by Alana Khan
“What the drack? What are you talking about?”
“You just wrote your own playbook, Tyree. You described her perfectly. She is sweet and fragile. You need to pursue. Females love that. Sit with her at meals, talk to her, ask her to play her music for you. Let her talk. Tenderly unwrap the package, just like you said. You’ll be fine.”
I internally replay what he said, but it isn’t as helpful as he thinks. Frankly, though, I don’t believe he has much more to teach on this subject. Perhaps he could help with another pressing problem.
“The erections, Shadow? Seriously, they’re constant.”
“Still? I thought things would slow down a bit. Daily?”
“Daily? Are you kidding? Try five times a day. Worse when she’s around, and I’m sure you heard I’m supposed to be helping her reduce her anxiety about this upcoming performance. Last night I calmed her and she stepped into my arms and danced with me.”
“Good for you, my male. See? You don’t need my help.”
“It torched fire to the very blood in my veins all night long. And today.” I glance down toward my cock. “I’m powerless.”
“I read that if you perform multiplication tables—”
“Did that, got up to the seventeens. I must have read the same article on the Intergalactic Database. That was difficult mental gymnastics, but my erection could still dent metal.”
I glance toward the kitchen, hear the water running and Maddie singing something that sounds wildly out of tune. I stand up, untie my loincloth, rearrange myself, and rewrap.
“Thanks, Shadow. I’ll figure this out. You’re a good friend.”
“I do have one piece of advice, brother. You can’t keep putting your cock in a tourniquet. You’re going to cut off circulation.”
Chapter Four
Tyree
Axxios and I spent several hoaras going over countless scenarios on the bridge. First, we replayed what happened last night with the cartel, down to the most minute detail. Then we brainstormed and practiced responses to other situations that might arise. I know I’m getting more proficient. No pressure—it’s just a matter of life and death for everyone on board.
“Don’t worry, Tyree, we’ll keep practicing every day. You’re actually a quick study,” Axxios tells me. “I dragged my mattress in here yesterday. I’m not going anywhere until our mission to Emirus is complete. Go get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Axxios. Think up some more scenarios we can run through tomorrow.”
“Will do, my male.”
I walk down the hall thinking about those words, “my male.” That phrase did not describe me until twenty or so days ago when I came out of my coma after my Transformation. I still have trouble connecting those masculine words with myself. My Transformation has changed so much more than my body. It has changed how I think of myself.
I never gave gender much thought, since I didn’t have any. Now that my body is male, and everyone sees me as male, I’ve had to step into that role in my own mind.
I have more questions than answers. What is masculine? What is feminine? Now that I have a penis, what really changes about me? How am I different? How am I the same?
My head spins with all these thoughts. Am I not the same person I was a lunar cycle ago?
“No.” The answer resounds in my head. The addition of penis and balls and male hormones and fiertos of height has changed something fundamental about me. I feel different as I walk through my world. I want different things. I see my future differently.
Which leads my thoughts to Grace. We were friends a handful of days ago—chums. We had sleepovers full of laughter and watching vids for drack’s sakes. I would still like sleepovers. But now I have no desire to lie there and watch vids.
In the lunchroom earlier I offered to come by her room tonight to give her a calming treatment. She averted her eyes and said she didn’t think she’d need it. I knew she was lying, but let it go. She’ll comm or come by if she needs me.
Just thinking about her makes my cock strain against my loincloth, putting in his opinion about what he’d like to do. By the feel of things, he’s vigorously voting for her to come by later.
Shadow told me I should give my cock a name. That seemed ridiculous when we discussed it, but at this moment I think the name Drackhead would be appropriate. Don’t worry Drackhead, I’ll take a shower and you’ll get your release.
On the walk back to my cabin, I realize I’m so agitated I won’t be able to sleep for hoaras. I catch Shadow in the hallway.
“Got some time, Shadow? I wonder if you could give me another lesson on the Sillerian chainsticks. How about now?”
“Bad timing, brother. Petra and I have a date.” His face slants into a lecherous grin. “In the ludus,” he adds, eyebrows waggling as if this explains everything.
“Although I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s probably too much information.”
“The rope, Tyree. The rope offers infinite possibilities.” He’s grinning so widely I think I can see his back molars.
I hold up my hand and turn toward my cabin. “More than enough information,” I toss over my shoulder.
“I’ll bring you a pair of chainsticks. You’re good enough you can practice on your own,” he calls after me.
I can’t think of anything else I can do at this time of night, so I saunter to my room. I’ll take a shower and try to get some sleep.
Grace
I got maybe an hour of restless sleep, and then bolted upright in a full sweat. I’d been dreaming about playing my instrument naked in front of a concert hall full of aliens. Thanks to Callista, who showed me vids of the opulent, humongous hall, I pictured every detail down to the crystal chandeliers and elegant blood-red curtains.
I’m panting, my mouth open, trying to catch my breath. Darn! I jump in the shower to cool down and wash the sweat off. Looking at the clock, I shake my head. It’s only midnight. How am I going to get any rest tonight? If I don’t work on my music and get my program ready tomorrow, I’m setting myself up for failure when I perform.
My worry about not sleeping ramps me up even more. If I don’t intervene somehow, I’m guaranteed a sleepless night. Tyree could fix this—he’s only steps away down the hall. I fight with myself for several minutes, not wanting to burden him, but even as I wage my internal battle, I know my feet are going to drag me to his door in desperation.
I knock and wait, considering turning on my heel and scurrying back to my cabin. I know Tyree and I used to be friends, but things seem so different lately.
“Thanks, Shadow. I’ll practice with these for...Drack!”
Tyree opened the door stark naked, his arm up toweling his hair. He obviously thought I was Shadow.
His reflexes are quick; he’s already slung his towel around his hips and is stammering his apologies. My eyes are wide in their sockets, I’m barely breathing, and I don’t know whether my mind is trying hard to unsee what I just saw, or recreate the image as a permanent memory in my mind.
The Statue of David comes to mind. Only David ranks a paltry second place. My mind is currently cataloging every rigid muscle, every flat plane, the jut of his hip bone, the curve of his ass. Desire fires along every synapse in my body. My nipples harden, feeling as if they’ve been tweaked.
His body is perfection. And oh my God, he’s observing my complete hormonal overload right this minute. I haven’t heard a word he’s said. I can’t focus on the information penetrating my ears, because the entire capacity of my mind is fixated on what I just saw.
“Grace. I’m going to close the door,” his voice pierces my mental fog. “You’re going to knock. I’m going to open it and then we'll pretend the last few moments never happened. Okay?” He shuts the door.
Instead of raising my hand to knock, I glance down the hall toward my room and wonder if I can scurry there and slam the door behind me before he realizes I’ve run away. I decide I’m never going to knock. I’m never going to see him again. I’l
l hide in my room and not come out, even to eat, until one of us dies of old age. Or starvation.
“Come in, Grace.” He must have realized I’m not going to knock, so he’s opened the door, the towel chastely tucked around his waist.
When I’m unable to order my feet forward, he gently grasps my upper arm and maneuvers me past his threshold.
“Sorry. I thought you were Shadow, he was going to bring me some chainsticks.”
“No problem,” I hear myself say. “Totally understandable.” I do understand, actually. Nudity is such a big nothingburger on this ship. The males have no modesty whatsoever.
I realize we’re both sitting on the edge of his bed. Not sure how that happened. I curb the urge to jump to my feet.
“Can’t sleep,” I confess.
“I figured. What happened?”
“Terrible dream. Playing naked in front of thousands of people. Woke up in a cold sweat.”
He swallows hard. “If you’d like, I’ll get dressed, calm you down, and lie on the floor near your bed. You’ll be safe and I can give you another treatment in the middle of the night if you need it.”
“No way, Tyree. I’d be a terrible person if I let you sleep on the floor. I won’t hear of it. But I think you’re right about staying with me tonight. How about I lay waaay over here on this side of the bed, and you lay waaay over on that side of the bed. Will that work?”
It’s only now that I listen to my invitation that I realize how hard this will be. As if things weren’t awkward with Tyree before this. As if my lifetime of avoiding attraction to men wasn’t already beginning to crumble. His “big reveal” certainly isn’t going to make me more comfortable.
I’ve still got the image of this nude Larian Adonis burned into my retinas, and now I’m going to be sleeping in the same bed with him.
And by his tilted head and compressed lips, I’m not sure this will be any easier on him.
“Sure. My bed or yours?”
How can he ask that? Is this male made of steel? Does he hear what he’s asking? I want to crawl out of my skin, and he’s completely unaffected. Whoops, not so unaffected. Mr. Happy has pitched a tent under his towel. Does this make me feel better or worse? I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Um, we’re already here…” I shrug. Probably best to keep him out of my room. At some point, I’m going to be sleeping alone in there and I don’t need to be haunted by ten thousand mind pictures of him in the very bed I have to sleep in.
“You can lie down if you’d like. I’ll...get dressed and be right back,” he says.
I step out of my flip-flops and slip under the covers, still wearing leggings and a t-shirt. He’s taking a while in the bathroom. I hear him turn on the shower. Didn’t he just get out of the shower? A thought arrows into my brain. Is he masturbating in there?
I’m imagining him in his shower, a mirror image of my own. Since his little strip show, I can now accurately picture every freaking inch of his skin, from scalp to toes. My mind abuses me with a portrait of him—his hip leaned against the metal wall, his head hung at an angle, his forearm muscles bunching as his long, strong fingers stroke his shaft. Then I picture him fisting himself and getting down to business, every muscle coiled as he readies himself to finish. I see in minute detail how his head lifts and tilts toward the ceiling, his knees bow slightly, and his release jets into the water circling the drain.
I clamp my jaw shut, trying to get a hold on my sexual urges, which are swamping me right now. My clit is throbbing. I’m now rerunning the movie I just produced in my head. I’m sure I’ve soaked my panties. The movie rewinds and now I’m in the shower with him—the water sluicing over us both. His fingers are plucking my nipples, sliding down my sides, then slipping between my folds.
Dear Lord, he is so sexy, and we’re going to be bedding down for the night—together—in a few minutes. Then what? I realize my hands are itching to touch his bronze skin. Who am I fooling? I can’t get the image of his penis out of my mind. I know exactly which specific inches of his skin my fingers long to touch.
“Stop it, Grace!” I whisper to myself, just as he opens the bathroom door. He’s already turned the light off in there. He hustles to the other side of the bed and dives in wearing his blue jumpsuit.
“Computer, dim lights,” he says.
We both sigh.
“This is awkward,” he admits.
“Agreed. Maybe if we talk for awhile it will take our minds off what just happened. What are your favorite foods?” I ask randomly.
“Anything but nutrition bars.”
“Good answer. I only ate them for a week when we were in the cellblock and I’d be happy to never see one again. Your turn to ask.”
“What do you miss most about Earth?”
I have to think. The obvious things, the ones every other girl on the ship would mention aren’t on my list. Parents? No. Siblings? Got none. Pets? Nope. Job? That would be a big no. What do I miss? I realize I was just waiting for something to happen in my life.
“I didn’t mean to stump you, Grace. I thought that would be an easy thing to answer.”
“It was a sobering thought, Tyree. There’s a term in music called vamping. It means a few meaningless chords that you just keep playing over and over while you wait for something to happen. Like when you’re waiting for an actor to come on stage and they’re late. It’s boring, just a time filler. Your question made me realize that’s what my life was. I was just vamping, waiting for something better to come along.”
“And now? Are you still vamping?”
“You sure ask hard questions, Tyree. As hard as the last two months have been—and as hard as the next few days are going to be—no. I think I’ve quit vamping, Tyree. I think I’m starting to have a real life.”
He gives me one of his thousand-megawatt smiles, and he never looks away. “I’d like to be part of your real life, Grace. I’d be honored if you’d count me as a friend.”
“I do, Tyree. And I’d like to get to know you better.”
He turns up the wattage on his smile, then, “Okay, it’s getting late. Lie on your side facing me.”
I’m quick to comply. If only I could fall into a deep sleep and wake up rested.
He reaches up and nestles his hand on the back of my neck. His touch is so gentle and warm it feels more intimate than a kiss. We’re so close, even though the lights are dim, I’m certain he can read every thought that crosses my face.
“Computer, lights out,” I command through parched lips.
Time slows down in the complete darkness. I can hear his breathing. His soft puffs of breath whisper across my face. My eyes are closed, my mouth slightly open. I slip my tongue to moisten my lips and the image of putting my tongue on his cock jumps into my mind.
My muscles tighten at just the word “cock” in my mind. That is not a word I use, not in speech with others, not even in my own thoughts. But there it is. What do you know? Sweet, modest Grace has an entire vocabulary of smutty words and images and desires that have been cued up, waiting to be unleashed.
And speaking of unleashed...wait. I experience that feeling of his mind reaching out to mine. As if he’s asking permission before crossing the threshold. I open my awareness to him and a gust of calming energy drifts in. He deposits the tranquility and leaves, like a puff of smoke moving in a stiff wind.
My muscles relax. My thoughts get fuzzy. I could fall asleep so easily if I just allow it.
Chapter Five
Grace
I wake to the sound of Tyree in the shower. You’ve got to give that male credit—he’s clean. My spidey senses tell me he doesn’t have OCD, he’s just taking care of his morning hard-on.
“No, Grace,” I order myself. “You will not watch an instant replay of the movie you produced last night! No more fantasies of him fisting himself in the shower.” I propel myself out of bed as if I’ve been ejected, and scurry toward my room.
After showering, I pull my clothes on in recor
d time, grab my instruments and hurry to the solarium. Other than Tyree, this place is the only thing that calms me. I love the view. It’s dark, except for a myriad of stars. Like black velvet strewn with thousands of diamonds. Off to the right, there’s a purple nebula, maybe millions of miles away, with the most beautiful spectrum of colors.
I perch on one of the chairs positioned at the back window and just soak up the unspeakable beauty and peace. The concert doesn’t exist. The gorgeous Larian doesn’t even exist. Just me. And my mind settles into calm, quiet peace.
I begin to play the song Callista informs me is the one that’s being listened to the most frequently over the Intergalactic Database. It’s my favorite, too. It starts slow, then builds to a crescendo, and ends abruptly. It’s both romantic and dramatic.
