“What? I like cocks! Big, little, fat, skinny, straight, curvy… They, like, each have their own personality, and you have to figure out the best way to touch them. Man, if I were an artist I’d just paint cocks all day. I could write odes to cocks...”
“OMG. No more cocks.” Mandy, one of the other servers, made a gagging noise. “My God, just give him that one. OK, mine is shoulders. Like, especially in those baggy shirts where one side of the neck hangs off a woman’s shoulder and you can see her collar bones. Mmmmm... OK, Nina, your turn.”
“Feet. Definitely feet.”
“Ooh! Do you have a foot fetish?”
“Maybe…” Nina answered coyly, eliciting a laugh and another high five.
Charlie couldn’t imagine why she was being coy. She wasn’t subtle about being a regular visitor to the kink club around the block. As much as Charlie found all that kinky stuff… overwhelming, she wanted everyone to feel safe at Whirlwind.
Watching Nina grow from an overwhelmed teen sleeping on people’s couches into a confident woman with a network of friends meant a lot to Charlie. Soon she’d likely move on to bigger and better things. But she would have a firm foundation beneath her.
That was a big part of why Charlie had opened Whirlwind and did so much outreach to the queer community. She wanted her bar to feel like family, and it really did. Maybe she couldn’t have her own family, but her staff and customers meant the world to her.
Even if all they did was talk about sex.
“Umm… I guess if I can’t say cocks…” There was a wave of mixed reactions. “Hands? I like watching people’s hands.”
“Cool. Um, next one…”
Charlie stopped listening because that was when the front door opened, revealing Carla’s trim silhouette in the late afternoon sunshine.
Charlie knew exactly what body part she was most attracted to. It was Carla’s gently curving hips under the broad men’s belt he was wearing today. There was just something intoxicating about the contrast, something that kept drawing Charlie’s eyes.
“Today’s not Tuesday,” she heard herself say. That wasn’t at all what she’d meant.
“Nope!” Carla agreed cheerfully. He wasn’t quite a customer, since he ran trivia nights, but he wasn’t quite an employee either. Why he was always lurking around when it wasn’t Tuesday nights was a mystery. “Hey guys,” he waved to the group. “How’s it going?”
He got five different versions of “good.”
“We were just sharing our favorite kinks,” Nina called out.
“Yeah,” Mandy agreed. “Nina was just going to tell us about her foot fetish.”
Carla smirked. “If she told you that was her favorite kink, she’s holding out on you.”
“What do you mean?” Nina responded with mock incredulity. “I’m completely vanilla.”
Everybody laughed.
Charlie smiled, enjoying how comfortable they were teasing each other and talking about things she never would have dared mention when she was young. Some of them she still wasn’t quite comfortable talking about. At least in reference to herself. Kink was for the younger generation.
“Your turn, Carla,” Nina directed.
Charlie stared hard at the napkin she was rolling. It didn’t matter what Carla said. She didn’t care. Carla was way too young for her, and probably wasn’t interested anyway.
She finished the last napkin, though, and looked up automatically. Somehow, Carla was standing right in front of her.
Carla’s crystal green eyes met hers, and she couldn’t look away.
“Hmmm…” Carla drawled out the sound. “I’d probably say rope. It gives me all of the control, but it can be stimulating or relaxing for my partner. It just depends on what they need.”
A shiver went down Charlie’s spine. She could almost feel the ropes... What did that even mean? And why was Carla so close?
Whistles and cheers broke out behind her. Dammit.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be working.” She wasn’t actually annoyed, though she sounded gruff. Hopefully the others knew that. She just needed a bit of space right now. Nothing made any sense.
She lifted the heavy bin and carried it to the kitchen, not looking at anyone else on the way.
“Really slick, Carla.” Nina laughed.
Carla’s laugh rang out like wind on a summer day. “Just wait until it happens to you, babe.”
Charlie could feel herself blushing. Wait until what happened?
She reached the safety of the kitchen.
Whatever it was, she hoped Nina got what she wanted. It was time for that girl to spread her wings.
Chapter 1
Angel
Angel looked at the mountains of boxes and sighed. She’d paid the movers to unpack most of her kitchen things, and the large furniture was more or less in the right places due to her meticulous labeling and mapping. And she’d unpacked her suits when she moved in last week and had mostly been able to find everything that she needed when she’d started work on Monday.
Now she was just stuck with all of the other odds and ends that would hopefully liven up the barren rooms. She knew that when she had them unpacked they’d make her home look expensive yet tasteful, projecting exactly the image that she’d so carefully maintained in New York.
She opened a box at random and put an expensive vase on the mantle. Her new home was gorgeous, of course. Dark wood framed large bay windows and a wide fireplace, which was offset by creamy walls and open spaces. The vase would draw the eye to the craftsmanship of the wood, while giving the space a stylish, modern look.
Like she was living in a catalogue.
Why did she own this vase? It was expensive, but honestly, kind of ugly and bland. It looked kind of like a buttplug, which would be sort of funny if she had anyone to laugh about it with, but otherwise it was just boring. Where had she gotten it? Some art exhibit? Patronizing some charity? Had it been a gift?
She thought back… Definitely a gift. From Tamika. Who had bought it to patronize some charity. Or maybe Angel had bought it for the same purpose?
What the fuck was this vase doing here? Was this who she was? Still trying to live up to other people’s standards? She’d spent most of her life trying to conform to her parents’ vision of genteel affluence, then rebelling against it. Yet here she was again.
The urge to smash the vase filled her, but she was too practiced in holding back her emotions. She set it quietly in a box while the guilt and anger swirled inside her. This was probably why she hadn’t unpacked a damn thing beyond the necessities.
Of course, Tamika would have loved it. Tamika loved anything pretentious and expensive. She thought bitterly of all of the locally-made souvenirs she hadn’t brought back from her trips. Every adorable market stall, local gallery, and street artist that she’d been badgered into walking past. Tamika had called them all kitschy.
And that was when she was being kind. Often it was trashy or ugly. As though the price were somehow correlated to the resonance a piece of art might have to the viewer.
It was ironic that Tamika’s dad was a janitor and her mother taught preschool at the local Y. They were good hardworking people who’d accepted Angel for what she was. It was just Tamika who’d been too good for them. She should have seen that as a flashing red warning sign.
Thank fuck that she was done with that relationship.
She set the vase back in its box. She would donate it to Parker’s queer legal project, she decided, the one that she’d start volunteering at in a week or two once she found her footing with her day job in Ben’s firm. Surely, they had a silent auction or something coming up. She could focus on that… giving other people the chance at a better life.
She knew that she should be grateful to Ben, but sometimes, late at night, it still felt like admitting defeat. She’d proven to her parents that she could make it in New York City as a hot-shot attorney and a transwoman. But after six years of hundred-hour work weeks and com
ing home to a cramped, expensive apartment only to discover that Tamika had just dropped another thousand dollars on a dress to get back at her for working so much, she realized that she needed out.
And she needed out in every way. She loved practicing law, but she couldn’t handle the frantic pace, the all-consuming commitment. There were other lawyers in her practice who seemed to balance it better. They had families at home. They ran marathons on the weekends. One wacky colleague even played accordion in a band. Fucking New Yorkers.
But she just had her career and a brat who was using her for her money. At first she’d thought the brat act was cute, but when Tamika sat at home all day spending her money and inviting friends over, and then couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone to order dinner for them to share, it had gotten old. Hell, even their plants had died because Tamika said that she didn’t have time to water them.
The thing was, Angel actually thought that she wanted someone to take care of. She thought she’d wanted someone who was dependent on her, someone who would devote themselves to pleasing her, while she devoted herself to taking care of them. Someone who she could lovingly whip into their most perfect self, reprimand when they went off course, and praise for their obedience and affection.
Well, it had been a nice fantasy.
It had taken her almost two years to realize how far her life had gone off course, when Angel stopped trying to rack up billable hours and started trying to avoid going home.
If Angel dated again, and that was a big if, she would be on the lookout for someone who could stand on their own two feet. Someone who was an equal partner outside of the bedroom.
Angel tossed some crumpled packing paper back over the vase and tucked the flaps back in. This was her new life.
She might not know what she wanted from it, but it wasn’t this vase.
She stacked the box back up on the pile she’d taken it from.
The first week after the move had felt like freedom. Unadulterated joy in making her own decisions and not being beholden to anyone. Now that she was settling in, though, she was realizing something sobering. She didn’t know who the fuck she was or where she was going. Working with colleagues she liked and getting off work at 5:00PM like a civilized human being was throwing her for a loop. And her new home, which was easily five or six times the size of her much pricier Manhattan apartment, echoed emptily around her.
What was she supposed to do with all of this space. And so much time?
At least tonight that wouldn’t be a problem. Her house didn’t feel like a home yet, but drinks at Whirlwind gave her the sense that it could. She’d heard there was a good kink club, and maybe without all of those jaded New Yorkers she could find someone for a good scene or two.
Someday.
When she was ready to take that risk again.
For now, she reminded herself that she didn’t need to have any expectations. That’s what this whole move was about. Resetting, taking a break, and letting things happen at their own pace. She wasn’t used to not knowing what she wanted, but surely, when she found it she’d be ready to grab it.
Tonight, though, was just beers and burgers with friends, and she was running late.
Angel quickly changed from her skirt-suit into a red dress that clung to her shoulders and flared around her legs. It was short, but not too short, and she paired it with some heeled sandals for the summer weather. Spritzing her hair and adding a bit of shimmer to her eyes for an evening out took only a couple more minutes. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but she liked to look good.
She grabbed a matching purse, noticing that there was all sorts of nonsense at the bottom, the most prominent being the receipt from the movers. She tossed the papers on a box, but left everything else inside because she couldn’t be bothered.
Just she was stepping out the door, her phone dinged and she dragged it from her purse.
It was Ben. “Hey, Ang! Did you get lost?”
“Only in my thoughts,” she admitted.
Ben was like her soul brother. They’d first met in high school, during orientation week at an elite boy’s boarding school. They’d made friends first because they were two of the handful of kids who weren’t white. Technically, Ben was half white since his dad was white, but the fucking United States just called that black.
And Angel was the product of a proud, black family whose wealth stretched back several generations, with no mention of the native and white blood that she knew was mixed in. Yeah, her snooty family did it, too.
They’d bonded first over their pretentious families and the snide comments made about their race. It had been good to have someone at your back during those tumultuous years.
But time had revealed that they had much more in common. When Ben realized he was gay and Angel’s gender dysphoria started to become too much, they told each other first. Ben had gone with her to the queer health center to get hormones prescribed, and stood by her side after college graduation when she told her parents. These were gifts that she knew she could never repay.
And now he’d found her a new job and a ready-made group of friends. She was in his debt.
“Well, come on out!” he continued. “Everyone’s already at Whirlwind and we’re waiting for you.”
Someone shouted into the phone. “Hi, Angel!”
“Which one was that?” she asked.
“That’s Parker. Dakota has a higher voice.”
“Hi, Angel!” someone else called toward the phone, Dakota presumably. It felt good that they were excited to see her. They shouted something else, but it was hard to make out.
Ben’s response came in loud and clear, though. “Are you trying to earn a spanking or are you just naturally disobedient?” He sounded stern, but Angel could hear the adoration in his tone. If only she could be that lucky.
Not that she wanted Ben. They’d tried kissing each other once in high school, which was a moment better forgotten. They were much more successful at seducing eager boys up to their dorm room for a few hours of illicit blowjobs. Watching a boy on his knees, trying desperately to please them both while they gave conflicting commands, had been hot.
Some of those well-groomed boys in their polos and boat shoes were kinky as fuck.
Ben must have been reading her mind because the next thing he said brought her right back there. “Oh, I almost forgot. Remember Channing Westerfield?”
Images came back in flashes, true memory indistinguishable from the hundreds of times that she’d relived those moments in her adolescent fantasies. That beautiful, glorious boy, so skinny and pale and absolutely worshipful at her feet.
She could still almost feel Channing’s delicate skin growing red under her pinching fingers. Channing watching her with those adoring, needy eyes. Channing with his schoolboy tie askew and hair impossibly mussed by her hands. Channing with his wrists trapped in her hands, his pulse racing under her lips.
Channing, the first time he’d unzipped her pants and discovered the lacy panties under her uniform. He looked like he’d seen God.
She’d been head over heels for him at the time, but now she hadn’t thought of him in years. Mostly.
“What about him?” Ben knew she’d had a thing for him. But she doubted he realized how deep it ran.
“She’s going by Nina now. And we might see her at Whirlwind tonight.”
He said something else after that, but she hardly heard it. Saving her a seat or something.
“I’ll be there in a few,” she finally managed.
“Sounds good,” Ben replied.
Angel said goodbye and slipped the phone back into her purse.
Nina. Nina.
She tested the name out on her tongue. “Nina.” It had all of the right shapes, melodic and sweet. “Nina.”
What would she be like?
Ben had only said that she might be there tonight. Would Nina even remember her?
She drove to Whirlwind in a daze, grateful to her phone for handing all the navi
gation because she certainly couldn’t concentrate right now.
Nina.
* * *
“Angel, over here!”
Angel turned toward the sound, her eyes still adjusting to the dark interior of Whirlwind. Ben and his friends were sitting around a couple sturdy wooden tables with two pitchers of beer. She caught a few waves from familiar faces.
Nina wasn’t there.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed about that. What would she even say to her after all this time?
While Angel made her way across the room, a waitress stopped by with an appetizer platter. She stopped to chat for a moment, setting off a round of laughter.
Angel was still too far away to hear what they were saying but she couldn't help but smile, pushing thoughts of Nina to the back of her mind. Had she ever smiled this much in New York?
Probably not. Her life there was all late nights at the office, lunch with clients, and fights with Tamika at home. She hadn’t even realized how stressed she was until she’d moved here and felt that suffocating pressure slowly start to ease.
Ben’s circle of friends, who had started to become her circle of friends over the past couple of weeks, were genuine in a way that she’d never experienced in New York. You could clearly see that they liked and trusted each other. They accepted that Eric and his boy Micah were a little quieter. They didn’t get too riled up when Parker and Dakota were over the top.
Most importantly, they represented a whole range of gender expressions, and while Angel was the only woman, she wasn’t the only one who was transgender, and that easy acceptance was like a warm summer rain on her soul.
She and Ben were the only black people—an observation that she made every time that she walked into a room—but Julio was Latino and Dakota had a mixed ancestry. And it wasn’t like she and Ben hadn’t spent most of their lives in mostly white spaces.
The group was also all kinky, and they casually let that seep into their lives around each other. The group had no boundaries for oversharing, a fact that was reaffirmed the moment she reached the table. Ben, Parker, and Dakota were trying to out-do each other for extreme places they’d had sex, though it sounded like it was rapidly turning into a to-do list.
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