DECEMBER 11, 2024:

 

I often heard from older folks that Washington was warmer in the winters of their youth, which tracks when you consider climate change and all, but goddamn, 19°F?

 

Nevertheless, I pushed my body through the cold and dry morning air. Rachel, having joined me on my run, huffed and puffed through the sharp air. As expected, she was decked out in entirely pink attire to contrast my entirely dark look. 

 

“Gah, I fuckin’ hate runnin’ in the cold, Jenni!”

 

“It’s Jen—but yeah, I get it! We’re almost there!”

 

“This sucks. This is worse than the Shinra Building steps!”

 

“The what?”

 

“Normie!”

 

“Oh my God, it was your idea to come running with me this morning, hon!”

 

“I know! But, like, I just wanna spend time with you! And you barely slept last night! Fuck, this fuckin’ sucks!”

 

It was hard not to want to grin at how pathetic Rachel liked to act. I’d come to expect that she played the part of the over-the-top tortured victim in moments like this, half to keep my attention and half to ignore how much discomfort she was actually in.

 

After we’d settled down into our new lives at the apartment I’d begun doing research on neurodivergence and found the subject pretty enlightening. Rachel’s hypersensitivity to loud and sudden noises or her avoidance of physical contact for most of our lives, for example, made a lot more sense. Mixing in how her raised estrogen levels and suppressed testosterone likely kept her as cold as me and the combination probably made for an extra unpleasant experience.  

 

Eventually, much to both of our gratefulness, we arrived at the local café near our house—the Gayly Bug—and placed our orders—in cash—with the Blue-Haired Twink that typically ran the front end register. As we made our way to the table we usually sat at to wait for our order, Rachel nudged me with her right elbow, “He’s checking you out again, Jenni.”

 

Ugh, “It's Jen—so what?”

 

“‘So what’? You should flirt back!” Rach giggled, hopping onto her chair.

 

“I’m happily married. Besides, Blue-Haired Twink is a guy,”  I countered while doffing my jacket.

 

“Yeah, so? You still grin like a goof anytime he pays you any attention,” Rachel made a teasing half-sneer, likely hoping to get a rise out of me. I merely replied with an annoyed expression.

 

“I’m just trying to be polite. I read that the easiest way to pass is to emulate how cis women are raised to always act like they’re in a good mood. Unlike you, my dear, being chipper does not come naturally to me.

 

“Chirp!” Rachel replied as she watched herself zipping her coat’s zipper up-and-down quickly. 

 

“Exactly. Besides, why do you keep trying to hoist me off on some rando at the coffee shop?” With a devilish grin I added, “Tired of me already, dear?”

 

A rare frown took shape on Rachel’s face, “It’s not that, Jenni—”

 

“—Jen.”

 

“—It’s just that, like, I get guilty sometimes, y’know? Like, I kinda pushed you into this whole marriage thing fast. Heck, we don’t even have rings! I’m just…scared that you’ll never get a chance to explore your identity, y’know?”

 

My stomach churned with unease, but I kept the feeling at bay long enough to reply, “Explore my identity? Rach, I’m a—” I did a quick cursory glance around to make sure nobody was listening. With a whisper, I continued: “I’m a cishet guy who had to medically and socially transition so as to avoid being witchhunted for being an accomplice to murder! What identity do I have to explore?”

 

Rachel’s shoulders slumped, hurt, “I’m just…like…getting together with you let me explore who I am and who I like. You helped me feel comfortable sharing something I'd, like, never let myself consider before.I just wanted to make sure you could do the same thing.”

 

It was hard not to get lost in the kind jade light of Rach’s eyes. Now that she was nearly two years into her transition—and now that the scars of last year were beginning to heal—she was truly taking on a new, fuller persona. I often feared that I was dismissive towards my wife because of her quirks—her autism—but the intent behind her eyes and her voice were impossible to misinterpret. She was a bimbo, but I’d trust nobody else with my backside. Slumping into my chair, I sighed. 

 

Sensing that I wasn’t going to reply immediately, Rach continued: “It’s just…we still haven’t…you know, done any of that, so I was worried that maybe you weren’t…you know…into me now that I’ve started looking more feminine?”

 

It was honestly pretty surreal being called gay by Rachel again. She used to do it all the time as an egg, but even then she would try to sugarcoat it with an air of jest. This felt like just plain condescension. Shooting her well-on-display chest a sarcastic look and then looking her in the face I stifled any hurt feelings and replied: “Honey, I am, actually, a big fan of what Progesterone is doing to your tits. Please do not go around calling me gay of all things.”

 

Rach gagged in embarrassment before correcting herself: “No, no, what I mean is…are you sure you aren’t just straight?”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Like, a straight girl?”

 

“Just because I’m on you-know-what it doesn’t mean I’m not, y’know, like—ugh, come on, girl!” 

 

“It’s just…I’m sorry, but you’re so…how can I say this…like, natural at it?” Rachel’s body language was obviously growing anxious now, so I sat on my hands to try and keep myself from letting my nerves get to me, too.

 

“I practiced a lot the past fifteen months, Rachel. We both have! And if you wanna talk about ‘natural’, you acted like a girl our whole lives!” It was hard to keep my voice calm and steady, without shouting and outing myself to the café staff and one other guy in the other corner minding his own business. 

 

Rachel’s face made small contortions as she formulated a response. “But, like, you seem so much, like…happier?”

 

Did I? I mean, Rachel was the last—and only—good thing left in my life, for sure, so it seemed strange to say that I seemed happier. We were on the run from the cops and god knows how many other government agencies.

 

Okay, sure. Now that I was ‘living as a woman’ thanks to this new voice and figure, it was kind of nice to be treated a certain way by guys. Especially the—objectively-speaking—cuter ones. And yes, I’d already admitted to myself that I would still choose Rach even if she wasn’t a girl. But…what the hell did any of that mean? ‘Explore my identity’? How was I supposed to do that while already married to the only person I would ever want to be with?

 

“Rach,” I sighed, hoping to cheer her up. She was looking at the lines on the high-standing table, probably trying to count them to avoid focusing on her own anxiety. “Rach, I know it’s uncomfortable, but can I ask you to look me in the eyes for what I’m about to say?”

 

Rach pouted, made a cutesy moan of discontent, and then forced her vision to match mine.

 

“Rachel J—er, Yoshihara,” I said, taking her hands in mine and locking our fingers while brightening my voice as much as I could after forty-five minutes in the cold, “I love you. I know it sounds crazy to say this when I’m nineteen, but I’ve known it forever. Even when I—and please don’t take this the wrong way—thought you were a guy. I don’t think I realized it at the time because of bullshit, but you’re the one for me. You always will be.”

 

Rachel got the sniffles, those sniffles she’d always get when watching a happy or sad movie, and put a well manicured hand up to her mouth sideways to block any wailing from escaping, “Y-you mean it?”

 

Really, there was no way in the universe I wasn’t going to not crack a smile, “I do. I love you, Rach. Maybe you’re—okay, listen, you're right: I’ve got something to sort out with my sexuality, at the very least. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but what I do know is that I never want to be with someone other than you. I’m not gay, and I’m not straight—”

 

“Doesn’t that just make you bisexual, like me?”

 

Without even thinking, I sighed, “I dunno. Maybe?”

 

“That or ‘Rachelsexual’?” she giggled, her posture straightening.

 

“That’s not offensive, is it? To, like, lesser known sexualities?” I’d been doing some reading on the community, since my wife was trans and bi—two of the letters!

 

“I’unno,” he shrugged, lightly drumming on her side of the table edge with her index fingers, “Should’ve brought my fidget spinner—like, basically, what I mean is, anyone who finds out about my cock is going to call me a faggot anyway, so I figure I can make jokes, right?”

 

My body took a deep breath on instinct as I shot a look to the tabletop, “I dunno about your point, girl, but I think you're right about the first part.”

 

Rachel only blinked in response, taking a moment to catch up. “Oh, wait, you mean—”

 

“Everyone’s going to call me a faggot anyway. I might as well enjoy the perks of being one, then.”

 

Rachel attached a giggle to her reply, “Gawd girl, you’re so funny!”

 

Being treated as a girl by a girl wasn’t too shabby, either.

 

“Order for Jen?” called a familiar voice, prompting us both to look up. It was the Blue-Haired Twink, having taken the time to walk our orders over to us.

 

‘Cheeky bastard,’ I mentally groaned, ‘I put Rachel’s name on the order.’ Rachel tittered as we accepted our orders, “Hi, Cocoa!” but then a mischievous look appeared on her face.

 

“Oh look, I have a call. I’ll take this outside, why don’t you two, like, get to know one another? Have fun, Jenni!!” Picking up her hot cocoa and smart phone, Rach quickly stood up and strode out the door. 

 

‘Cheeky bitch,’ I thought.

 

With Rachel no longer blocking my view of the window, I noticed my reflection: it was that of a very lean and fit college girl with her hair tied up. Gone was the average build I’d somehow maintained on nothing but junk food. Having to be wiser about how I spent money on food had truly done miracles for my figure. My old look of annoyance had been replaced by one far more…cuntier now that it had been feminized by fifteen months of HRT.

 

I didn’t hate it, either, but I didn’t know why that was. Either way, the Blue-Haired Twink was now standing to my left looking awkwardly, so I decided to just dive in head first and see if Rach was right. “You don’t look too busy this morning. Grab some wood.”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Sit down, let’s have a chat,” I giggled, remembering to add a lighter touch to my voice when around a man. No reason to take my frustration out on a perfectly good twink, I supposed.

 

With a few awkward glances around the café, the blue-haired barista eventually took Rachel’s seat. The wood creaked as he sat and I could only imagine he now realized why I told him to grab wood.

 

I sure wasn’t going to have any wood for him to grab on me.

 

“Is your friend always so transparent?” the Blue-Haired Twink asked, bearing a sheepish grin.

 

I stifled a snicker at his use of the word ‘transparent’, “My ‘friend’ isn’t much one for secrets.” The irony wasn’t lost on me.

 

For safety purposes—and because we had no legal documents proving that Rachel Baker and Jennifer Yoshihara were actually married—Rachel and I both pretended to be single and unwed in public. It’d make passing a cishet a lot easier for both of us, although I don’t particularly think that Rachel cared if she was seen as queer so long as she was seen as a woman.  

 

Then there was the fact that we’d simply never had the time or money to buy wedding rings, either. 

 

“Soooo…uh…Jenni?”

 

“You can call me ‘Jen’. She’s the only one who calls me ‘Jenni’. Still trying to train that one out of her, really,” I’d found that men were more susceptible to sarcasm when it was coated with a layer of sincerity and humor. Thankfully, I’d learned to fake sincerity damned well over the past year. 

 

The Blue-Haired Twink chuckled at my joke, “Something-something old dog, new tricks. I’m sure that must be an…interesting challenge.”

 

“Gosh, is it,” I sassed lightly, “But she’s a good girl. The best friend I could have, really…?” It dawned on me that I could not exactly call the barista by ‘Blue-Haired Twink’. Thankfully, he picked up on my roadblock.

 

“Oh, shoot, that’s right!” he broke out into a nervous smile, “Danny! Or Daniel, at your service!” Rather than offer a handshake—like a more ‘traditionally masculine’ guy would do—the barista did a cutesy peace sign.

 

I replied with a peace sign of my own, “Jennifer, or just Jen. Nice to meet you, Danny-or-Daniel.”

 

The twink couldn’t help himself and laughed at that one, “Pleasure to meet you, Just Jen.”

 

I was going to regret that one, wasn’t I?

 

Well, whatever, it made me giggle.

 

“Soo…uh…sorry, I’m still new to this, y’know?” I said, nerves heightened.

 

“New to being set up by a friend so the strange guy with blue hair that you get your tea and hot cocoa from can shoot his shot?” Danny joked.

 

“Yeah, that, exactly, actually.”

 

“Yeah, I won’t lie, it’s a bit of a funny way for me to start flirting with a cute girl, too,” Danny admitted, letting his fingers lightly play air piano on the surface of the table. Admittedly, I found it to be a cute quirk.

 

“So, uh, you work here for a long time?” I asked, unsure of what I was doing. 

 

“About two years now, I think? Just something to help with paying the bills while I'm taking classes.”

 

‘I’d be in college, too, if I didn’t have a warrant out for my arrest,’ I thought. “Must be fun. What’re you majoring in?”

 

“It’s a stereotype, I know,” Danny braced, “But, performance arts. Specifically, musical theater.”

 

Stereotype? Musical theater? What, was he gay? Did he clock me somehow?! “Uh…sorry?”

 

Taking flush, Danny sat back a little, “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I’m not putting out the right vibes?” The barista adjusted his arm placement and shot a quick glance at his apron. On the left strap was a small pin, bearing three lines of three different colors. I’d recognized the colors from a flag and identical pin that Rachel had gotten at last year’s local Pride event. 

 

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry, I hadn’t even noticed,” I said, sheepishly, before continuing in a whisper “That’s the…Bisexual Pride colors?”

 

“Yup!” the barista chirped, “Sorry, I just thought that you were…uh…y’know?”

 

Honestly, I didn’t know, “You know…what? Sorry? I—I’m sorry, I’ve never done this with a guy before,” I said nervously, realizing that I might have just given myself away.

 

“Oh, yeah, I thought so. Sorry, that sounds rude. What I mean is, like, a lesbian who’s curious about men?”

 

Wait, he thought I was a lesbian? I mean, I guess it’s not like my speech pattern, pitch and mannerisms were completely feminine in a ‘cishet girl’ kind of way yet, “Oh? Uh, actually…yeah? Like, I’ve only ever…dated women before, you know?”

 

So much for not drawing attention to yourself, Jen!

 

Still, it felt…nice…to tell the truth, even if my pitch and voice cadence dropped a little into an androgynous zone.

 

I’d have to work on that more.

 

“Aaah, yeah, that happens sometimes,” Danny said, his face scrunching just enough that it looked like he was recalling something, “My uncle didn’t try dating women until he was, like, 35? Said it was a major mindfuck to realize he was bi after identifying and living in the community as gay for so long.”

 

Hearing that struck me pretty hard—harder than I’d expected it to, actually, “Wait, really?” Danny nodded plainly, “Holy shit…” my voice was a whisper. My mind teetered between being distracted by the scent of coffee, the noise of coffee machines, and the sight of the man before me. Was what Danny saying even possible?

 

“Hey, like, listen, I didn’t mean to be weird or anything,” Danny added with energy, leaning in closer in a respectful, rather than sleazy, manner, “Please do know, I understand ‘no’ means ‘no’, so I’m sorry if I’d just been, like, completely misreading things.”

 

Like a lost puppy I replied, “‘Misreading’?”

 

“Yeah, like, your signals? I just thought you’d been, y’know, flirting with me the last couple of weeks? Oh, shit, Jenni—Jen, I’m so sorry if I’ve overstepped—”

 

My hearing cut out at some point as the weight of what Danny was saying sunk into the depths of my soul.

 

Signals? Me? I mean, sure, yeah, he was cu—oh, gawd, was Rach right? Had I really been flirting with this guy and not even noticed?

 

A torrent of moments over the past handful of weeks flashed through my eyes. Maybe even memories going as far back as earlier in my transition. Just little things, like instinctively returning his smile, making jokes about our orders or the demands of capitalism on the worker’s body. Heck, even complimenting his hair anytime he’d redyed it. The darker blue was definitely an improvement over the ice-esque color from four months ago, that’s for sure.

 

But…those were all innocuous things, right? Anyone could say or do those things and not mean them in a flirty way!

 

But is that how I meant them? 

 

Then there was that spark when our fingers touched by accident two months ago. The blush on his face when he realized what he’d done could be interpreted as intentional, even though I thought that it definitely wasn’t.

 

I blinked my eyes rapidly to clear my vision that had blurred over at some point I couldn’t recall, and eventually saw the man before me a little clearer than before. He had a really good skincare routine for a cis guy. And that lip ring and those earrings were actually pretty hot, too! But also…the way concern showed on his face…was kinda nice? I wonder why he looked so worried, though?

 

Then, my hearing returned, “Jen, are you okay? Jenni? Did I say something to make you cry? Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, lemme get you some napkins!” Danny nearly lunged out of his chair—oh, Rachel’s jacket was still hanging off the back—but I grabbed his wrist as he tried to dash past the table.

 

“No, no, you’re f-fine, Danny. Sorry, I must’ve just gotten something in my eye!” I lied, doing my best to sound cheery, just like Rach would have. 

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, cautiously retaking the edge of his seat. The creaking of the seat as Danny sat down again felt louder and clearer than ever before as I felt all of my senses heightened. 

 

“”I’m sure,” I giggled, sniffing any loose mucus back up. My heart was racing so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if it burst out of my chest, surgically reattached my testicles and then cut them right off again. “I, uh, what you said just…I mean…”

 

It doesn’t matter, I’ll always just be a faggot to someone.

 

“Actually, yeah,” my breathing quickened just at the thought of what I wanted to try saying, “I have been flirting with you lately,” I laughed at the sensation of just saying it, even if I wasn’t entirely sure of what in the world I was saying, “I hope that’s okay?”

 

A wry smile crept across Danny’s clear-skinned face, “Oh, of course, Jenni—ah, sorry, Jen.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” I giggled, “I hear it all the time from Rachel, Danny-or-Daniel.” It was hard not to just sit up straight now, “You’re a cute guy, and I get that it kinda just…happens, I guess?” I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, but I kinda liked not overthinking it.

 

“No, no, trust me, I get it. You’re cute too, by the way, Just Jen,” Danny’s posture relaxed, which in turn made me feel more at-ease with whatever the hell I was feeling. “Listen, uh, I’d love to get to know you more and all but…”

 

Following Danny’s line of sight, I noticed that customers had begun filing in while I wasn’t paying attention and Danny was now needed back behind the counter to aide his rushing co-workers. “Omigawsh, Danny, I’m sorry—I’m sorry for distracting you!”

 

Danny smiled and lightly laid his right hand on his chest, “No, no, you’re fine, Jen. I’m actually really glad that we finally spoke-spoke, y’know?” I nodded enthusiastically so as to not cut him off from continuing, “I was wondering, do you have Discord?”

 

“Oh,” I said, concerned. Logging into my old Discord account was too dangerous and Rach and I mostly used Telegram to contact one another. Still, I didn’t want to disappoint Danny, “Sorry, no, but I do have Telegram?”

 

Danny’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, no, yeah, me too. Mostly use it for Pride stuff, but I’d be happy to add you!”

 

Danny and I exchanged contact info and promised to message one another after his shift. With Danny now back to dealing with grouchy morning customers I turned back to the table to grab my tea and noticed, yet again, that Rach’s coat was still on the back of her chair. “Oh, shit!” I swore under my breath. With a few quick steps I opened the door and pulled one shivering blonde wife inside.

 

“Oh emm fucking gee-awd, I’m f-f-fr-freezing!” Rachel chattered, her teeth clomping together like a pony’s trot as I wrapped her back into her jacket.

 

“Goddamn it Rach, why didn’t you just come back inside?” I questioned, hugging her tightly to transfer as much body heat as I could. “Danny, another hot chocolate!” I shouted.

 

“On it!”

 

“F-f-f-f-first n-n-name b-b-b-basis?” Rach cheekily asked.

 

“W-what? Yes, that—oh my gawd, girl, worry about yourself, would you!” I couldn’t believe this woman.

 

“O-o-o-o-k-k-k-ayyyy,” my wife whined, unable to even sit. “M-m-m-m-m-my n-ni-n-nip-nipples a-are s-so-soooooo haaaard, J-Jenni-ni-ni-ni!”

 

“Gawd, you are, like, such a bimbo!”

 

***

 

DECEMBER 11, 2024:

 

One hour and one extra hot cocoa later, Rachel and I walked hastily through the 23°F chill of 7:45AM back to our cold apartment, turned on all of the space heaters,and got into bed together. 

 

“You hanging in there, Rach?” I asked, embracing her as tightly as I could while trying not to stab myself with her rock-hard nipples.

 

“N-nooooo,” she whined, “Hug m-me more harder-er-er!”

 

What a little liar, “Okay sweetie, hang on!” Readjusting myself, I positioned my torso to meld with hers as much as possible. As a result, our genitals touched. “Oh, whoops, sorry,” I winced, not enjoying a reminder of what had happened Down There. 

 

“N-no problem, hon,” Rach smiled, the chattering of her teeth calming down. “I’m…actually feeling a lot better, but, uh…do you actually, like, mind, uh…touching down there?”

 

Well, I wasn’t expecting that, “Um…you mean…like…”

 

“Your hands are w-warm still, y’know?” her sheepish grin was hard to dislike, “Sorry, go ahead and ignore that. It was stupid.”

 

Even beneath three comforters and all these space heaters I could tell that Rachel’s cool down was going to take a while.

 

Despite being married we hadn’t actually ‘consummated the marriage’, as they say in the movies. Rach had respected my discomfort with my own genitalia since losing my testicles, so we hadn’t exactly had a sex life. Between that and the whole “being on the run” thing of it all there hadn’t been many moments for sexy time…and now here she was, asking me to warm up her fuckin’ nuts. 

 

Hell, I don’t even think she noticed the potential sexual implications of what she was asking. 

 

And yet, here I was, comfortably able to lay on my side without pain—the sensation of what was once between my thighs forgotten. Here I was, in bed with my gorgeous, silly, brave, smart, kind wife as she warmed up after trying to give me an opportunity to learn about myself. I used to think that it was me who was learning new things about Rachel everyday, but instead, she was the one trying to learn new things about me by watching my journey. It was amazing—she was amazing. 

 

If now wasn’t the time, when would be the time?

 

With caution and a surprising amount of excitement I cupped my wife’s testicles with my left hand. Rachel winced from the initial contact, but let her breath go once the heat began to transfer. 

 

“Are you okay?” I asked, unsure exactly of what to do or say in such a surreal situation. Rachel smiled her thanks to me, leading me to caress her balls in my hand to see how she’d react. My little bimbo, of course, giggled. I could feel her shriveled shack loosen up at last, so I relented and placed my hand on her still widening left hip to caress it, too. “Did you just ask for that so I’d finally touch your cock?”

 

“M-m-m-m-maybe?” Rach giggled between fake teeth-chattering. 

 

“Liar,” I countered with a put-upon sternness.

 

“Ehehehe, sorry, Jenni!”

 

“Just Je—forget it,” a sigh escaped my mouth as I moved my left hand to her right breast. “Like I was saying earlier, not gay, Rach. These things?” a slight squeeze, “These fat udders are hot, if you must know.”

 

Rach giggled, the cogs in her might evidently moving, “Oh yeah?” she asked, placing her right hand on my left breast—I winced a little, but grabbed her wrist when she tried to pull back. Amused, Rachel continued: “Maybe you should take P, too, so you can grow your own ‘fat udders’?”

 

“Pfft!” I booped her nose with mine, thankful that we’d been able to get our noses fixed up through…certain means.

 

Even if I told them to make it look as feminine as possible.

 

For the disguise. 

 

“I’m serious, Jenni. That stuff makes orgasms so much better, too!”

 

Truth be told, I hadn’t had an orgasm in over a year. I suppose I was a little curious about the supposedly amazing orgasms, though. It’s not like I didn’t already have breasts, either. Rachel began necking me, which snapped me from my thoughts. “You take it before bed, right?” I asked.

 

“Yup-yup,” she squeaked between kisses, “You thinkin’...?”

 

I took a moment, “Uh…I dunno. Yeah. Maybe? Not like I can’t just get the breasts removed someday, right?”

 

“If we can afford it, yeah? You sure bigger knockers won’t knock your socks off? Err, like, give you dysphoria?”

 

“I…I mean…I don’t know? I’ve kinda gotten used to looking like this now.”

 

Using her left arm, Rachel pushed herself up to look downward at me, the comforters falling to her waist and exposing her chest, “Wait, Jae, are you sure?”

 

“Jenni—I mean, Jen!” I corrected, “Err…I guess it’ll sound like you’re just saying the letter ‘J’, though, if you say it in public…” I muttered, “Anyway, yeah, sure, I kinda wanna try out these orgasms you keep talking about. Besides, I haven’t gotten off since—fuck!”

 

Rach raised an eyebrow, “Since when-y, Jenni?” How she could say something so silly with such a girlish voice and serious expression I’ll never know, but I couldn’t help but smile.

 

I propped myself up on my elbows, “Ugh, don’t be weird about this, but uh…the day you first told me? You flashed me and…they were…really hot, y’know…?”

 

“Oh my fuckin’ GAWD, you went home and jacked it to me didn’t you, you little perv?” Rach accused, thinly veiled amusement poking through.

 

A snicker snuck through, “Guilty as charged, ma’am!” Rach didn’t need to know that it was more of an ass-fucking with a dildo.

 

“Gosh, you naughty, naughty girl,” she sung, repositioning herself atop me, “Clearly you need to pay your debt to socie-titty!” Rach lowered her chest down, just above my mouth, taunting me. My peripheral vision confirmed that I was trapped between both of her arms, the beating of my heart confirmed I was alive, and the pulsating deep in my crotch confirmed that I needed this.

 

So, I sucked my wife’s right breast. Progesterone had made her torpedoes ripen into even more alluring globes since she started ordering it off the internet and I admired from afar, like a good hus—well, whatever I am. 

 

But now? I felt lighter, happier than I’d been in ages. I traced Rachel's still-hard nipple with my tongue before taking a roughed suck, eliciting a moan that sounded positively unbelievable. As a result, though, I could feel her penis hardening and lengthening on my belly below. “Oh, shit—fuck!” I moaned, dislodging from her nipple. I knew exactly what that meant.

 

Rach giggled, but I could only catch a glimpse of the lust in her eyes before she leaned forward and whispered into my right ear, “Hey Jenni, can I?” Rachel’s penis lifted off my belly, then dropped back down onto it with a thud, “You up for that, slut?”

 

A squeak tore out of my mouth unprompted. Rach might’ve been an airhead, but I was under no illusion about the kind of monster that laid behind the innuendo and flirting she always taunted me with. Part of my brain was distracted by how feminine my moans sounded now, while another part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t accidentally break out into my old bass, even if under pressure in public. 

 

Fuck, why was I so stuck in my head while my sexy wife was asking to dick me down? “I-it’s not…clean down there,” I mentioned, strangely deflated. 

 

“Oh? Well, shit,” Rach replied, rather nonchalantly and without the mistress character, “Guess you’ll have to use your other hole, right?”

 

Precum dragged upward across my belly as Rach slowly moved her hips upward, guiding her cock cockily towards my mouth. The strength left my arms and I dropped onto my back, no longer able to handle the tension of the excitement. 

 

“Ah!” Rach scolded playfully, “You won’t be able to suck from that position!” Like a predator stalking her prey, Rachel gracefully shifted off of the mattress and onto the floor, her shaft at full attention, “I imagine you, like, know what to do, right?”

 

I know that what I was about to do wasn’t going to make it any easier to catch my breath, but frankly, I didn’t care. Using strength I didn’t know where from, I got off the mattress, leaned against my girlfriend, and rested my head on her shoulder. The heat from a nearby space heater thankfully warmed my ankles.

 

“C-can I?”

 

With a giggle, “Like, duh!”

 

So, I intentionally touched my wife’s cock for the first time. It was warm, long and impressively thick considering the amount of time she’d been on HRT. Breathing heavily onto Rachel’s shoulder, I gave her erect penis a few, delicate jacks. 

 

Rach lightly touched my hips with both of her hands, slowly rubbing up-and-down with the tips of her fingers. Such a minor gesture’s effect was amplified a thousand fold by the softness of our estrogenized skin touching, and I found myself grateful of my predicament in the least expected of ways. Rachel stroked my hips just a little faster and I couldn’t help but whimper as I felt my first orgasm in over a year nearing.

 

And then, she stopped.

 

“Keep going, please,” I pleaded, looking up into her eyes.

 

Rachel didn’t reply, either audibly or with a gesture. Instead, she looked into my eyes, like I knew what I should do.

 

And I did.

 

Getting onto my knees—thankful for carpeting—I stared up and, despite myself, smiled as Rachel rested her heavy hammer on my nose. I couldn’t help but gulp loudly, feeling as if her smoldering hot, leaking urethra was branding me.

 

Branding me as Hers.

 

Capital ‘H’.

 

I could see the spelling in my mind, on a dry-erase white board. It then occurred to me that my thighs were moving in-and-out, as if they were trying to beg for something down there.

 

But I didn’t have a hole to fill…and that made me feel oddly empty.  

 

Precum dripping onto my lips broke me from my trance. It wouldn’t take long before the salty cum would leak into my mouth. All I had to do was wait.

 

Patiently.

 

Passively. 

 

But then there were Rachel’s eyes, bearing down on me, boring past my eyes and my skull into my brain. I was lost in their green fire—consumed by it. Warmed by it. Burned by it. Incinerated by it, through skin, flesh, muscle, bone and my very brain itself, until all that was left was ash.

 

I was Nothing now. Nothing, in the face of Her. 

 

Rachel was All. I was Nothing.

 

Yes, that was Right. 

 

And so, my orgasm erupted throughout my entire body, tearing apart and rebuilding each cell of my body. Not a single fiber of thread left unstitched and resown.

 

As darkness encroached on the world around me and all my senses ceased I could hear Her voice faintly in the distance: “Uh…hey, Jenni? Are you going to suck? It kinda, like, hurts and—oh fucky, don’t hit your head!”

 

***

 

OCTOBER 31, 2023

 

“So, like, place your handy-hand-hand on your chesty-chest-chest and then, like, go ‘aaah’! Like, uh, like, you need to open really wide-wide, yeah?”

 

Sixty miles from our home town, Rach and I sat at a picnic table made of stone in the middle of an empty public park. The stone bench was cold and hard, but I put up with it, since I didn’t exactly have an alternative. Rach and I had been living in a stolen tent that we had set up somewhere for weeks, anyway. It was hard not to get used to the cold.

 

Well, it would have been, if I hadn’t started feeling one of the effects of HRT: greater susceptibility to the cold.

 

Placing my hand on my chest—which had yet to begin showing the effects of HRT—I followed Rachel’s order and said ‘aaah’. 

 

“Do you feel the vibration?”

 

“Uh…yeah?”

 

“Then do it louder! You’re not supposed to feel anything!”

 

Swallowing my pride, I continued to follow Rachel’s drills, each attempt more embarrassing than the last. Rachel and I had both agreed that if I was going to take feminizing HRT in place of the testosterone I wouldn’t be able to get from a doctor then I was going to have to start living as a woman. After all, if I could somehow manage to pass for cis I’d be a lot less likely to be assaulted.

 

Well, assaulted for being trans, rather than assaulted for being a woman in general. Hell, I wasn’t even trans, but I was quickly gaining a new appreciation for how much my wife had to put up with just to wipe the slate clean of all the bullshit she’d been told to conform to by society growing up. 

 

Finally, I managed to land on the right mouth shape and posture, shooting my voice upward into what was apparently my ‘head voice’. I’d gone from a pretty deep and ‘sexy’—well, Rach called it ‘sexy’—voice to something more androgynous. 

 

“Good, good, like that! Now, try introducing yourself or somethin’,” the side-tailed woman nodded feverishly.

 

“Aaah…hi, I’m Jae?”

 

“Longer!”

 

“Aaa, h-hi m-my name is Jae and I l-love my wife?” Speaking was harder than I’d imagined it would be, especially with such an unfamiliar—but not unpleasant—voice emanating from my mouth, but I was determined to try and perfect it. I was used to collecting all of the achievements in video games, anyway, so this wasn’t all that different. 

 

Rach giggled at my choice of example sentence and replied with her much more refined voice: “Hi Jae, my name is Rachel and I love my husband. No question about it!”

 

Aah, dang, I guess it did sound like I was asking a question instead of saying something definitively, so I made another go at it: “Hi, my name is Jae and I love my wife.” My delivery was still so damned monotonous—like I did mean what I was saying. This was going to take some time to sound just right, I could tell.

 

“You’re startin’ to get it, Jae, just keep talking like that. Err…have you thought up a name yet?”

 

That was hardly the first time Rachel had asked that question this month. Or this week. Or this day. “Aaah…nnnnooo?” I replied, trying to keep my head voice going. “Ssstill thinking it over.” Truth be told, it was a little intimidating. “I dunno, I think I’d like to keep the letter ‘J’? Err…I mean…b-basically, I h-have an idea, I j-just don’t know if it’s cringe or not?”

 

“Honey, you’re sitting in the middle of a parky-park-park with your wifey-wife-wife while homeless cause you’re on the runny-run-run from the US government for murdering your mommy-mom-mom and your wifey-wife-wife’s mommies-moms-moms all while trying to learn how to do a girl voice so you can passy-pass-pass and live as a girl, right? How much more silly can you get?”

 

It was a strangely valid argument. Taking a breath to collect myself, I hemmed and hawed some more, “Aaah, I mean, you’ve got a point, but, like…still…”

 

Rachel rolled her eyes, which she’d bravely not put makeup on this fine morning to avoid wasting what she had left for a casual scene with her husband, “Out with it, hubby, before I send you off to Saints!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Whatevs, movin’ on—like, come on, hon, the sooner you come up with a name the sooner we can, like, start to practice memorizing it.”

 

In my heart-of-hearts, I knew what Rachel was saying was the right thing to do. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like an imposter. Rachel was the one who was actually a trans woman here. I was just pretending to be trans for my own safety. Err…pretending to be a cis woman? This was confusing. Rubbing the morning out of my eyes yet again, I took a breath and opened my mouth: “Okay, listen—fine. I was thinking maybe…Jen? Like, short for Jennifer? It’s got a nice ring to it, y’know?”

 

Rachel’s face lit up brilliantly, like a hundred thousand holiday tree lights had been wrapped around it. “Omigawd, ‘Jenni’ is a great name, Jenni!”

 

I got the feeling that Rachel would have liked any name, to be honest. “Uh…it’s just Jen, Rach,” I corrected, flinching when I partially dropped my head voice.

 

“But Jenni’s, like, cuter!” she pouted. “With, like, an ‘i’ and not a ‘y’! Then you can make the dotty-dot-dot an heart when you write your name! See? Cute!”

 

With a grimace, I retorted: “There is nothing cute about me, Rach.” Any time I’d agreed to even try on something feminine from Rachel’s hastily packed stash of girl clothes I felt like an ogre. Then there was that dress I had tried wearing previously, before that kill squad had been deployed. The dress had looked so beautiful, but seeing myself in it had been devastating. Even just the mere curiosity was an insult to Rachel.

 

“There’s plenty cute to you, Jenni! Like, that all those times you had my back when I’d got called a faggot or gay or whatever! Or, that face you’d make when I beat you in Mario Kart!”

 

“I swear, you cheated,” I grumbled, casting my vision to the grass on my right.

 

“See! See! There! That’s the cute face you make when you lose! I love it!!” Rach leaned over the picnic table like a toddler trying to climb onto the table and kissed me on my left cheek. “You’re cute!”

 

Cheeks reddening, I semi-conceded, “Even when you’re bullying me you’re cute…”  

 

“Aaah!” Rachel shouted, pointing at me.

 

“What?” I replied, afraid someone had suddenly recognized us.

 

“Your voice! You’re doing the girl voice, Jenni!!”

 

“I am? Oh, fuck, I am!” I nearly jumped out of my seat at how…not-masculine my voice sounded. “Aaah, so…uh…hi, my name’s Jennifer, but you can just call me Jen,” and with a wry smile I added, “...and I love my wife, Rachel.”

 

Too distracted by whatever glee my voice was giving her, Rachel missed my attempt at making her blush, grabbed my left hand and held it up off the table, before locking our fingers, “Hiya Jenni-Jen-Jen, nice to meetcha! I love my cute waifu!!”

 

Before she knew it my right index finger was firmly planted on her lips, “No. None of that, Rachel.”

 

A squeak traveled up Rachel’s throat but crashed against the closed inside of her mouth. Rachel nodded, clearly understanding my attention. Releasing my finger, I sighed and wondered what to do next.

 

With her mouth free, Rachel added, “I’m sorry, that was really stupid of me. I should be more considerant.”

 

Treading on sensitive waters, I took a moment to consider how to phrase what I wanted to say: “I’m glad that you understand why you shouldn’t be calling your Asian American…spouse a ‘waifu’. Please just make sure that you remember to think before you speak next time.”

 

Rachel mimicked a saluting soldier. 

 

As embarrassed and frustrated this whole situation was making me, I decided to swallow my pride for a moment and took my wife by her hands, crossing our fingers: “Thank you, for everything you’re doing. I don’t know if I can pull it off, but I’m going to try. Also, the word’s ‘considering’, not ‘considerant’.”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“Yeah. ‘Considerant’ is a French utopian socialist philosopher and economist from the 19th century.”

 

“I mean, we are queer,” Rachel mugged, putting on an air of cockiness.

 

“You’re queer, I’m just a cishet guy. Being married to you is straight,” I corrected.

 

“What, are you transitioning to be a straight girl?” Rachel retorted, her tone increasingly mocking as she used her right thumb to caress my left palm. It felt nice.

 

“Oh…well, huh,” I admitted, stumped. “I mean…uh…no, definitely not becoming a straight girl. Promise! But…uh…like, looking like this,” I waved my right hand in front of my face, chest and torso to illustrate my point, “And calling myself a lesbian? That’s really…I don’t know. It doesn’t fit.”

 

“I mean, yeah, I’ve seen how you look at guys in movies and TV shows before,” Rachel snickered, her self-satisfied comment, “You were practically drooling when we went to that screening of Predator!”

 

A sour frown spread across my face, “Christ, a guy watches Predator for the meme scene one time and suddenly he’s gay!”

 

“Straight.”

 

“I’m neither! Argh! Goddamn it, you’re driving me crazy, Rach!”

 

“Hey, didn’t Lee Sun-kyun sound soooo fuckin’ sexy in, like, Parasite (2019)?”

 

“You don’t need to say the year it was released, Rach—and yeah, his voice was incredible, I was so engrossed whenever he was on scree—omigawd, Rachel!”

 

Rachel broke into a fit of giggles at my realization of what she was doing and I couldn’t help but smile at her joy, despite myself. She’d been working so hard on making sure her laugh was more feminine. I remembered all the times she’d been made fun of and called a retard for how she laughed growing up with great bitterness.  

 

“You bitch,” I mumbled.

 

“Aah! You can’t say that unless you’re a girl, Jenni!”

 

Shit, she had a point, “Fine, then I’m a girl any time I call you a ‘bitch’!” I stuck my tongue out.

 

Giggling in reply, Rach held up her two middle fingers to flip me the bird, “Nice girl voice, girly! Did your mommy buy it for you at the girl store?”

 

A strange feeling bubbling up in my stomach, I felt my face grow even flusher at Rachel’s matter-of-fact statement. I hadn’t switched back to my guy voice by accident despite talking as much as we were and it felt so…surreal? Not bad, persé, but…I don’t know?

 

“You got this, girl,” Rachel said softly, gently taking my hands in hers again. Her smile shined brightly and for the first time since we hatched this crazy experiment it actually seemed like we were going to be able to make an omelet out of it.

Well, I had told myself that I wouldn’t be one of those husbands that didn’t respect what their wives thought.