He nods, and the shy smile that tugs on his lips draws that needy ache back to my gut.
“I’ll see you,” he says before disappearing into the crowd.
CHAPTER SIX
PERCY
Thankgod for the fall chill in the air, cooling the sweat on my skin immediately as I step out of Crossing Swords with my heart pounding and my cock aching. It’s not very often I feel glad that my dick is so small and doesn’t get hard in the same way as a cis guy’s dick would, but it’s definitely a benefit when it comes to hiding an embarrassing erection.
Sure, I could feel the hard length of Butch’s cock against my back while we were dancing, but that was just friction, it wasn’t personal. His dick would have been hard no matter who he was grinding on. But good god was it doing it for me. My nipples are tingling, and I have to ball up my fists to keep my hands from shaking.
I can’t get a crush on a guy like Butch. I’ll only end up humiliating myself.
I don’t regret the choice I made to get a metoidioplasty and a scrotoplasty instead of a phalloplasty. I didn’t want to risk losing sensation, and I didn’t want to rely on a pump to get an erection. I just can’t figure out how to get past the fear of being judged orseen as not man enough because my dick is about the size of a thumb.
I need a low-key nerdy boyfriend. Someone just as awkward and gangly as I am, someone I wouldn’t be terrified of getting naked in front of. Maybe even a trans boyfriend so he’ll understand the struggle and I won’t worry about him judging my petite package.
I huff out a laugh, leaning against the side of the building for a second to catch my breath and absently watching other people come and go from the club. As if Butch would ever entertain wanting to date me anyway. I’m sure he prefers other hyper-masc dudes with muscles for days and dicks the size of my forearm. He’s just being nice. He’s a friendly guy, and maybe he’s kind of adopted me as his project, but he doesn’tlikeme. As long as I can remember that, I won’t embarrass myself.
Now that I’ve talked myself down and my cock has settled from the outlandish fantasies of Butch grabbing my jaw with his big, calloused hand and turning my face to claim my lips in a rough kiss, I pull my phone out of my pocket to text Juno and let them know I’m stopping for a slice of pizza and then heading home. I noticed them chatting up a pretty blond near the bar on my way out, so I’m sure they won’t miss me at all.
It’s a Friday night, and it’s still early by party standards, so the street is busy, crowded with guys of all ages, most of them dressed in flashy or barely there clothes, some of them stumbling drunkenly, all enjoying the long stretch of bars on this block.
I make brief eye contact with a couple of different guys, getting some smiles and winks in response. I’m cute, I know that. I guess it’s just the fear that guys will be disappointed with my dick that’s still holding me back from really putting myself out there. Every time I think about a full-on hookup and I imagine the possible reaction to someone seeing it, my stomachknots and I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack. I just need to get over it and put myself out there, but I don’t know how.
The pizza place on the corner is fairly quiet when I step inside. In another couple of hours, it’ll be crawling with drunk gays craving a slice of greasy, cheesy goodness after the bars close, but for now, there’s only a short line.
I get in line and pull my phone back out to scroll while I wait for my turn. I guess my phone picked up on the fact that I joined a gym, because an advertisement for a half-marathon in the spring comes across my timeline and I let out an audible laugh. Yeah, right. Seven months wouldn’t be enough time for me to go from nearly dying from jogging three-quarters of a mile to managing to pull off thirteen point one miles and living to tell the tale. Sevenyearsprobably wouldn’t be enough time.
I linger for just a second, chuckling at the thought, then scroll past. The line shuffles forward and I hear thewhooshof the door opening and closing behind me.
“This doesn’t look like home, Rocky.”
Butch’s voice startles me enough that my phone jumps out of my hand and clatters to the floor at my feet.
“Fuck me, since when does stalking fall under the job description of a personal trainer?” I bend down to pick up my phone, trying not to wince at the way my muscles protest. I stand up and turn around to find Butchright there, massive pecs and all. “Or are you here to lecture me about macros and tell me that a slice of pizza will undermine my fitness goals?”
He lets out a booming laugh, his chest quaking with the sound. “Hell no, I’m here to stuff my face with pizza. Sometimes the protein bars just don’t cut it.”
He pats his belly and grins. I catch the motion of the door swinging open again in my peripheral vision and I look past him to see the rest of his gymbo crew filing in, plus one more guyI don’t think I’ve been introduced to yet, wearing a pair of gym shorts, a pink crop top, and a backwards baseball cap.
“Cool. Well, I’m just getting a slice to take home.” I glance over my shoulder and hurry forward towards the counter when I see that it’s my turn.
“You must be the newbie Butch can’t stop talking about.” Another large man shoulders past Butch and claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble.
“Rocky,” Silas tells him the nickname that apparently I’m not going to be able to shake while Butch lets out a loud sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and clearing his throat.
I consider correcting him and saying that my name is actually Percy, but it feels kind of cool having a gym nickname. Butch throws his arm around my shoulders and leans past me to put his free hand on the counter.
“I haven’t talked about him that much,” he defends with an almost nervous chuckle. “This is Callan, by the way,” Butch introduces him and then looks past me to the guy behind the counter. “Hey, can we get two large pizzas, one cheese and one veggie?” He orders and then looks down at me. “Is that good, or were you planning to get something else?”
I shake my head. “I was getting cheese, but really, I’m just getting a slice to go?—”
“Nah, sit and eat with us,” Fender insists. “This is Slater, by the way, AJ’s boyfriend.” He points to the guy in the baseball cap.
“Boyfriend,” Slater echoes, grabbing AJ’s hand and grinning from ear to ear. “Why is that word still so hot to me?”
AJ squirms a little but then kisses Slater on the cheek, smiles back, and whispers something in his ear.
