by Kira Harp
He glanced down at his slacks. Was there any chance they'd pass muster? They were black, a nice fabric, and loose enough to look pretty natural. He'd paired them with a crisp, light blue button-down shirt that had loose sleeves and snug cuffs. It was a guy's shirt, but maybe a bit ambiguous, if you squinted. He glanced over at the mirror. Not bad.
Who was he kidding? It would never fly.
Sure enough, his mom tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for a response. “Sarah! You need to get dressed, right now. Everyone's waiting.”
He said, “I thought maybe I could wear this. I like these slacks and the shirt's the right blue.”
“Are you kidding? This is your sister's wedding. You can't go out looking scruffy. We spent two hours picking out that dress, and you need to wear it.”
“Mom, I'm starting to kind of hate dresses.” He'd always hated dresses.
“Well, most of the time you can wear whatever you like. But this is your sister's wedding and I'm not going to have you mess it up for her. She's going to look at the pictures for decades and I want them to be perfect. Now hurry up!”
Mom slammed her way out of the door. Sam sighed. He pulled off the shirt and hung it neatly, folded the slacks on a chair. He carefully avoided looking in the mirror, with his armor removed. He knew what he'd see - a betrayal of a body, with soft arms despite all the weights he lifted, and wide hips, and a chest only flattened and not eliminated by the binder he was wearing. God must have some really nasty sense of humor, to have given Sam size-C cups when he didn't want any damned tits at all. When his sister bitched about her size A's constantly.
The dress. He was supposed to be putting on the dress.
It was fine, if you liked that kind of thing, the same blue as the shirt. Which was why he'd picked the shirt, because it was Linda's wedding color theme and he'd thought maybe he could get away with it. Although no, that was a lie, he'd known Mom would never agree. He'd just wanted another minute of fantasy, that he was some normal sixteen-year-old guy getting ready for his older sister's wedding. And not a sixteen-year-old girl. Shit!Tears blurred his vision as he grabbed the stupid dress out of his closet and pulled it over his head. And wow, wasn't that sob manly? He would blame the stupid female hormones, but he knew it was just him. He was a wimp. Always had been. How else would you explain the fact that at sixteen, no one but his friend Kate knew he was really a guy, down inside where it counted? He'd tried to bring the situation up hundreds of times to his parents, and always chickened out. If he hadn't needed a safe address to have some of his Internet stuff delivered, he'd probably never have told Kate either.
Double shit! He ripped the dress back off. He couldn't wear it with the binder. The neck was too low and the stiff black fabric that kept his tits almost under control would show. He hadn't dared to wear the binder out clothes shopping with Mom. Which meant he needed a freaking bra and all the girly crap that went with a dress. Maybe he could just be sick today. Except he did kind of like Linda. For a sister she wasn't that bad, and he'd hate to rain on her wedding day. Okay. He took a deep breath. Back into stealth mode. He'd make it work.
Two hours later, sweat was trickling down Sam's back, his pantyhose felt like tourniquets around his thighs, and the bra straps itched, but the tears in his eyes were for something far better this time. For that look on Linda's face, when she said, “I, Linda, take you, Evan,...” He'd never imagined his older sister could look radiant, but that was the word that came to mind. Stunning. Lovely. Mom would probably say “Blessed,” and if Sam hadn't started easing away from the church when he realized he was a gay guy and not a straight woman, he'd have agreed. There was something so sweet and real between Linda and Evan that it just shone through.
Sam bit his lip, and swallowed a surge of envy. He'd probably never have that. Sometimes he wondered why he kept trying. He could pretend to be a girl - a pretty girl, everyone said - and probably find some guy who'd be happy to date him. As a freaky gay guy with scars on his chest and a micro dick, if he even got that far... not so much.
But any guy who wanted to see him as a girl, he wouldn't want.
He shook his head, and focused on the wedding. Enough self-pity. This was Linda's big day, and he'd try to enjoy it. He did like flowers and dresses, as long as they were on someone else. And the old church was lovely, with light streaming in the stained glass to lay bright colors across the back wall. The minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” and that was not a bad kiss for being done in front of both sets of parents and the whole congregation. Sam stood and applauded with the rest.
Once the wedding party had recessed, or whatever it was that was the opposite of a procession, down the aisle, Mom grabbed Sam's arm. “Wasn't that lovely?” Mom sighed. “I hope your wedding is just like it. Come on, time for pictures.”
Sam let her drag him out to the front of the church, where the photographer was getting set up. The man acted like a movie director, turning and positioning them and asking them to look at this person or that. He wielded his camera like a baton, constantly in motion. After the first few takes, Sam found it much more interesting to watch the photographer than his sister. The camera guy wasn't tall or loud-voiced, but he had a kind of assurance that made even Dad do as he was told, and smile at his new son-in-law on command. Useful skill, that.
Sam obediently climbed one step higher and smoothed down his skirt a bit. He liked that guy's voice, not deep but rich in harmonics. Sam amused himself imagining how he would score the guy, in a musical theme for this scene. Violins, perhaps, or maybe violas. At least three-part harmony. Something fast but not discordant. With lighting that held the gold of the afternoon sun, gilding the guy's skin. He thought about gel colors for the spotlights, and where he'd place them. Sam smiled, smiled, smiled some more, and then gratefully stepped back out of the frame to allow for some smaller group pictures with the parents.
From over to the side, he could watch the photographer covertly. He had dark hair, neatly styled without too much product. His clothes were impeccably cut and fitted, suggesting he either had a great eye for fashion, or more money than you'd expect from a wedding photographer. His hands on the camera were long-fingered and graceful, and his body was lean and fit, with a control that hinted at good muscles under the very nice suit.
Mmm. Sam allowed himself a minute of fantasy. The guy could be gay, after all, and looking for a smart, musical, femme guy. Resolutely, Sam didn't think how far he still was from the “guy” part of that. They might chat at the reception, get to know one another. What were the odds that a straight guy would bother getting himself to look that good?
When the interminable photo session was over, Sam made a point of intercepting the photographer on his way to his car. No time like the present.
“Hi, that's a really cool camera. I'm Sam, by the way. Sibling of the bride.”
The photographer gave him a quick smile. “Hi, Sam-the-sibling, I'm Clint, photographer of the bride.”
“Clint? Really? Like Eastwood?” Sam was just too late to keep himself from coming out with that incredibly lame question that Clint had no doubt heard a hundred times.
Sure enough, Clint's eyes glazed, but he said easily, “Mom was a big fan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the reception.”
“Right.” Sam hesitated and then decided there was no time like the present. He had no gaydar to speak of, but he was in possession of the perfect tools for straight-dar. He widened his eyes, pressed his arms together a bit so he stuck out his tits in that uplift bra Mom insisted went with the dress, and bit his lower lip subtly. When he said, “Maybe I'll see you there,” he watched Clint's eyes.
Wait for it, wait for it, shit! Sure enough, when Clint said, “Maybe,” his eyes were glued to Sam's chest. It took a minute, maybe two, for his gaze to rise again to somewhere around Sam's mouth. And then he looked down again, giving Sam a not very subtle once over. Crap. Straight.
Sam gave Clint a quick dismissive smile and turned away. Maybe
that was rude, but so was talking to Sam's tits. He was so tired of having straight guys focus on a body part Sam just wished was gone.
He jumped as Kate appeared beside him. “Hey, Sarah, I mean Sam, that was a really pretty service.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Your cousin Troy is kind of hot.”
“Troy?” He'd been one of Evan's groomsmen. “Really? Well, maybe. If you like them big and hairy.”
“Which I do.” Kate did a pretend dreamy sigh, hand to her heart. “A big bear of a guy.”
Sam bumped her with his shoulder. “Want an introduction?”
“Not really. I remember him from your Fourth of July picnic. He was one of the guys who dropped Linda in the pool. He's kind of a jerk. But hot from a distance. So, anyone here your type?”
Sam said, “No.” But he couldn't help glancing at Clint's retreating back.
“Ooh, nice choice.” Kate paused to watch Clint swing himself into his low sports car. “I do like a man who moves well, and who has cool wheels.”
“He's too old for either of us anyway. He has to be twenty-five. Maybe more.”
“Well, a girl can dream.” Kate looked quickly at Sam and then away, “Or a guy, I guess. It's weird to see you in a dress. I don't think I've seen you in anything with a skirt in years.”
“My mom kind of made me wear it.”
“You look so good though.” Kate lowered her voice. “I'd kill for your legs and your boobs, you know. You're the prettiest girl I know, by far. Are you sure...?”
“I'm not a girl,” Sam said flatly.
