by A. Sanchez
“Mom always called you her little princess,” Lina said with a sad smile. “Do you remember when I used to fix your hair? Braids and ribbons and all? That was fun.” She sat down on the sofa with a huff, her blue eyes just like mine staring back at me.
Of course I remembered. It wasn't like I'd become brain dead. I was just...different now. I nodded and sat beside her. “I'm still the same person. I treasure all those memories just like you do.”
“It's been almost five years now so I guess I should be over it, but do you know I still can't stop expecting my beautiful sister to walk through the door? It's like she's dead.” Lina broke down then and I put my arm around her, pulling her into my arms. “We supported you, but we don't know why! I looked up to you so much. You were like a real princess. So graceful, tall, hair down to your waist, so...special.” She was almost screaming these words into my chest, anger mixed with her pain.
I didn't know what to tell her. Just as I'd done my best as a woman, I would do my best as a man? Nothing was sufficient. Nothing I ever said would make them understand. My mother couldn't figure out if I was gay or not, my dad grunted whenever I came in the room like I was playing dress-up and had taken it too far. My brother wasn't living at the house at the moment. He had done more than a few drugs in his day which had fried his brain. He was the most supportive, but I'm not sure he was actually coherent, so maybe it didn't count. Lina tried, but we'd been very close all our lives. It was especially hard on her, so used to crashing into my apartment to borrow a dress or shoes only to find a guy sitting there drinking a beer instead. “I'm right here, Lina. All the memories are still inside me.”
Most days, we discussed nothing at all. Everyone pretended I had always been Joseph, that my mom had two sons, and my dad just wisely stayed out of it, per Mom's orders. But they were doing it for me. They never woke up a single day forgetting Jennifer Khouri. I was having a hard time forgetting her, too. Life had been both miserable and easy back then.
“He's Sicilian,” I said, once Lina had collected herself and was back to being curious.
“Mom's going to love that,” she beamed, pulling her long, thick strawberry blonde hair up in a messy bun like I used to do. People thought we were twins, Mom always calling us by each other's names. “Oh my God wait! Is this the guy you were stalking at the club for like two months?” she gasped, slapping my arm then shaking me by the shoulders. Lebanese people do not respect personal space.
“Yea, that's him. We... consummated,” I said, blushing furiously. Last night had both terrified and excited me more than anything. It had been the first time I'd been with a man as a man and the first time I'd been with anyone at all in four years. It was momentous.
Unfortunately, I still had some non-manly parts. I'd been scared to death he'd touch me while I slept, so I'd stayed awake all night and kept him occupied the only way I knew how. It hadn't been difficult. He tasted addictive and the intimacy we shared when I went down on him was more than just a mouth on a dick. To me, I was making love to him the only way I thought I could. When he'd made it clear later that he'd wanted to fuck me, I was so hot and bothered nothing could have stopped me from opening to him, and I'd gotten away with it! I knew I was totally fucked and had lost him already over my deception, but I couldn't face it just then. My mind would not understand that logically, a gay man wanted a man for a reason. He wanted the strong, masculine body, but like me, he also wanted a dick in his mouth or his ass, and I was unable to provide those things for him. If he wanted a muff, he wouldn't be gay! I knew this, but somewhere inside, I still had a sliver of hope.
“I can't believe he took that so well. I'd have been shocked if I took a guy home, undressed him and found a pussy,” Lina said with a squeak of laughter.
Honestly, I would have been, too. If Vito had undressed and offered me a vagina, I would have flipped out. Oh, this was so unfair, this gigantic, horrible lie. I had to tell him.
“I um... he doesn't know.” I hid my face in my hands and my face absolutely burned from the shame. Lina's gasp and subsequent string of bilingual curses didn't help. Yes, I was a total charmout. “I know,” I repeated over and over.
“God, Joe, he could seriously kill you for this!”
And she was right. Tricking someone this badly was dangerous. People had been killed for less. “I know!” I couldn't stop saying it because it was true. “I'm supposed to meet him today at his new pastry shop. I guess if I told him there he couldn't murder me right in front of everyone, right?” I looked at her hopefully.
“Can I come with you? Just to make sure. He might even take it better if he knows you have other support. What about Jean-Paul?”
Now she was going off the deep end. “I don't want an army of family barging in there with me! Jean-Paul and Vito already had words last night, so definitely not him.” I shook my head and got up to make coffee. She followed me to the kitchen like a shadow.
“What kind of words? You see? He could hurt you, Jen!”
I whirled around and stared her down. Her slips were less often, but they still occurred.
“Sorry! I'm just scared!” She sat at the kitchen table by the window and tapped her manicured nails on the table annoyingly.
I was, too, but somehow I didn't believe Vito would ruin his life and career just to kill me. I didn't believe I was worth it at all. Maybe I was stupid not to. “You can come with me, but just you, and don't tell Mom.” I stared her down 'til she nodded.
After that, we had coffee together and talked about guys just like we always had. She was dating some dentist and things were looking pretty serious. I avoided talking about Vito because there was no point, really. What had seemed like a great idea under the influence of alcohol was in fact not. I'd lost him before I'd ever had him.
“Wear something extra special today. Something really stylish that shows off your body.” She squeezed my bicep and smiled brightly. “You always could build muscle like crazy. Remember when you went to the gym back in high school and you were so proud when you finally leg pressed two hundred pounds?”
I remembered. Those little things had always been there. I was a princess one minute, reading poetry and falling in love with the heroes in my romantic novels, and the next I was kicking someone's ass playing ice hockey. I don't blame my mother. She did what she thought was right, encouraging me to wear make-up and cute clothes. I never would have done those things on my own. I was happy wearing my large tee-shirts and loose-fitting jeans, hair pulled back in a bun. I remember she almost held me down trying to apply eyeliner when I was about fourteen and refused to buy me any more dark, masculine colors. Brown or navy or forest green were all banned in favor of pink and red and flower prints.
Eventually, I had given in. It made everything easier to just comply. When I saw it got me guys, I embraced it even more. I think she thought the problem was solved, afraid I was at risk of turning into a lesbian. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I'd never felt any attraction toward women. I became the essence of femininity, exactly what I thought guys wanted, but deep inside, while I was painting my nails, a part of me wanted to cut them all, shave my head and sit back with a beer.
Both of these opposing identities warred inside me for most of my life. My mother called it being a tomboy. When I got older, she called it being unfeminine. I cursed too much. I didn't guard my virginity like I was expected to. I fucked guys and never called them back. I shouldn't drink beer or whiskey or smoke. I shouldn't sit back with a cigar and a brandy playing cards with a group of guys like a dyke in heels.
I was strong. Too strong. I think that was a part of myself people couldn't spot so easily, hidden under my clothes, but it was the masculine part of myself I'd always held on to. Without it, I would lose myself completely. If there was a hard job to do around the house, my dad called me, not my brother, to help him. We sat back with a beer and talked about cars or carpentry or boxing. I think I was always the son he wanted, but when I grew a beard, he didn't really
know what to say, and we kind of lost that easy bond we'd always had. I hoped one day to get it back.
In my early twenties, I was fearless. I drag raced guys in my altered sports car, driving a stick better than they could. All my friends were guys and they never crossed the line, never tried to get me in bed. They called me one of the guys and really treated me like one. Outsiders always wondered why these guys had no sexual interest in me, with my big boobs, long blonde hair, curves and pretty face. But my guys friends knew my mind worked like a man's. They boxed with me, they drank with me, we even watched porn together, though I was looking at the guys and they were looking at the girls.
But none of these things made the case for simply knowing, feeling, I was in the wrong body. That's something I never could adequately explain to anyone; this knowing. It never left me alone. Making the decision to transition to a man was huge. It had taken years for me to go through puberty again, just like any guy would, and the subcutaneous mastectomy had taken a good while to heal. I'd be willing to have the phalloplasty, but it was tons of scarring and operations which I wasn't sure would be worth it. I'd seen the photos of post-ops, and these poor people were just butchered! I wanted a dick, I really did, but the physical price was too high for me.
Now, I stood by my sister in a nice pair of navy slacks which showed off my round ass nicely, and a plain white button-up dress shirt, a little of my blonde chest hair peeking out. My hair was styled neatly, short on the sides and just a little longer on top so I could arrange it, and my face perfectly shaved. “How do I look? Okay?” I was so nervous.
“You're more handsome than Fadi ever was,” Lina said, talking about my brother, who I was actually taller than. “You really are a very hot man.”
I blushed. I still acted feminine sometimes, prone to giggles and a few mannerisms I just couldn't give up because they were a part of me, but overall, I guessed I was a pretty hot man. “Khalas, let's go see Vito.”
Chapter 4
Vito
The more I thought of Joseph, the more I worried. It was past two in the afternoon and he hadn't come yet. I thought I'd told him one o'clock, but perhaps I only thought it. After all, we had drunk two bottles of wine after the cocktails at the club. I was surprised I remembered last night as vividly as I had.
The idea that he was keeping something from me would not leave me alone. I'd deduced last night it had something to do with his dick, but I just couldn't imagine what. Maybe this is why he never went home with anyone. He thought it was unacceptable in some way. Small? Well, I didn't know what to think about that. If he couldn't ever fuck me, that might disappoint me after some years. I hoped I wouldn't have to drag this out of him and I hoped he wasn't avoiding me because he thought I would.
To take my mind off it, I barked orders at the laziest worker I've ever had. Dreema, with her heads in the clouds, hands on her phone at all times. How appropriate. A couple of tables had not been wiped down and there was a child's sticky hand print on the display case of cakes. I was meticulous and had spared no expense to make my pastry shop exactly like those found in Sicily, a blend of Old World charm and modern conveniences. It was the most beautiful place of its kind anywhere in the city.
And now there was a line of customers. I walked quickly behind the long marble counter and began reading off the orders vomiting from the printer by the espresso machine. The girl I'd hired jumped every time the steam squealed. “Just go! Go clean the tables,” I snapped, nearly pushing her out my way. This was a job to her, but my livelihood. At least Dreema was placing the orders with relative efficiency, as the flow of tickets could attest. While she raced around grabbing up biscotti di mandorle and slices of cassata to box up, I was pressing espresso and setting to-go cups beneath the drips with one hand and steaming milk with the other. Sweetness and the thick scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeated the shop, and despite my momentary stress, I was proud of what I had achieved.
I did not notice Joseph come in. Only when I looked up to wipe my sweating forehead did I see him waiting patiently at a corner table with a girl who just had to be his sister, if not twin sister. I was stunned at the similarity and to see how my lover might look in the female form, which was quite strange to me. Soon after, I was able to hand over the reins to Dreema and Tiffany once more. I washed my hands and checked my clothes for stains. My hair was probably beyond help, but when I'd seen it in the rear view mirror this morning when I left Joseph's, I'd been horrified. Impossible it could look that badly now.
“Joseph! I am so pleased to see you,” I said, offering him my hand. I loved the strength of his grip, even if his hands were a bit smaller than mine. I took a seat across from them and said, “you must be his sister, then?”
“Lina. Please to meet you, Vito. Joseph has spoken very highly and very often about you. I feel we know each other already.”
I saw Joseph cover his eyes and shy, but this way of speaking is usual in Sicily and I didn't mind her openness. “Piaciri di canuscìriti,” I said, shaking her hand, too. “Would you like a coffee, something sweet?” I wanted something sweet... God damn, this man's sweet, lazy smile, the look in those big blue almond-shaped eyes... he'd be the death of me. Death by sensuality.
“Sure, Pick out whatever you'd like us to try,” Joseph said, a small dimple at the corner of his mouth flicking in and out of visibility as he spoke. His sister agreed, acting like she wasn't looking me over when she certainly was. Guileless. I liked her a lot.
I got up and prepared the treats myself, not trusting Dreema with something this important yet simple. I made them lattes in tall, clear glasses with long spoons and a little nutmeg sprinkled on top. I chose a few pretty frutti martorani in shapes of pears and oranges and a couple of chocolate cannoli with sweetened orange peel. I stacked the tray and brought it over, pleased with their exclamations of surprise, Lina's being much louder, while Joseph smiled up at me and said, “it all looks wonderful, habibi.”
I didn't know what that word meant, but judging by Lina's stifled grin, it was an endearment. I probably blushed and said, “bon appetitu.”
After they'd cleared the tray, both clearly having sweet teeth, I was glad Lina had the mind to excuse herself, claiming a shopping errand. I needed to reassure Joseph privately.
“Now it's just the two of us again. Joseph, last night was... perfect. More than I'd hoped on our first night. Your sweet mouth must be sore today,” I said, recalling how many timed he'd sucked me.
“Among other things,” he said with a chuckle, taking my hand across the table. I wasn't used to public displays of affection, but for Joseph, I'd make an exception. I didn't care what anyone thought of me if the relationship was serious, but I'd never allow someone like Mark to even acknowledge me in public.
“Ah, yes. I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away,” I said, recalling my hand around his neck, too. I tried to see if I'd left a mark, but it seemed I hadn't.
“I like your passion. Don't change it.” He squeezed my hand before letting go. “But I do need to speak with you.”
Here we went... I had to stop him. I wanted the truth but at the same time did not. I didn't want to judge him on something he had no control over and I didn't want it to ruin this budding thing between us. “No please... Don't tell me. Not now.”
Joseph's light brown eyebrows rose over those pretty blue eyes and he asked, “do you know already?” He looked like the victim in a horror movie.
I didn't. Of course I didn't. How could I? I was just guessing. I shook my head vehemently and said, “I want you. I want to keep wanting you. Whatever you mean to tell me, I have an idea it's to do with your...cock.” Now I really was blushing furiously. “Tell me if I'm wrong, but that's right, isn't it?” I was rambling, wanting so much not to lose him or let fear of the unknown cloud my mind. “Please no. Don't even answer me. I concluded there was something amiss last night but whatever it is, it is your secret to divulge in good time. Not mine to pull out of you.” I took a deep breath. “Just te
ll me this, are your feelings for me the same as last night?”
Joseph's lips were slightly parted, and he licked the lower one, which made my prick dance the Tarantella in my pants. “Yes, I'm falling in love with you,” he said simply. “You don't know what you're saying, though. Please, I need to tell you.”
Why was he so Mediterraneanly stubborn? He was falling in love with me and had this secret he was dying to divulge which could cause everything to crash at this delicate stage! “No. No, no. I want to fall in love with you. You the person. Please allow me that.” I looked down at my folded hands and said quietly, “I am also well on my way to falling in love with you. It's mad, I know it is, but I'm sure of my feelings. I propose we stop our intimacy for a time. Get it completely out of the equation. Let us know each other as people first.” I dared look up into his eyes to see if he would refuse my request.
He sighed deeply and scratched the back of his neck worriedly. “You don't know what you're asking, Vito. But if you really feel this way, then remember what you said here today and don't come back to me later with your arms full of accusations ready to hurl at me. I just hope we both don't end up completely brokenhearted.”
Well of course neither of us wanted that! I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I wanted to start learning everything there was to know about Joseph. I wasted no time. “So, are you Catholic?”
He laughed. I didn't expect such a lovely, almost childish noise from him and my heart told me I was making the right decision, taking things slower with him.
“Maronite, yea.”
“Mother will be pleased. Practicing?”
“What do you think?” He smirked.
“I find I have lapsed, myself, of late.” I reached for his hand and held it. “Last name?”
“Khouri. You?”
“Lombardo. Age?”
“Do I have to tell you?” He blushed, I nodded. “Ugh... thirty-three.”
