Page 114 of Worthy

“You were going to eat canned soup. For dinner. On your birthday.”

“Stop just repeating what I say in a more sarcastic voice.” The air between us crackles as our stubbornness collides and we try to stare each other down.

“I don’t care what you did other years,” I announce. “That’s no longer acceptable, because you know me now. Change of plans. We’ll pick up some food on the way back,” Marching over, I tug on the passenger door. When it doesn’t budge, I huff at him and his lips quirk into a tiny smile that makes my heart flip.

“So my birthday present is being harassed and prevented from finishing my work by a tyrannical redhead who ought to be resting at home?”

I tilt my head in consideration. “And maybe a movie, too.”

At last, he chuckles. “There’s no way I’m changing your mind, is there?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m helpless when it comes to you.” Everything goes quiet for a moment, then he glances away and unlocks the car. “Let’s go.”

The silence feels different from this morning, warm and electric instead of depressing. I catch myself staring at his hands as he drives and shifts gears, then his profile as he bobs his head to the music on the radio. I’m openly ogling him now, but he either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

Jamie’s living room isn’t fully clean yet, but it’s miles better than when I first arrived. All the laundry on the couch has been folded and put away, so there’s plenty of space to eat in front of the TV. While Jamie plates his birthday dinner, I flick through the streaming services as the smell of fried chicken fills the house. I expected the man to request sushi or tapas, but he chose cheap fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. “What are you in the mood for?” I call over to him.

He flashes me a look I don’t quite understand, then shakes his head. “Pick whatever you want.”

“You need to spend more time talking to Mallory.” Grinning, I flip to the comedy section. “She knows there’s only one movie I ever want to see. How do you feel about theJumanjiremake?”

He carries the plates over and sets one in my lap. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Perfect.”

I can’t tell if he does it on purpose or by accident, but he sits down next to me instead of on the other end of the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. My plan was to get him to laugh, but he just watches the movie with his eyebrows furrowed in vague confusion as the plot gets more and more outlandish. Finally, I pick up the remote from the arm of the couch. “We can watch something else. You shouldn’t have to sit through something you hate on your birthday.”

He steals the remote from my hand faster than I can think and sets it on the far side of himself where I can’t reach. “I don’t want to watch something else; I want to know what happens to these unfortunate people.”

I’m so wound up now that I imagine myself scrambling over him to take it back, us wrestling over it, his hands all over me.Jesus.I pinch myself hard and focus on the TV. When he’s finished eating, he settles back and rests his arm on the couch behind me. Is he torturing me on purpose? I’m not sure the man knows how to be that devious. But his maybe-torture is succeeding—testosterone makes me horny enough to jerk off twice a day, and I haven’t even touched myself since the surgery. My whole body throbs, sensitive and needy, aching every time Jamie moves.

When the credits roll, dropping the room into near darkness, I realize he’s asleep. I stare at his broad body stretched out in his thin t-shirt and clingy sweats that hint at the shape of his dick. Every part of me is desperate for him, but I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness at wanting my best friend’s dad to pin me down and fuck me until I can’t breathe. I really need to come and get this out of my system.

His head is tipped back and to the side away from me, his strong neck extended. I watch his hand, relaxed on the cushion next to my bare thigh, and imagine how his fingers would feel teasing my skin, sliding up under my shorts. Holding my breath, I lean back and push my pants down, letting them fall around my ankles. I’ve been aroused for hours, so my boxers are already wet when I brush my fingers across them.

Moaning quietly, I rub my small, hard cock through the thin cotton. My head falls back as I rut slowly against my hand, heat spreading down my thighs. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine hands caressing my body, then gripping my hair.

Before I transitioned, I avoided sex because showing other people my wrong body felt unthinkable. After a couple of years on hormones, I dipped my toe into gay dating. I’ve been fucked as a fetish by people eager to try out a man with “girl parts”, and I’ve been told that it’s too much work for a gay man to “pretend” my bottom growth is a “real” dick. I decided it wasn’t worth it, so I haven’t had sex with anything other than a vibrator and a dildo for two years. Biting my lip hard to keep from making sound, I play with myself, imagining a hard, living length shoved in my holes instead of silicone. I’m getting close, my drenched boxers clinging to my skin.

When I open my eyes, Jamie’s awake and watching me. My hand freezes. I should apologize, rubbing off next to him on his couch with my thighs open like a slut with no self-control. But my dick is in charge of my brain now, and it won’t let me apologize.

He sits up, his gaze trailing down my body to my shorts on the floor. “I should go,” he murmurs hoarsely, not moving. When I touch the back of his hand, he tenses but doesn’t pull away. I squeeze his wrist, just below his heavy, silver watch, and he lets me guide his fingers to my bare thigh. I don’t know if it’s me or him that slides them under the edge of my boxers, trailing upward until they brush my warm hip crease and I whimper. “Please, Jamie.”

He rolls sideways on the couch so that his nose brushes my ear, his fingers tenderly stroking up my hip and down to the curve of my backside, leaving a trail of fire behind. When he squeezes a palmful of my ass, I turn my face to his, so close he’s just a blur. Neither of us have to move far to fall into a hungry, messy kiss. His hand catches the back of my neck, then slides down to rest loosely around my throat, holding me in place as he takes control of the kiss with his more experienced tongue.

I whine as his mouth teaches me new things with every passing second, guiding my tongue with the same quiet demand he uses to boss me around. It’s hard but sweet, respectful but dirty, and I think he could make me come with nothing more than a kiss. My hand explores his thigh, but I have enough presence of mind not to straight up grab his dick.

After a dizzying, sensual minute, he pulls back, and I can see his mind racing. “I want you,” I breathe. “This is real. It matters to me.” If we stop now, I’ll never forgive myself.

Cupping my face in the hand that isn’t up my boxers, he leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then down my neck until I stir my hips and whimper. His thumb slides closer to the center of my aching need, and his tongue gently scrapes the skin just above the edge of my surgical binder.

“I wish my chest was healed,” I whisper, hating the reminder that I don’t have the same body as a cis man. Once Jamie sees all of me, his attraction might fade away.

“You’re so close. It will be perfect.” His lips brush the hollow of my throat, then tease at my collarbone until I shudder. “Someone will get to see these freckles carry on down your pecs, then lick them all.”

I want it to be you. It’s meant to be you.

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