making her cry out.

  “Yes, damn it, keep doing that—”

  “What?” I smiled against her lips.

  “All of it!”

  I pulled back, both of us panting now. My cock was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, ready to blow, but I didn’t want to come yet. An orgasm that fast wouldn’t be any good, and I wanted this to be good. Quickie orgasms were more my brain’s way of testing the works, always slightly dissatisfying. Especially because now it seemed inevitable that I’d get off, so I could relax instead of trying to steamroll pleasure.

  “You are a fucking tease.” She forced my head down to hers, kissing me hard. “I want to feel your dick more.”

  The words sent shivers all the way to my toes, and this time when her legs tensed, I let her draw me down again. Alisha took over, spreading herself wider against me, grinding us together, using me—using my cock—as a way to tease herself. She angled up, taking me into her folds, and I shut my eyes against how fucking good that felt.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Oh god, yes, that’s so good—”

  “There he is. Keep talking, boy. Keep telling me how it feels.”

  Somehow she shifted her weight, and it sparked my imagination; my cock, which would by anyone’s standards be considered barely visible, extended in my mind until it was just like any other guy’s cock. I thrust into her and she groaned, hands scrabbling over my back.

  Now I wished I’d taken off the binder. I wanted to feel her
nails on my skin. I wanted to feel her nipples. I wanted us to be pressed against one another with nothing in between us.

  She hauled me against her. “Oh yeah, come on, baby, more—”

  I gave her more, trying to get a bit of leverage on the bed so I could go deeper. I wanted desperately to give in to the illusion that I was actually fucking her, that my cock was deep inside and that’s what she felt, but at the same time, as real as it was, it also seemed ridiculous.

  “Ed, more. I can fucking feel you, give me more—”

  Screw realism anyway.

  I braced one arm on the wall and wrapped the other around her, holding her in place. Alisha gasped in my ear, and somehow she opened just a little more for me, and that was it. I couldn’t hold back.

  “I’m coming—” I’m coming inside you, I’m coming inside you, oh god, I’m inside you right now—

  “Me too!” She moaned louder as I thrust and the sound of her orgasm pushed mine higher until I was shuddering, clutching her against me, grinding into her body until I couldn’t control myself.

  I felt myself come, felt myself come in the imaginary extension of cock, with its thousand-fold imaginary nerve endings. In that moment I was seven inches long, and hard, and ejaculating into a beautiful woman.

  Who panted in my ear, almost weeping.

  “Oh fuck, Ed, tell me that wasn’t the best fucking sex you’ve had in years. Oh my god.”

  “It was,” I heard myself say. “It really was.”

  It was the best sex I’d had since I started transitioning. The best sex I’d had for years before that. I collapsed, regaining my breath, a little afraid that if I looked her in the eye the illusion would break and I’d remember that my cock wasn’t slowly going soft inside her right now.

  “That was amazing. You were amazing.” Her fingers traced lazy lines on my lower back, on my ass. “Damn, boy. I’m so glad I went to Fred’s tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  The moment passed. I had to move. Carefully, trying to hold on to the splintered sensation of my imaginary body, I shifted slightly, and her legs relaxed to let me go.

  This would be awkward. No way around it. I started to get up, but she was reaching for a blanket and I hesitated.

  “I know you’ll want to go home, but stay with me for a few minutes at least. Please.”

  I’d’ve felt better with my boxers on, but she was naked and beautiful, and she’d been open with me despite her self-consciousness, so I lay back down, pressing against her side.

  The blanket settled over us, and I tucked it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” I looked at her lips, her ears, the line of her jaw. Anything but her eyes.

  “Thank you. We did good, Ed.”

  “We really did. I, uh, like your hair this way.”

  “Do you? It’s my favorite style ever. I’m gonna start playing with the colors this week, I think. One good thing about my job: they totally don’t care about piercings and tats and wild hair. I mean, it’s a fucking adventure company, right? They probably like me more for all that.” She sighed. “Tonight’s gonna improve my whole week, by the way.”

  “Mine too.” I was a parrot, only able to imitate her words, even though they accurately reflected how I felt. I wanted to say something more, something heartfelt (and original), but I slipped and accidentally met her eyes, and then I couldn’t speak at all.

  “You’re not going to avoid me now, right? I mean, I could do friends with benefits if you wanted, but making this into a one-night stand would kill me.”

  “It’s not a one-night stand. What’s the alternative to friends with benefits?”

  Her eyes crinkled with her smile. “You silly. The alternative to friends with benefits is, you know, we get together.”

  “Oh.” Get together. “I’m not . . . opposed to that. I mean, if you’re not.”

  “You want to be my boyfriend, Ed?”

  I couldn’t help it. I hid my face in her neck. “Oh god. When you say that . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’ve, uh, never really—I mean, there have been a couple of people I was with for a while—but I never—”

  “So I’d be your first?” She giggled. “You are totally my boyfriend now. I’m telling everyone. I’m going into Club Fred’s, standing on the bar, and announcing it to the world. ‘Ed Masiello is my boyfriend, bitches!’”

  I laughed and it was only a little forced. “Oh my god, shut up.”

  “What? It’s true! You’re my boyfriend now. And I’m your girlfriend. Hot. I had no idea I was going to end tonight with a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Whee, adventure!”

  Her amusement was irresistible. I kissed her, brushing braids out over her pillow. “You’re completely crazy, you know that?”

  “I know! Isn’t it great?”

  We kissed for a while longer. When she got up to use the bathroom, I pulled my clothes back on. This had been amazing, but I didn’t want to press my luck. Better to go home, wake up alone, just in case none of this seemed like a good idea tomorrow. At least she wouldn’t have to see me with indecision all over my face.

  “Good night, boyfriend,” she murmured at the door. “Please come again soon.”

  I rolled my eyes at the pun. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “You fucking better. Except you don’t have my phone number.”

  Oops. I fumbled out my phone and made my fingers punch in the appropriate numbers. “Now I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She leaned in for a final kiss. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  I may have strutted on my way to my car. I may have whistled.

  We saw each other a little bit over the weekend. I took her to dinner after work on Saturday, and we caught a cup of coffee and a walk along the pier on Sunday. I told her about my roommates thinking I was gay and being overly sensitive about it.

  She laughed. “Holy shit, that’s hilarious. Huh. No, I don’t think I could say ‘I’m straight’ out loud without making it a joke. No offense to straight people.”

  “Exactly. I don’t have a problem with straight people, and I guess that’s . . . kind of what I am now? But I don’t even know how it must feel to be straight. There’s no way I could seriously claim that as my, like, identity.”

  “Right? And I was always a lesbian, forever, except now I have a boyfriend. So maybe I’m pansexual? That’s so weird. Because ‘I’m a lesbian’ still feels right. Is that messed up? I mean, does that feel super weird to you? Like I’m attacking your masculinity? Because I promise, to me you’re all man.”

  I considered it for a minute, wondering how Honey had thought about it. She was a woman dating a man, but I’d sure as hell never heard her say she was straight.

  And damn it, now I couldn’t ask her. The thought hurt my heart, but I refocused on Alisha. “No. I mean, I think of you as a lesbian. Uh. Maybe it is weird that it doesn’t throw me.”

  “I could start saying ‘pansexual’ . . .”

  We looked at each other.

  “Whoa.” She shook her head. “This is so weird. Like, I’ve been a lesbian since I knew what the word meant. And now I totally have a boyfriend.” Alisha laughed, then clamped her hand over her mouth. “Wait, is this funny or totally fucked up? Sorry, it’s not funny if it makes you feel shitty.”

  “It doesn’t. You can be a lesbian. As long as I’m an exception. To your gold-star lesbianism.”

  “Or how about this: I only date queer people. Not all ladies, obviously, but only queer people. What’s that make me?”

  “Queer?”

  “Okay. Sold. I’m queer.”

  “Me too.”

  “Good. Glad that’s settled.” She linked arms with me and we walked that way. And the whole time I was trying to focus on the moment, but mostly I was thinking I’m somebody’s boyfriend, I’m Alisha’s boyfriend, Alisha is my girlfriend and I am her boyfriend over and over again.

  It was ju
st a word, and it shouldn’t have mattered—I didn’t want it to matter. I didn’t want what other people called me, how other people saw me, to matter as much as it did. But walking down the pier with her, knowing that people saw us together and thought of me as her boyfriend, did matter. It meant something to me that for once I wasn’t scraping at the edges of passing. Being with her made me feel somehow more real than I’d felt before, which made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t deny it.

  We parted late Sunday, after going back to her apartment again and having more incredible sex, and she made me promise that next time we could go to my place so my roommates could see that, in fact, I did have a girlfriend.

  I told her I couldn’t wait.

  I’d forgotten the meeting with the Queer Youth Project folks until I was mid-interview with someone else, so I’d rescheduled it for the following week. For once the irritating notifications my phone sent up for every calendar event were actually useful, as opposed to the ones that kept informing me about knitting group, which I kept dismissing. I couldn’t face knitting. Not without Honey there.

  Jaq wasn’t kidding about how far out QYP was. They’d found a location practically on the edge of the water. “Location” was a polite word for the warehouse with the hand-painted QYP sign in a front window. I guess the only helpful thing about having a boarded-up window was that it was much easier to make into a sign.

  I tried knocking on the door and got nowhere, so I tentatively let myself inside.

  Inside was a whole different story.

  The walls were half-painted, literally; each wall had stretches of bold color on it, but none of them had been finished. The floors, though, had been gone over in black until they were clean and shining. The far left corner of the place was in mid-renovation toward becoming a kitchen, with a sink cabinet in place and a refrigerator still wrapped in plastic, but most of the rest of the space was empty save for ladders and drop cloths and discarded cleaning junk.

  “Hi there! Are you Ed?”

  I turned to the voice, a young white guy, coming out of an office I hadn’t noticed in my first spin in the center of the room. “Ed Masiello, with the Times-Record.”