Rupali
Changing your whole career track and major isn’t the
most
drastic response to a break-up, right?
Whatever misgivings Tahani may voice, I’m fairly certain it’s going to work out. ‘Engineer’, ‘lawyer’, and ‘doctor’ are all equally-prestigious career paths, and the number of science and math classes I’ve taken, while a
bit
excessive for pre-law, don’t prevent me from switching tracks now. Pre-med is
maybe
doable if I break my back on biology courses next year, but I really don’t have the time or the energy to worry about that right now.
Right now, all I’m concerned with is never taking a single class with Kaal–or even in the same building as Kaal–ever again.
We broke up only two weeks before summer ended, which didn’t leave me a lot of time for radically rescheduling my entire semester. The first week of term was thus a mad scramble of running from department to department, handing them each a different enrollment form for every single lecture and discussion session, so that a pissed-off looking clerk could manually enroll me through the school’s outmoded database system. Tahani’s partner Kimberly proved indispensable here, directing me to the exact websites and locations I needed to hit up to pull the whole caper off. Without her I’d probably still be stuck in differential equations classes hoping I didn’t accidentally run into Kaal and praying for students to drop the classes I wanted.
Instead, Kimberly tracked down every possible credit I could take this term without locking myself into any particular track, which were also not high-in-demand core classes, so I could simply sign up. Sure, I had to basically complete all of my out-of-department and ‘interdisciplinary’ requirements at once, meaning that I’d probably never get to take a fun class in the future ever again, but it was a small price to pay for the certainty of knowing that my school life was completely separate from Kaal’s.
Now, with all of that administrative wrangling behind me, my mornings were finally peaceful, if still somewhat uncanny. My first thought on waking was still about which dining hall to meet Kaal at, to reach for my mental checklist of where our next shared class was before remembering that …
Well. Before
remembering
.
Thinking about it honestly, it was probably unhealthy to conjoin myself to Kaal like that, to try to sync up our classes and study together and spend practically every waking moment together. In light of how things turned out, I have to wonder now: how suffocated did Kaal feel? Did he see me merrily putting myself next to him for the remainder of our shared lives, adding another shackle to the burdens he was already saddled with? Did I push him to his breaking point, oblivious to how I was a constant reminder of the lie he had been forced to live, while I mistook him for my fated, my other half, my peace?
Get out of bed, Rupali. You can’t wallow forever.
Walk to campus alone. Grab breakfast alone. Might as well just get an egg sandwich and a coffee and eat it while walking to class, give myself a little leeway to try and find the right building and classroom on time.
… And then get lost
anyway
and have to text Tahani to come rescue me from my own sense of direction.
“Wow bestie, it’s a good thing we’re taking you to gender studies. You know. So you can learn why depending on a
guy
to lead you around is a bad idea!”
Okay, that one got a smile out of me. Half of one, anyway.
We’re not exactly going to gender studies, not really. We’re going to the first discussion session of a class that’s offered by the Women and Gender Studies department, yes, but is technically an academic writing course that inexplicably checks like three whole boxes for my out-of-specialization requirements. I’m taking it with Tahani and Kimberly, so at least I’m not doing
all
my coursework alone this term.
They make a lovely pair: Tahani with her gleaming, straight tresses, all long limbs and angular features and effortless style, with Kim’s arm almost perennially wrapped around her waist. From what little of their dating history I’ve gleaned, Kimberly and Sif—one of Tahani’s other partners—were already a couple when Tahani first met them.
Tahani told me their spark was undeniable right away, and I believe her wholeheartedly. Kim’s style is eclectic, like an art student trying to make a statement with every accessory and component of her outfit. She dresses almost exclusively in blacks and whites, sporting black knee-high boots and black elbow-length gloves to accentuate a short, white dress today. Even her hair follows the motif, with her platinum-blonde locks interleaved with dark, dyed streaks. A pair of round obsidian glasses complete the look, and I find myself frequently wondering why she’s so always determined to look like a chess board—and moreover, why it
works
.
What’s really intriguing about Kim, though, is how
muscular
she is. Not in a bulked-up way, like Sif, but more toned and
defined
, like a diagram from a biology textbook come to life. Sif and Kim are a very ‘active’ couple, Tahani tells me, and jokingly calls Kim a ‘muscle femme’, which I nod along with because it sounds right. She’s undeniably feminine while being undeniably
ripped
, exuding an aura of power and solidity and stability that I can’t help but admire, in some strange way.
I couldn’t tell you why if asked, but I really can’t keep my eyes off Kimberly, and I find myself paying close attention to the way she treats Tahani: like a delicate flower whose petals cannot be even lightly rumpled. Arm around Tahani’s shoulders, or a hand on the small of her back, or on her thigh—Kim’s always touching Tahani, almost like she’s unable to bear having her out of arm’s reach. The two of them are akin to a length of rough-hewn steel cable wrapped around a delicate and intricate sculpture. Their dynamic fascinates me, though if I’m being honest with myself, I think I do know why I’m so captivated.
See, the way Kimberly looks at Tahani just reminds me so much of the way I used to look at Kaal.
“Wait, here? This is so weird!”
We’ve arrived at the classroom. It’s a lecture hall—a small, low-capacity, tucked-away one, but a lecture hall all the same, with whiteboards in the front, rows of empty seats, and a projector someone forgot to turn off on the way out. This class has an enrollment cap far below the room’s capacity, really underscoring how little care or attention must have been paid in assigning a space to it.
“Pretty good chance of us being the only ones here today, since we haven’t had a lecture yet and it’s pretty ambiguous as to whether we should even attend,” Kim explains, striding to the front row. “Plus, this is the kind of class people end up taking as filler a few weeks in, frankly.”
Her voice is mellifluous and deep, with a pleasing quality that reverberates in my mind like brass cymbals. Kimberly always wears a bright red lip, the same shade every time. It’s the color of fresh droplets of blood from being bitten too hard. I settle down next to her, and Tahani sits beside me—oops, I probably shouldn’t have put myself in the middle like this.
“Our old friend is leading the discussions, by the way.” Tahani leans forward to whisper conspiratorially to Kimberly, draping herself over me in the process.
“I saw! New pronouns on the academic profile, too: ‘
they/them
’, down from ‘he/him’.” Kimberly’s grimacing for reasons I don’t understand. “I don’t wanna be presumptuous, but I think they’re backsliding!”
“Backsliding ..?” I inquire, completely lost.
“Right! This
incredible
ongoing mystery!” Tahani turns fully towards me.
“So, Tahani and I have taken about three classes with the gender studies department so far,” Kimberly explains.
“The professors fucking
despise
me!” Tahani delivers this news with her brightest smile and a frankly concerning amount of glee.
“I recall Zeig giving you an ‘A’, darling,” Kimberly reminds her.
“Yeah, after I trashed all the material she assigned us!”
“You clearly trashed it well.” Kimberly’s amused, her lips quirking. “Anyway, we’ve had the same TA for all those classes, an individual of … indeterminate gender identity.”
“Indeterminate, but absolutely
incredible
to watch.” Tahani wiggles her eyebrows for emphasis.
“What … is that supposed to mean? Indeterminate
how
?”
“I really do hate to speculate,” Kimberly mutters, looking oddly bashful—her expression makes me want to hug her. “However … I’ve never seen someone declare their affinity for manhood and masculinity so ardently while
completely
refusing to take any steps to transition.”
“Yeah, and like I get it?” Tahani shrugs. “Diagnoses are harder to come by, private clinics are shuttering, waitlists are ballooning …”
“So I’ve tried about as unsubtly as I can to indicate,
hey
,
maybe we can hook you up
. You know, without implicating myself. Or being overly familiar.”
“For all the good it did,” Tahani snickers. “They clearly hate us.”
“You should antagonize them less,” Kimberly shoots back.
“What did you do?” I sigh, because I know my sister.
“Nothing!” Tahani raises both her hands, palms empty. “I just asked them a few questions about ‘performativity’, is all. It was very theoretical!”
“She asked if the gender society imposes on you or the gender you declare is more real,” Kimberly explained, rolling her eyes. “Except, in really pointed Tahani-isms.”
“And I’m not sorry either, I’ve sort of used up my patience for people languishing in the closet.” Tahani rolled her eyes back at Kim. “You may not like my methods, but someone’s got to bang on the closet door.”
“For all the good it did,” Kimberly echoed. “I get it, Tahani, but do try a little tact today, if you can manage that.”
“Bit low on tact, dunno if I can manage a whole
little
. Maybe a smidge, or a—”
“
Tahani
!”
“Did y’all catch this on the way in, by the way?” Tahani reaches into her backpack, presumably to avoid addressing Kimberly’s chastisement. “Looks like the GSA is trying some
shenanigans
without us!”
She pulls out a crumpled-up flyer and hands it to me. I smoothen it out on the chair’s tabletop attachment and stare, amazed, at the announcement.
“No way!” I gasp.
“
Way
,” Tahani giggles.
“They’re doing the drag ball
this month
?” I’m genuinely astonished. “Not just that—this date’s for a
week
from now? Why have they moved it up so far from Halloween, and
how
do they expect to pull it off?”
“Especially without you two,” Kimberly adds.
I’d been so stunned by Tahani’s revelation that I hadn’t noticed Kim leaning in to peer at the flyer, bringing her body closer to mine than I was ready for. She smells amazing—I mean, her perfume does, which is clearly what I’m smelling, otherwise I’d be thinking about how amazing
her body
smells and that’s weird.
“Well, the ‘why’ of it is easy. They pissed away the budget on a doomed venture, remember?” Tahani looks as smug as I feel. “As for the ‘how’ … I mean, sucking ass is always an option.”
“I’d
pay
to see how much they’re going to fuck this up,” I muse wistfully.
“Um, bestie, we’re going to do exactly that?” Tahani taps on the flyer. “They’re literally selling tickets.”
“You want to
attend
?”
“You said it, Ru,” Tahani reminds me. “We’ve got to make sure we’re there to see it crash and burn in person.”
Suddenly, I’m not so sure. “I don’t know, girlypop …”
“Yeah, I’m with Ru here.” Kim places a hand on my shoulder, presumably to comfort me, but it’s having rather the opposite effect. “I don’t know if waltzing back into that den of vipers will do either of you any good.”
“We’ll be waltzing all over the shattered ruins of their den, actually,” Tahani insists. “Ru, just picture it. You and me in our crispest get-ups, looking like heartthrobs out of a pin-up, twirling amidst the smoking ruins of an ill-conceived, rushed, slapdash non-starter that Jeffrey
completely
fucked up. You’re telling me you don’t want to see the look on his face when it all falls apart, as we
know
it inevitably will?”
When she puts it like
that
…
“Come
on
,” Tahani whines, tugging at my sleeve. “Sif and I will spruce you up, promise. It’ll be like flaunting it in front of a jealous ex—organisation, ex-organisation that we were both a part of and which ejected us for spurious and frankly bigoted reasons. Yeah.”
“Excellent save, my heart,” Kimberly chuckled.
I take it in stride. “Okay, fine, but y’all better make me look
stunning
.”
“Oh, honey, that’s not going to be difficult
at all
.”
Kimberly’s just placed her hand on mine. Kimberly is squeezing my hand. Kimberly is speaking to me, and I legitimately have to marshal all the willpower I can summon to comprehend the words.
“... wouldn’t she look handsome all butched-up, darling?” Kimberly asks Tahani. “I can do her hair up, Sif can pick out a nice three-piece from zer wardrobe …”
“And I have that purple suit I’ve been meaning to wear!” Tahani gushes. “We’re going to leave that venue smoking.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I manage to force the words out after a struggle; Kimberly’s still touching me, and it’s hard to think.
“Why don’t you come over after your day’s done, and we can—”
“OH, COME THE HELL ON.”
I’m spared from attempting to formulate a coherent response to Kimberly’s invitation, only to turn around and be floored by the sight of one of the hottest East Asian women—
people
, one of the hottest
individuals
I’ve ever seen. They’re statuesque, bronze tones and sculpted limbs that are largely on display, given that they’re wearing only a bright red halter top and microshorts—nanoshorts, practically—that barely cover more than their unmentionables, their—excuse me—
massive
breasts practically bursting through the fabric. Gleaming jet-black hair shimmers down both shoulders, spaghetti-straight, and a hopefully-blunted rapier hangs loosely at their hip. All they’re carrying is a black laptop bag slung across one shoulder as they make their way to the front of the classroom.
They do not look happy.
“Mingyu!” Tahani clicks her tongue as she greets our TA with her signature finger guns. “It’s me, Tahani, your favorite tra—”
“Do
not
say that word on campus. And it’s
Em
to you two, thank you very much.”
Em deposits their laptop bag on the desk with a heavy thud, places their hands on their hips and glowers at us.
“The first lecture hasn’t even
happened yet
,” they remind us. “You literally do not have to be here.”
“Then why are you?” Tahani’s smirking, and I feel like she shouldn’t be.
“
Because
, genius, I’m supposed to check if anyone turned up and babysit them if so!” Em snarls. “If you two—”
“Three, we’ve brought a friend, see? This is Rupali!”
Flourishing, Tahani presents me to Em like I’m a grand prize behind door number three, making me want to melt into the seat. Completely at a loss for how to respond to this tremendously fraught social situation of Tahani’s making, I wave at Em sheepishly.
“Great,
more
of you,” Em growls, destroying any hopes I’d had of making a good first impression. “Seriously, what were you expecting?”
“We just wanted a chance to catch up with our favorite TA!” Kim chimes in with a certain
tone
, revealing to me that she’s not quite as sedate as she might have pretended to be earlier. “Say hi, catch up on how
they’re
doing …”
“My pronouns are not your business, Yin-Yang!” Em rolls their eyes. “So mind your own, would you?”
“Withholding pronouns in a gender studies class? How
unorthodox
, teach!” Tahani sounds
delighted
to get a quip in.
“Don’t call me ‘
teach
’ either.” Em’s shaking their head as they turn around, not even looking at us anymore. “Between you and my advisor, I’m 100% giving up on ever teaching.”
Surreptitiously, Tahani and Kim shoot each other a look, and Kimberly mouths ‘Advisor?’
“Admin blues, teach? Tell Tahani all about it!” Tahani tries and fails to sound sympathetic while continuing to radiate smugness, presumably for her previous jibe. “I’ve had plenty of occasion to tangle with the suits myself—well, at least until the racists kicked me out of the advocacy org, but whatever.”
“Sorry, I forgot to bring my tiniest violin.”
“Oh come on, you know you wanna
dish
.” Tahani’s doing her I-can-get-away-with-anything grin and steepling her fingers. “Lay it out for us? It’s not like you have a syllabus to cover!”
One palm flat on the desk, Em leans forward with an eyebrow arched as high as it will go. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t prepare slides for
morning gossip
.”
“I can fix that!”
Without wasting any time, Tahani pulls out her phone and does what I can only describe as
the thing
. She uses Bluetooth to access the classroom’s projector somehow, and turns it on herself.
“What in the—are you even allowed to meddle with that?!” Em is flabbergasted.
“If I don’t, who will?” Tahani shrugs. “Don’t worry about it too much, teach. Just know that mastery of AV is how I’m always ready to make a dramatic entrance, and that my arcane mastery of the technological arts can work in your favor today.”
“
My
favor?” Em scoffs. “You know what, fine. You wanna learn about
academic writing
? I’ll teach you everything you need to know about academic writing, right here right now.”
Pulling out their own phone, Em e-mails Tahani a document and instructs her to navigate to a specific paragraph on a specific page. Once it’s up, the three of us squint at it, carefully reading the too-bright words. It appears to be a testimony, of some sort, translated from audio interviews with a non-native speaker. Em walks up to the projected page and points at a specific sentence.
“Highlight this.”
Tahani does so right away, displaying an unusual degree of compliance, for her.
“So.” Em approaches us, arms folded. “Tell me what that sentence means.”
Perhaps it’s not wise to suppress the urge that this is some kind of trick question, given how blunt and straightforward the sentence is. I do so anyway and attempt an answer.
“From what I can tell, the interviewee here is saying that she can’t get pregnant, which makes her different from other women.” I relate the words to Em slowly, wondering what the catch is.
“
Other
women being the operative word?” Em asks, in a leading way. “Implying, therefore, that the speaker considers
herself
a woman? That’s why you used that particular
pronoun
, right?”
“Well, that’s what the text says,” I agree, feeling oddly helpless.
“Cool! Yes! Of course!” Em throws their hands up in exasperation. “Because this isn’t a matter of anthropology, or sociology, or trans studies or whatever-the-fuck-else! It’s a matter of basic fucking
literacy
, which apparently an undergrad non-declared major possesses more of than my advisor who specializes in
post-post-feminism
, WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE!”
Em whirls around, brandishing their palm at the projected page.
“For you see, dear bright-eyed, bushy-tailed students, you are gazing upon one of the most cited works in the social sciences on the topic of ‘third genders in non-Western societies’, a topic I have both scholarly and personal, lived experience with. Given the rather grating dominance of scholars in this field who are utterly clueless and frankly more than a
little
exotifying, I expected my endeavors and familiarity with the culture in question would grant me a degree of epistemic authority on the subject. Can anyone guess how that worked out?”
Instantly, Tahani’s hand shoots up.
“It’s a
rhetorical question
,” Em cries out in clear anguish.
“You got a lecture on how you shouldn’t colonize
your own culture
, which is something you can do, apparently!” Tahani blurts out with all the tact she can muster.
That is,
none
.
Em, for their part, actually seems pleasantly surprised, hesitating for a few moments before continuing.
“Actually … pretty much, yes. See, my dear advisor, in their infinite grace and wisdom, told me that I couldn’t just set out to contradict the established orthodoxy on this topic with ‘very little to substantiate my theory’. I couldn’t point to the bloody text itself, which
clearly
indicates an individual who despite being “
born male
” declares herself a woman affirmatively. Do you know how many citations of this thing I’ve seen where the paper brazenly asserts that the speaker and therefore the people of the ‘third gender’ in her society do
not
believe themselves to be women, because—and I’m
quoting
here—‘they are aware they cannot get pregnant’?”
“What the
fuck
?” I’m astounded. “So we’re just
explicitly
defining ‘woman’ as ‘can bear a child’? In
gender studies
?”
“Post-post-feminism, none of that radfem shit in our discipline, please!” Em tuts at me. “Besides, that’s not an answer to ‘how many’.”
“All of them?” Kimberly suggests.
“Correct!” Em claps their hands together. “See, if the speaker here is calling herself a woman, then she isn’t some mystical foreign ‘third gender’, she’s just a run-of-the-mill boring transgender woman, and
that’s
not fun!
That’s
not exciting! That’s not exotic! So if I was going to—and I’m
quoting again
—‘impose Western discourses of colonial gender on enlightened, gender-expansive societies’, I had to have more proof than just pointing to the evidence of the
words in front of my lying eyes
. After all, my advisor reasoned, how do I know the translation here is accurate? Saying that every academic citing this paper is
wrong
needs more than a single sentence! Which, fair, I can hand them that one.”
Nodding sagely, Em turns away from the page and from us, taking a few measured steps before predictably spinning on their heel, wild-eyed and practically manic.
“JUST ONE PROBLEM, THOUGH, TEACH! SEE,
I SPEAK THE FUCKING LANGUAGE
!”
“
Damn
.” Tahani’s impressed, which doesn’t happen often. “Though I’m guessing that after cracking the case wide open, you weren’t able to turn the gender-criminals in to the Gender Police.”
“Not quite. The way this works is that the fart I’ve been shackled to can be as wrong as they like, and I have to fucking deal with it.”
Clearly done with … well, everything, Em grabs their laptop from the desk and makes their way towards the exit.
“Since you’re so good with AV, turn that thing off before you leave,” Em calls over their shoulder. “I have to do something
actually meaningful and productive with my time
now that my silly little delusions of correcting the fucking record have been put to rest, such as teach some idiot thespians how to properly stage fall, or continue to be ghosted by my fucking girlfriend!”
On their way out, Em slams the heavy double doors harder than I thought was possible for a person of their build, making us all jump. Kimberly’s grimacing again, and Tahani looks uncharacteristically chastened.
“Yeah, I’m gonna call it,” Tahani announces after a few moments of pondering. “I think they’re having a shittier week than you, Ru.”
Jeff
Desi
Jeff is gone. No more Jeff! I apply the last of the gold eyeshadow, the final touches of mascara, and lean back to behold
Desi
fluttering her pretty little eyelashes at me from the mirror.
Everything is going
so
well for me! I have my handsome prince charming, gallantly waiting on me hand and foot, passing me my make-up brushes and palettes and various different articles of clothing to try on—I let him sneak as many peeks as he likes, of course, the sly dog.
I can’t believe Rupali ever let a chivalrous man like him go, but of course she’d throw even the possibility of friendship in the trash if she couldn’t
own
him like she’d been promised. I feel so much less guilty about befriending her just because she was dating Kyle, frankly. Now my man has a girlfriend he
deserves
, who he
chose
, and who he
truly
belongs with. Perhaps there was just too much familiarity and shared history between the two, and so Rupali couldn’t realize what a special catch my tall, dark and handsome prize is.
And oh yes, I do look a
woman
, a mighty fine one if I do say so myself! The hormones are
working
, and if those two
peasants
can frolic about getting she’d and ma’am’d while looking like characters out of their inane foreign cartoons, I’m going to show them what it means to gaze upon a true
queen
.
So from now on, my name is Desdemona, or Desi for short! It’s a playful little nod to my honeymuffin’s homeland, if I may say so myself. Kyle was so
elated
when I told him, he was practically crying tears of joy! The wonders of having a partner who actually cares about him and
really
appreciates his culture.
Ah, I do love his strong, yet gentle and comforting presence
so
much!
Once the competition is over, we
will
have to do something about that spot of gynecomastia he’s been dealing with. It really is a shame to have such amazing pecs
ruined
by those unsightly things, but give it a few years, knock out some of the competition, and I’ll have a millionaire hubby with his body restored perfectly.
We’re getting ahead of ourselves, though. Right now we need to focus on my
official debut
into the world, which will happen at the GSA’s upcoming drag ball!
I am so
excited
! We’ve been planning this as a fundraising event for quite some time, and with the
friction
removed, we’ve really been able to get some work done! With my eye for the flamboyant-yet-tasteful, I’m in charge of the decor, the ambience, and of course securing the right band to really set the mood.
It’s going to be a
wonderful
night. I’ve mobilized my sweetie-pie to come along and put up flyers on campus later, but right now, it is time for
practice
.
“So, sweetheart,
how
do I look?” I turn around to face my beloved, the on-point makeup
radiating
off me to compliment the meticulously assembled bright gold dress and long, platinum-blonde wig. “Do you think a tiara’s a bit too ostentatious, darling? I just
adore
how gaudy South Asian festivities can be, so I thought I’d proudly rep your culture’s practices, boo!”
“You thought you’d … rep … my culture?”
A bit slow on the uptake, but no worries there.
“Why of course, an event like this demands that we put on a
show
, especially now that I can safely express myself with you around! I’ve
got
to give proper respect to my charming prince.”
I give him a little kiss on the cheek, and he shyly looks away. Such a sweet, gentle boy!
“By wearing a tiara?”
He really doesn’t get it, huh. Lacking education on his own traditions, tragic.
“Gold is
very
important to your rituals, yes!” I wink at him. “I’d have splashed in a little red for wedding colors, but we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves now, do we?”
Kyle’s sputtering and choking furiously in response—he’s just so adorable when he’s disarmed like this! I’m always so moved by how much I stun and overwhelm him with my love.
“I suppose I could make it
more
obvious to the uncouth and uncultured. Don’t you think this getup would be so much more
complete
if we added some henna, darling?”
“
Complete
is one way to describe it.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement!”
He’s so supportive, even if he’s a bit too shy to speak at length.
“So since you’ve already got a whole drag thing ready, maybe you could help me put together an outfit too?”
“Well, certainly, if I can help my man out in any way, I will! Let’s see, you’ll
slay
in a nice sparkly suit, we’ll make you a
proper
drag king so we can
dazzle—”
“Uh. Desi, I’m a guy. I don’t think it’s
really
drag if I just dress up as a dude?”
Wait. Is he really suggesting …
No. What? Kyle as a drag
queen
? No. That’s not…
No!
He can’t do that to me! Doesn’t he understand how
wrong
that is? Why would he even suggest this? Is he trying to hurt me on purpose? Did I do something to upset him? Why not just be
mature
and communicate about it properly, instead of dropping this nonsense on me? Kyle can’t just
do
this to me!
“Sweetie.” I speak slowly, gently, in order to let the message better
penetrate
his
thick skull
, “with love, you can’t be a drag queen. You’d never pull that off! To fem is a
skill
, an
art
, and I don’t think you’re particularly artistically inclined, are you? We’d honestly need a whole block of mica to cover up your natural masculinity!”
“I mean, I thought a big part of the point of drag was exaggeration? Exposing the performativity inherent to gendered presentation?”
What the
fuck
is he babbling on about?
“Well, there are
limits
, Kyle.”
I gesture at my
incredible
hunk, his
indisputable
manliness, his
sturdy
body, his
rugged
features framed so perfectly by his curls, which … Now hold on just a minute.
“If anything, we should invest a little into taming those snarls on your head, sweetie. How long has it been since you had a haircut? I’ll book you in with a friend of mine.”
“I mean, I’ve been putting it off because I kind of like the idea of growing it out, and—”
Ugh, I am
not
going to be seen out and about with a shaggy-haired hobo on my arm. I can’t be a princess without a prince, you
oaf
.
“But Kyyyyle, you’d look so
handsome
if you got a proper haircut.”
I give him a pout and the doe-eyes. Surely he’ll see reason, given
I
am the fem here, and it is only
right
that we leave that to the one who can pull it off without straining disbelief.
“Yeah … sure.”
“There’s a good boy!”
Took some getting there, but I knew he’d see reason.
“Besides,” I’m thinking out loud for his benefit, “we really don’t need more amateurish attempts at drag in
our
apartment. If anything, we’re lucky to have your male energy here to balance out the complete embarrassment of those two and their horrendous 24/7 failure to put on a show—or, well, a good-looking one at any rate.”
“I don’t think they’re ‘putting on a show’, Des.”
“
Desi
.”
“Either way, I think there’s a difference between drag and … Fake transitioning for a competition?”
“Oh, you think so? You think they’d do
anything
different if I put them on a stage? Other than
choke
, of course.”
He’s shrugging. “I mean, probably yeah. I don’t think Nichole wearing shorts and t-shirts counts as drag.”
“Don’t mistake a lack of
skill
for a lack of
trying
, darling. ‘My style is casual’ is the refuge of those whose hundredth attempt was still outdone by a chimp in face-paint.”
Snickering, I bump his shoulder with mine in an
I’m so bad
way, but he’s still going on about those two for some reason instead of complimenting
me
.
“Are they even going to the ball?” Kyle asks.
“Well, it’s hardly their type of thing, so I hadn’t thought to mention it. They’d just embarrass us—I mean,
themselves
—if they got it into their heads to go, wouldn’t they?”
“I mean—”
“Oh, of course you still want them to come, you’re so
kind
like that, if a bit clueless about real feminine glamour!”
“Guess I’ll have to watch and learn.”
He takes my teasing in stride, like a proper gentleman, even if he is overdoing the whole ‘kind and welcoming’ thing. I mean, even
imagining
those two at the ball is …
Wait.
“Kyleypoo, that’s perfect! It’s a
learning opportunity
for both of them, too! We should invite them right away!” And—I don’t say—if they
do
embarrass themselves, they’ll just have to
learn
from it. “See, this is why we make such a great pair!”
“... It is?”
I quickly finish off my look before heading out of my room and into the common area. Those two have a well-established routine, and right now they should be watching those
insipid
cartoons together, like the bizarre manchildren they ought to know they are.
I hear a commotion just as I am about to turn the corner.
“Is that as hard as you can—
SHIT!
”
When they come into view, Nichole and Katherine are staring at me from the couch, gasping, eyes wide, clearly rattled at finally having witnessed
true
glory. Nichole in particular is so cowed by my majesty that she is hiding under a blanket for safety, and Katherine is so taken aback that she has her hand over her mouth!
“Oh uh. Hi Jeff,” Nichole manages to blurt out. “Nice … femme strat?”
Gamers
. Will these two
ever
learn to speak properly?
“
Drag
, actually, and it’s Desi now. How are your cute little cartoons?”
Nichole and Katherine exchange a quick glance.
“
Single Part
is—I mean, it’s got pacing issues,” Nichole exclaims while seemingly twiddling her thumbs under the blanket, as Katherine gets up from the couch.
“I … I require hydration! Nichole?” Katherine blurts out her words a bit too loudly, like the histrionic attention-seeker she is.
She looks to Nichole for confirmation, and I can’t help but notice that she’s
not
offering me anything.
“Yeah, get me some too.” Nichole fails to correct the incredibly
rude
mistake.
“I’m
fine
, thank you for asking!” I roll my eyes openly.
Infuriatingly, neither of them responds. Katherine heads over to the fridge and retrieves that horrendous swill of an energy drink they both swear by, while Nichole returns her attention to where it
ought
to be, on
me
.
“The character dynamics are pretty fun now that the ensemble’s gotten more developed, but there are some weird growing pains that I think have to do with the scope of it expanding really rapidly and—”
“It’s a
cartoon
, Nicky dear. We all have to stop being little boys sooner or later.”
“... Right.”
“It is as expected that
you
would fail to appreciate the fine artistry in anime,
Desiree.
” Katherine pointedly hands Nichole her drink.
“
Desdemona
, Kathy.”
If this freak is going to insist on saying everyone’s full names, she can at least get them
right
.
“Oh, we are caring about using
proper
names now, are we? What a curious development. Have you learned to pronounce your boyfriend’s name, then?”
Not taking the bait.
“So! Are
you two
ready for the big night? You can’t show up to such an occasion unprepared, you know?”
I am taking the high road. I am electing to ignore that
little bitch
and her
meaningless jabs
, for the sake of being the bigger person here.
“The big night?” Nichole is completely clueless. “Is this some server thing I missed, or…?”
Reprobates. I am so
sick
of hearing about the server. If it’s not about me or Kyle getting the cash reward, I am
so
over it. Kyle is the only prize I need, standing at my back, reinforcing me against these two charlatans and their unsightly
shenanigans
.
“The GSA drag ball, silly! Have you really not heard about it?”
The two once again give each other a
look
, before talking to me.
“We’ve been busy,” Nichole explains, with a
tone
.
“Indeed. Busy. We simply did not deign to prioritize the activities of your organization, as we have objections to its recent activities,” Katherine elaborates.
“Yeah, I don’t actually know what it gets up to when it’s not kicking out brown women?” Nichole places a finger on her chin and has the temerity to
frown
at me, as if she isn’t being
incredibly
unfair right now.
“Perhaps if you
layabouts
were to get involved as proper allies to a
real
queer community instead of just uncritically swallowing every load of hogwash—”
Why did Katherine snort at that?
Rude
.
“—cooked up by outright homophobes trying to undermine the credibility of our safe and inclusive organization, then you would find that we do a lot of good, actually!” I finish my sentence despite that uncalled-for interruption.
“Oh yes, a
drag ball
truly is an essential cause to support. If the predominantly white, gay men of the community do not get their drag events, they will crumble from the erasure of their culture from queer spaces!” Katherine has the
gall
to roll her eyes.
“Thank you for your input,
straight
man on estrogen
.”
“I think what Katherine’s trying to say is that we’re not really
into
drag,” Nichole offers. “I mean. We’re presenting as trans women outside the competition, and I don’t think it’s for us to blur the lines between drag and transition, since we’re in pretty weird territory there to start with?”
“What funny ideas you two have!
I
think the two of you ought to attend
specifically
so that you can get the education on queer culture that you are sorely lacking. Who knows, perhaps you might even get to make friends you didn’t meet online, for once in your lives?”
“Well, what do
you
think, Kaalappan?”
Where the hell does Katherine get off, talking straight past me and at my man right in front of my face?
“Huh? I mean, well—”
“You don’t have to answer to her, darling. Your presence says all it has to, because after all, no matter what allegations of racism she has to throw at me
or
our organization, the only racial minority in the room is clearly backing
me
up!”
There, I’ve spared him the trouble of enduring her meandering prattle. My guy shouldn’t have to endure this ridiculous clown on his own.
“Oh, of course, my mistake. How could you
possibly
be racist when you are keeping a
hostage
who is—”
“
Kathy.
” Nichole interrupts, putting her hand on Katherine’s arm.
“What, Nichole? Am I to ignore what is plainly evident here, simply for the sake of keeping some imagined peace in our dwelling? Have you suddenly decided to let injustices stand
now
, of all times?”
What’s even
with
those two lately? Katherine must have been in some sort of meltdown when she attacked me for no reason, and now I keep noticing this strange, belligerent tone between her and her idiot boyfriend. I have no idea what is going on between them, so I keep quiet for a moment, just to see the hilarity play out.
“You’re not helping by doing it like this. Just give it a rest and let the two of them work it out instead of meddling!”
“Oh, you intend to stop me from standing up for what’s right?” Katherine demands, turning away like I’m not standing right here.
“If you’re going to suck at it,
yeah
.” Nichole’s completely unmoved by Katherine’s challenge.
“Oh, you think I
suck
, so I should be
stopped
? Is that how you respond to me
sucking
?”
Why does that sound so flirtatious? What bizarre, disgusting courtship ritual am I being forced to witness here?
“I
am
going to stop you if you’re going to do more harm than good, yeah.”
“And
how
do you intend to stop me, precisely?”
“You know
exactly
how. Bedroom, now.” Nichole commands.
Katherine just … She just gets up and leaves? Immediately?
What was
that
?
Nichole turns to look at both of us. “Sorry about that. We’ll go to the drag party.”
She gets up, then pauses, shaking her head as she faces me again.
“To be clear, I think you two dating is … whatever, in principle? I’m really disappointed when I hear about your behavior,
Desi
, but it’s not like I can stop Kyle from making bad decisions.”
How
DARE
she?
“I think you’ll find we’re making
great
decisions. Isn’t that right, Kyleypoo?”
Kyle responds with a noncommittal “Yeah, I guess.”
Nichole sighs. “Well, whatever. Sorry she made a whole thing out of it. We’ll be having some … private
discussions
… about her behavior. Don’t check on us.”
And with that she is gone, too. Off to do whatever it is those two get up to behind closed doors, which I
really
do not want to think about too much. Instead, I turn to my darling.
“So, let’s get on with sorting out those flyers! We’ve got to cover the whole campus today.”
Katherine
My research into proper fellating technique has yielded a deluge of results, though I am struggling to precisely formulate the
nature
of said results, flavour aside. Said flavour, a sort of briny umami, is certainly not unpalatable, though it is certainly more of an acquired taste, which I am in the process of acclimating to, through vigorous and repeated samplings.
Of Nichole’s cum, that is.
I suppose the flavor is altogether far less pertinent to examine than the ongoing question of just
what
this new state of affairs ought to be
interpreted as
. First issue to consider: W
hy
did you do that, Katherine?
Alternatively, why have I
continued
to do it, repeatedly, imbibing her adequate nectar of the moderately significant local minor deities with such an insatiable hunger?
Why am I now at all times battling–and being defeated by–this overwhelming urge to prod at her, taunt her, dare her to silence me until she asserts herself, berating me over my failings, moral and rhetorical alike, while my efforts to provoke her further only intensify her dominance over me?
Perhaps, Katherine, it would be pertinent to ruminate on this whilst your mouth is occupied with—
no
, right now it is time for
the DISHES.
Nichole has left to attend to her own business after reprimanding me for my conduct in our meeting with Desdemona
a name I really think she ought to reconsider–and so I am left to my own devices.
With the horrendously troubled couple we cohabit alongside having left to advertise their formal event, the common area ought to be empty, and I have been provided with an opportunity to deploy my masterful gambit of manipulating my peers into approving of me, by doing favours that address their needs and ensure their well-being is maintained!
The beast that lurks in the kitchen sink is a horror I shall slay through wielding the power of the rubber gauntlets and the cold steel of my scrubbing brush, purchased for just this very purpose. I have prepared myself through many late-night hours of research into the ideal methods for slaying this foe, and now, it is finally time to
strike.
I equip my armaments and set forth to the common room, wherein I shall—
Find myself facing a spotless kitchen counter.
Damnation
, Kaalappan. How am I to usurp your position as the most useful inhabitant of the apartment when you persist in getting ahead of me like this?
Well, if there is nothing to attend to in the living space, then I suppose my services may be dedicated to Nichole once more. Much as she still despises me as a person, I am at least capable of tending to her delightfully silky smooth, dignified,
feminine
penis.
It is an appendage which requires skilled treatment, of a manner I do not trust others to handle. As such, I retain sufficient irreplaceability that Nichole ought to recognize why her attempt to dispose of me–in favor of higher social standing within the server, of all things–was an utterly foolish endeavour.
An endeavour which, I admit, has succeeded in unifying the server in memetic bonding, with an escalating series of crude–though admittedly quite creative–memes of various anime women shouting the names of an impressive breadth of sex acts.
‘Ka-me-ha-me-
HANDJOB
’ one of them reads, a representative sample of the quality of wordplay at work here. ‘Giga dick breaker,’ a particularly elaborate animated example espouses.
Katherine, be honest with yourself. You are pretending to find these memes to be amusing in an effort to appear unfazed by their nature as mockeries of your own intercursive exclamations. As a direct consequence, in an effort to compensate for your own biases, you have overcorrected.
Regrettably it is true. The vast majority of these memes are utterly insipid, with contrived, reference-based humor that lacks the wit, tone and in particular the
timing
of their source material. The users of this server appear convinced that they may sufficiently imitate
me
by crudely mashing together words.
I will say, this level of distancing from–well, my own nervous exclamations in the heat of the moment–has made it somewhat difficult to even be offended. They are referencing an exaggeration of events which they had relayed to them through an unreliable narrator, is the truth of it.
No matter. Some good has clearly come from this, as the conflict between the Trickster Truthers and the Laurachads has been quelled. Making myself the villain to unite disparate factions, a gambit worthy of the finest masterminds, is rarely witnessed outside of fiction. I was definitely doing that on purpose.
Yes indeed, it is my fate to be the villain of Ranked Competitive Breast Growth, and I have a fine start on achieving the requisite notoriety appropriate for such a role. I shall give them the foe they so clearly desire, bask in infamy and—
Bah. The user ‘Melvin’ has posted a “Forbidden Technique: Footjob” meme which has killed the mood entirely.
Heir of Breast
Dude. Footjob?
Melvin
Haha yeah, cause you know, feet are weird-looking?
Errant of E-cups
Leave it to the Trickster Truthers to fail entirely at constructing functional jokes, huh.
Odinspattar
Hey, no, Melvin is a Laurasimp.
Templar of Tatas
No the fuck he isn’t?? He’s not even doing a femme strat??
Melvin
I mean, I’m ordering a skirt in case it comes in handy.
Jormungandr in my Pants
Case closed, she’s a Laurasimp.
Melvin
Who the heck is Laura
The flurry of messages that ensues revolves in its entirety around the crime of lacking affiliation with either faction of this devastating war. The original topic, my inappropriate bedroom conduct, appears to have been forgotten in its entirety.
Should I … let them know that Nichole has been …
Katherine, no. There is nothing to gain from reigniting the animosity towards you. Why would you even
consider
such an absurd maneuver? Ought you not to have better things to occupy yourself with, such as Nichole’s penis, or finding a means to repay Kaalappan for his kindness?
That kindness does still puzzle me. Kaalappan stood up for me when Nichole was lashing out, and he cared for me in the aftermath. Yet at the same time, he betrayed the trust of his fiancée in favor of Desdemona. Utterly incomprehensible on all counts, and worse yet, I am now
indebted
to my ostensible opponent in the competition.
Indebted to one who persists in tolerating the presence of that
utterly hollow
waste of air. It is maddening to see this injustice persist in front of me, and while the reaction I provoke in Nichole by pointing it out certainly has its benefits it is frustrating to be left witnessing such horrors without the means to
act
.
I simply cannot suffer the indignity of doing
nothing
to assist Kaalappan. Surely there must be something I ought to do, even as Nichole insists that I permit them to ‘work it out between themselves’.
Perhaps subterfuge is the way here. Evidently, there is something to Desdemona which is causing Kaalappan to overlook her many insufficiencies, as well as her complete lack of positive qualities. If I were to subtly undermine this incomprehensible spell she has put him under, then surely he will see that this courtship is terribly ill-considered.
Then
, there is the matter of prompting him to act on these feelings. Kaalappan strikes me as one who is quite similar to Nichole, in lacking the initiative to act on his desires. As such, I will have to manipulate him
just
right, such that he will act to free himself from this stifling, racist horror.
Then, well, there is still the matter of Rupali. Does Kaalappan like women at all? It remains to be revealed, but as it stands with Desdemona’s sudden turn towards femininity I suspect that Kaalappan’s available options are on even footing in that regard.
If Rupali is indeed among Kaalappan’s compatible options for partners I suppose that she may have him, if he wishes to have her in turn after this bout of infidelity. But if not? Well, Nichole has a claim to my mouth, but it is clear that she does not desire my heart, and, I mean, if Kaalappan were to—
Katherine, what the
fuck
are you contemplating? There is absolutely
no
reason to include yourself in the pool of potential partners for Kaalapan here merely on the basis that he expressed kindness towards you one singular time. Derail this train of thought immediately, what would even happen if
you
were to become the singular confirmed Agent of Kyle? Check Accord, do
anything
other than this absurd meandering.
Wait. A message request? From a user of the server? What might this be, all of a sudden?
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Hello Katherine, hope you’re doing well, or as well as you can given the circumstances. I’m really sorry that the server’s been treating you so badly, are you available for a quick chat?
This
individual? What madness is to be inflicted upon me now?
Katherine
I seem to recall that you were setting up betting pools regarding our “divorce”, Sir Only In This For The Money To Be Honest.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Haha yeah, I got a bit caught up in the moment there, sorry. You can call me Alex btw, it’s a bit shorter than the screen name.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
But anyway the bet is actually part of why I’m messaging you, I feel pretty bad about it so I’d like to offer you the revenue I get, when the week is up?
Katherine
Alexander, is this a jest? Are you seriously offering me your ill-gotten gains?
Only In This For The Money Tbh
It’s just Alex, it’s not short for anything. But yeah, I was thinking the money would be a bit of consolation? And then if you’re interested in doing business I have a second offer for you.
The brazen war profiteer wastes no time in pursuit of business, it appears. I am tempted to simply block him for his nonsense, but admittedly I am curious.
Katherine
And what business might that be,
Alex
?
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Well, would you be up for selling me your spare meds?
Huh? What manner of nonsense is this?
Katherine
Elaborate?
Only In This For The Money Tbh
I mean, they send us these huge packages of redundant meds and it’s a shame to let it all go to waste, right? There’s a bunch of different esters of estradiol in there that you’re probably never going to use before they expire, there’s the blockers, I dunno about you but I got gel cans and boxes of patches too, there’s even estrogen
pills
in there.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
That stuff could be better used by trans women who need it, and I’ve got a side hustle going, getting hormones from the competition to those girls. It’s been pretty lucrative with the crackdowns on informed consent.
Katherine
You expect me to
sell
you these hormones, because there are trans women in need? What do you take me for, Alex?
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Someone who’s capable of seeing how this is a win for everyone involved?
Katherine
I have no intention of
profiting
from the plight of these trans girls. I am an
ally
of the trans community, and you will not sully my dedication to that cause, hormonemonger.
I will donate my excess, free of charge
.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Ok. Do you know any trans women to donate this to?
Katherine
I do not. But
you
do, and so the hormones will find their way to their rightful inheritors once I have donated them to you.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
… I’m going to have to insist on paying you, girl. What the fuck.
Katherine
I refuse payment. Take the hormones.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
I will, if you take the money!
Katherine
I have no need for your money!
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Yeah you do! It’s a pretty substantial amount!
He sends me an image going through his offer for each individual item. Admittedly, it would indeed present me with an aberrant financial windfall, rarely seen for a full-time student such as myself.
Katherine
If it is of such great importance to you, I shall permit you to compensate me for the wares.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Fucking finally. If you don’t want to give me your address we can meet at the natural sciences building?
Katherine
You speak as if there is only one natural sciences building.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Well yeah. At the university. Idk if you’ve noticed but everyone in this server lives in the same city.
I… had not noticed that. But all right. I suppose it is unwise to look this gift horse in the mouth, unless said horse is particularly large and wooden, in which case the horse ought to be investigated thoroughly to guard oneself against infiltrators within its equine depths. Though, I am unsure how a horse transmitted digitally in the form of money would fit into this schema, as I suspect it would function less akin to an offering left at the gates of my empire, and more akin to an exchange of collectible creatures in the vaunted monster-capturing genre?
The point is, I am left with minimal reason to suspect that this
Alex
individual seeks to gain anything from me aside from my estrogen. And assorted testosterone blockers.
Katherine
It is settled, then. You have a deal.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Good doing business with you, I’ll run the outcome of the bet by you when the time limit’s up in case I get the wrong idea of you and Nichole’s relationship.
Damnation.
This contract requires certainty about the nature of my relationship with Nichole.
It, I suppose, is … carnal in nature, certainly. Belligerent, to a point where characterizing it as ‘hateful’ would only be mildly excessive, and yet we do fornicate with some regularity. To describe it as ‘friends with benefits’ would be a misnomer, I think, for at this stage I do not believe we have something that is accurately described as
friendship
.
And yet, we have been invited to attend a formal occasion
as a dyad
, and it appeared implicitly understood that we will indeed be making an appearance. I am of two minds about whether I would in fact like to
do
so. On one hand, the notion of Nichole attending alone–making acquaintances who will be misled about my significance in her life–is
distressing
to me.
On the other hand, I still
do
resent how she has been behaving towards me. Do I
want
us to maintain an appearance of romantic entanglement to others? Truly, all I know with any certainty is that our present arrangement, tenuous as it is, appears mutually beneficial to us. And also that I am utterly obsessed with fellating Nichole.
Katherine
You ask difficult questions, for the nature of our entanglement transcends conventional descriptors.
Only In This For The Money Tbh
Well yeah it’s a queer relationship, they all do that. Just get back to me on whether you’re
together
in some sense of the word, ok?
Katherine
The covenant is sealed.
With that, I conclude that it is time for me to provoke Nichole once more. Perhaps I can slight her Verdant Knight’s performance on our last farm run, which
would
be an exceedingly effective goad, given that we both know I’ve never been as effective a damage-dealer as she is now. I would likely succeed in inspiring enough ire within her to finally get her to bruise my throat, though dangling her failure in that regard over her head like a Dong of Damocles is—
Kyle
Sorry about earlier.
Kaal?
A direct apology, this soon, and unprompted?
This must be a scheme of some kind. What else could possibly motivate him to send this? Is this recent bout of inexplicable kindness part of a long game on Kaalappan’s part? If so, would it not be a great tactical blunder to undermine it with such a suspiciously rapid turnaround?
Supposing instead that it
is
a genuine apology, an entirely different set of questions is raised. Anything that Kaalappan could so rapidly have chosen to apologize for must in fact be something he is already quite self-aware about, as there has not been time to pursue any genuinely significant revelations about the self since the incident.
Therefore
, he must have been entirely aware that I was
right
during the incident, or have realized as much as soon as the moment subsided. In which case, his reasons for remaining entangled with Desdemona do not emerge from his own free will, but instead from externally imposed obligations which he is not at present capable of disclosing, and so—
Kyle
Des really shouldn’t talk to you with so much contempt. I’m working on that.
Kyle
Honestly, I hear Nichole screaming at you a lot too; do you want me to have a word with her on your behalf? It’s just not right the way this apartment has turned you into a punching bag.
Katherine, you need to blink. Your eyes are hurting from staring at the message.
Of course,
that
is why my eyes are watering now: because I have stared unblinkingly at these pixels on a bright screen for too long, and now I have no choice but to shed a copious volume of tears to properly rehydrate them. I am doing this entirely for physiological and medical reasons, for my health, not due to any emotional turmoil Kaalappan has suddenly awakened in me by speaking to me in a way no one in my life has spoken to me before.
How am I supposed to respond to this?
Katherine
Why are you so nice to me?
More importantly, why can’t Nichole treat me the way Kaalappan does? Even when we are together carnally, we have never been as distant as we now stand. How did our friendship get so dismal? What has become of us that I genuinely, truly feel that Kaalappan is the one in this apartment who cares for me the most?
Kaalappan begins typing, then ceases for a moment before resuming. This goes on for quite some time, before finally I receive a simple, elegantly crafted message:
Kyle
Someone’s got to be, I guess.
It is
imperative
that I rescue this man from his predicament, with haste.
Rupali
I’m so, so glad Tahani invited me over.
Though I haven’t exactly spelled it out, Tahani knows how much Kaal’s absence has been weighing on me, freezing me in the amber of choking silences while my insides bubble and my mind refuses to stop echoing, refuses to stop tormenting me with how
harsh
I was when last we spoke. Being over at hers so often stops me from replaying that conversation and trying to figure out if I could have unlocked a magic sequence of words that’d just crack open his absurd, self-imposed shell, or worrying endlessly about how badly Jeffrey must be treating him.
‘His mistake’, Tahani reminded me the last time I was foolish enough to bring it up with her, and I repeat that to myself whenever Tahani isn’t around to distract me. His choices, his life, his mistakes to make because heaven knows Kaal hasn’t so much as stuck a toe out of line before.
Today, she’s bundled us up in Kimberly’s room. A massive, clunky microphone and a fold-away desk that reminds me of a ironing board with more surface area languishes half-inside a closet that I’m told Kimberly shuts herself in when recording. Her clothes, then, are stored in an actual
trunk
, and the extent of her wardrobe is surprisingly minimal. The whole room is rather spartan, in fact, with little by way of decor except the odd painting—Kim’s original work, Tahani tells me. It’s all sharp lines and geometric shapes, with shadows pooling at the confluence of the blacks and whites, each a meditation on shapes and lighting and limited perspective.
Or so I’m told, anyway.
They’ve sat me down on the bed between them, again, and are cooing and fussing over me together. It’s a bit surreal, letting my best friend’s partner roll up my sleeves and examine my forearms like she’s trying to read my future, asking “Is this okay?” before, at my prompting, tracing the path of my veins with a single, electric fingertip. Her nails are immaculate, like piano keys, and I find myself closing my eyes to focus better on the sensation.
“You’ll, ahem, probably do well in one of Sif’s older button-ups,” Kimberly finally says, after minutes upon minutes of silently caressing my flesh.
Somehow, I doubt she can make an accurate judgment of what shirts will fit me based on what she’s doing to me, but I don’t mind. The light of day fades, and Kim turns on her fairy lights, bathing the room in a pleasing glow with minimal luminosity. I find myself looking at her paintings anew, looking around and realizing she’s committed the shadows surrounding me to canvas, as though her long, dextrous fingers could simply thread the cloth of the insubstantial and drape it over picture frames.
I should mention I took an edible with Tahani and Kim when they offered me one. That’s probably why I can’t stop looking at her fingers, or asking Kim to touch my arms again.
Giggling next to me—Tahani! Right. Her head is on my shoulder, and she’s rubbing my back for reasons only she knows.
“Roll your sleeves up more,” Tahani whispers, and I obey, because it seems like a good idea.
Bicep, tricep—Kimberly’s spidery digits go haywire, and I think she’s trying to touch as much of me as she can, sliding her hand up and down and around and all over every inch of me she can reach.
“That
was
a good idea,” I tell Tahani, who nods without looking at me, grinning as broad as her pretty lips let her.
Kim’s practically wrapped around me, not quite hugging, but also definitely
embracing
, her hands roaming free now, completely untethered from even the pretense of sizing me up. Up my back, down my sides, up front—no, she paused.
“Why’d you stop,” I whine.
“Sorry.”
“Hurry up …”
More giggling, this time from Kimberly.
“Okay. Impatient.”
Slow. So slow, slow, slowly dragging her palms up my torso, slow enough to make me shudder and shiver and …
Oh …
“Stop there,” I gasp.
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Her face is so close to mine, suddenly. She’s so pretty without her glasses.
“You’re pretty with your glasses, too,” I assure her. “You’re just. You’re just so pretty.”
“You are too, Ru.”
“Someone has a
type
,” Tahani snickers.
“Shut up,” Kimberly croons, without taking her eyes off mine. “We’re having a moment.”
“Not yet we aren’t,” I pout.
“No?”
I hesitate. Her hands were on my … Well, her hands were where I wanted them. Still. Doing nothing.
“I really want you to …” I begin.
“I really want to.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah.”
She leans in, and her lips meet mine, and I realize I’ve been looking for them for decades. Admittedly, that wasn’t quite what I meant to ask for, because I wanted her to—
ohmigosh.
Kimberly’s squeezing and groping and
mauling
me like I’m dough to knead, like she needs to
dig into me
and open me up so she can dip her pretty head low and take a ruddy chunk right out of my heart, and I want her to, I want her to, I want to taste my own still-beating blood on her tongue and feel her probe me as deep as she can go and leave me empty and full and turned inside out until everything is bare before her.
Well, her and Tahani.
Tahani.
My best friend. My sister. Kimberly’s girlfriend, who is sitting next to me, oblivious and humming, not realizing that I’m begging for her partner to desecrate me.
Fuck, fuck,
fuck, what have I done?!
“Tahani!” I cry once I’ve extricated my tongue from Kimberly’s mouth.
“Oh? I mean, we could ask—”
“Tahani, I’m
so sorry
!”
Throwing myself at her feet, clutching her knees, I sob loudly into her skirt and—well, I give her a bit of a fright, I now realise.
“Ru, what’s the matter?!”
“Tahani, I’m sorry, I just kissed her, and I know I—”
“Wait,
her
. You said
her
, correct?”
“... Yeah?” I look up. “I just kissed Kimberly, and—”
“FUCKING FINALLY!”
“What?”
Both of Tahani’s hands are on my face now, squeezing my cheeks.
“Well, don’t stop now!”
Cackling like a witch, Tahani gets up and practically
skips
out the door. She slams it shut, and I swear I hear it
lock
.
“Oh.” I turn my head to wince at Kim sheepishly.
“Polyamory,” Kim states by way of explanation.
“Yeah. Wow.”
“Makes things a bit simpler, doesn’t it?”
“For sure,” I agree.
Tilting her head, Kim looks me up and down.
“Did I pounce on you a bit too fast?”
“I asked you to.”
“You did. You seem very … parched.”
Not sure how to respond to that. I think for a little while.
“Do you want to kiss me more?”
“Desperately.” Kim’s response is
instant
, and it makes me
clench
.
“Really?”
“I’ve been crushing you for like … a bit now.”
“
You
?” I’m genuinely astonished. “Crushing on
me
?”
“Yeah.” Kim—beautiful, gorgeous,
ethereal
Kimberly, somehow can look sheepish too. “Tahani’s been teasing me about it for the past two weeks, non-stop.”
“Wow, is that …” I don’t know what to say. “Is that allowed?”
Her laugh is the most melodious sound I’ve ever heard.
“Get back up here.”
I obey, crawling onto the bed.
“Lie down,” she tells me gently.
“Okay.”
I can’t stop smiling. My head hits the pillow, and I look up at her fairy lights, burning in my vision. Her face comes into view soon after, bright and beaming and so, so,
so
fucking pretty.
“What would you like?” Kimberly asks, and it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
“I …”
My mind races. I’m
throbbing
.
“I’m not feeling very shy,” I confess.
“Neither am I.”
Wordlessly, I begin undoing my trousers.
Thankfully, Kimberly notices and helps, practically tearing them off me and leaving me blessedly exposed. Once she’s done throwing them aside, she repositions herself slightly, a bit more to one of my sides, and resumes kissing me. I don’t have too long to ponder why she did that before I get my answer, in the form of those long, dextrous fingers touching me exactly where I’ve wanted them to be all week, if not longer.
I want to say something. “Yes”, or “Please”, or “Fuck me”, but all that emerges from my throat is this guttural, primal moaning, this resounding plea for more, more, more and faster and harder and I’m spreading my thighs and my jaw is slack and I’m just wailing and rocking and begging and trying not to weep with joy.
“Don’t stop!”
“I’m not going to,” Kim hisses into my ear. “I’m going to go till my arm falls off.”
“Yes!”
“I’m going to give you everything I have,” Kimberly pants. “I want you to have
everything
.”
“I
want everything
.”
The room is filled with wet sounds—with the sound of me being fingerblasted into the fucking mattress, I realize, and it’s only making me
wetter
.
“You’re so hot,” Kim groans, and I realize I can
feel
her, slick and pulsing and pressed against my knee, and it’s all I can do to not go mad.
“You’re … you’re—!”
I’m trying to tear her dress open from the back. I’m trying to tear her
back
open, practically.
“Am I hurting you?” I almost sob.
“Not enough.”
“AH!”
It’s so much it’s so much it’s so much it’s everywhere it’s all over my legs and her arm and the sheets are
drenched
and oh my gosh she’s not stopping, why isn’t she stopping?!
“
Everything
,” Kimberly roars, and I squeal. “
Give me all of it
.”
“
Take it all, please!!!!!
”
How is there more? How is there still more? It just won’t stop, she won’t stop and I won’t stop and I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m going to cum forever, she’s going to just use me until I’m nothing and there’s nothing left of me but a deluge on her bed, soaked through and pouring all over the floor …
So much of me is numb. So much of me is on fire. My arms, my whole body is limp now, and Kimberly is just writhing, moving, squeezing my knee between her thighs, and
still. Not. Stopping.
“Had enough?”
Impossibly, I shake my head.
“Your arm’s … still … attached.”
The laugh Kimberly lets out then is practically a bark, a meeting of my challenge with a promise.
“Loud and clear, Ru.”