“Let me just get dressed. There’s beer in the fridge if you want to grab one, or you can help yourself to whatever else is in there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He goes into the room directly across the hall from the bathroom and closes the door behind him. I look around theliving room for the first time, and honestly, it’s exactly what I would have pictured Butch and Fender’s place looking like. The furniture is generic and a little bit ratty, like they got it from a thrift store or maybe off the street, there are free weights and fitness magazines strewn around, and a bookshelf that holds nothing but books about WWII and some healthy eating cookbooks.
I go into the kitchen and peek into the refrigerator. Lots of pre-portioned containers that look like they’re filled with chicken, rice, and veggies. They both have amazing bodies, but at what cost? Give me junk food or give me death. I snag two beers off the top shelf and carry them over to the couch. The butterflies in my stomach are having a rave and my palms are more than a little damp. I wipe them on my pants and try to make myself comfortable on the couch. How do I normally sit? Why does everything feel so awkward and unnatural? Other people cannot feel this doofy all the time, can they? If they did, no one would ever get laid. I have to be the only awkward idiot in the world.
I hear the creak of Butch’s door swinging open again and I hold my breath. I’m not going to screw this up tonight. I’mnot.
BUTCH
I shoot Fender a text thanking him for wingman-ing me, even though I didn’t ask for it. And he responds with a thumbs-up, an eggplant, and a tongue emoji. I leave my phone on my nightstand and finish pulling some clothes on.
I was kind of hoping to take the pressure off this whole thing with the excuse of Fender’s party, but having Percy all to myself in the apartment is a pretty good alternative. Now I just need to make sure I don’t screw it up.
He’s sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand and another on the coffee table, his back straight and a nervous smile making him look borderline constipated. I hold back a laugh, scooping the extra beer off the table and flopping myself down casually, hoping he’ll take the hint and try to relax a little. I let my legs splay open and throw my arm along the back of the couch.
“Sorry Fender’s such a dumbass.” I twist the cap off my beer and take a sip.
Percy chuckles and his shoulders relax a little. “It’s fine. Honestly, hanging out one-on-one is way more my speed than a party anyway. I probably would have bailed on a party after an hour.”
“No way,” I say with a laugh. “You would have stayed because our team would have been kicking so much ass at beer pong that you wouldn’t have had a choice.”
“It would have had to be your skills carrying our team, because I’ve never played.”
“Never?” I take another sip of my beer. “How have you been in college for, like, a decade andneverplayed beer pong?”
Percy brings his bottle to his lips and takes a drink, darting his tongue out to catch a stray droplet on his bottom lip after. He stops holding himself so stiffly and leans back to relax into the couch. My fingers brush against his shoulder and our eyes meet as we both take another drink.
“Well, undergrad was a bit of a rough time for me. I was just figuring out my gender stuff and wasn’t feeling very social. And grad school is far too serious for keggers,” he says, putting his free hand on the cushion between us.
“I guess that makes sense.” I glance down at his hand, wanting to pick it up and place it on my thigh, or hell, anywhere so long as he touches me. “So, you didn’t date a lot?”
That’s a totally casual question, right?
“A little, but not much. I’ve been on dates, and… uh… you know,dates. But I haven’t had any proper relationships.”
“Yeah, same. I guess I just haven’t found anyone worth cutting into my gym time for.” I scoot an inch closer to Percy.
“Right. It’s hard to find the time between school and everything for a relationship.” He bites his bottom lip and picks absently at the label on his bottle. “Plus…”
“The trans stuff?” I guess.
He nods and then tilts his head back and drains the rest of his beer in a couple of gulps.
“Hooking up was a little bit of a dysphoria nightmare early on. It was really confusing when I was a teenager, because I knew I was into guys, but fooling around felt so wrong. Like, I’d be making out with a guy, and he would put his hand under my shirt to feel me up, and it would make my skin crawl. I hated it. So, I thought maybe I was a lesbian and just didn’t realize it. I had a friend who was bi, and we fooled around a little, but it was the same thing, I just felt disgusted by her hands on my body. I went through a whole journey of trying to figure out if I might be asexual, wondering if I had repressed some childhood trauma, all of it. Then I got to college and met Juno, and they talked a lot about feeling uncomfortable with their gender, and that’s when things clicked for me and I started to figure out that I was trans.” Percy stops talking and grimaces. “Sorry, is this way too much?”
“Not at all.” I was so transfixed by his story that I moved closer without even realizing it, and now my knee is nudging his and my arm has slipped from the back of the couch to land across his shoulders. “I want to hear about it.”
He nods and picks at the label on his empty beer bottle some more.
“Right, so, I figured after transitioning I would feel better about…” He waves his hand.
“Sex?” I guess, and he nods. “But you don’t?” Guilt writhes in my stomach. Did he really not want me kissing him before? Am I making him uncomfortable now? I start to pull my arm off of his shoulders, but he reaches up and tugs it back into place.
“No, I do. I fooled around and had sex with some guys after I started on T and got my top surgery, and that was okay, good even. But I still had a lot of dysphoria, so it was hard to fully get into it. So then I got bottom surgery and…” He swallows and his cheeks pink. “There are just some things I’m still insecure about, so I haven’t… let myself explore very much since then.”
“Oh.” My throat tightens and my gut heats. “Well, you know, if you ever need someone safe to help you out with that…” I throw in a laugh after the offer, just in case it comes across too forward, so we can both play it off as a joke if we have to. But I hold my breath waiting for his response.
“Does sex coaching fall under the category of personal training?” he teases, shifting on the couch to angle his body towards me, the blush on his cheeks darkening.
