The first time I noticed there was something different about me I was in the sixth grade. It was the first time we had to dress out in gym class. I was nervous because first off, I’m an only kid. Secondly, who the fuck wants to get undressed in front of a bunch of kids you have to sit next to on the bus ride home? Anyway, we were all standing in front of our long lockers with our gym clothes sitting on the scarred, wooden bench behind us. David Lions pulled his jeans off first and started yelling about how big his dick was. Then James Allen did him one better and ripped his underpants off, jumped on the beat-up old bench, and started thrusting his pelvis like he was fucking the air. By the time our PE teacher realized not one boy had made it out to the gymnasium and came in to see what was going on, every boy in my class was butt-ass-naked and yanking their little—for some, not so little—dicks and singing that old ass song, PONY by Genuine.

That is every boy in my gym class except me. I was sitting on the bench, fully clothed, and confused as fuck. Either I was a late bloomer or there was seriously something wrong with my anatomy. I can still hear Coach Wheathers’ booming smoker’s voice, “Son, what the hell you doing sitting on the bench when all your friends are in here discovering the joy of maleness? You got yourself a vagina in your drawers?” His laughter followed me out of the locker room, down the hall and into the nurse’s office.

“Taylor, what’re you doing in here, hon?”

“I need to call my mother, please. Something happened in gym and I need her to come pick me up.”

“You know where the phone is. Go ahead, make the call. Do you need a pad or a tampon, dear?” I screwed my face up as I raised my moss green eyes up to look into her face, hoping she could see the confusion written all over mine. “What? I’m assuming you got your period and that’s why you need to go home, right?”

“I’m not a goddamn girl, Nurse Davis. Why would I get a period if I ain’t got a fucking pussy?” She gasped really loud and realized I probably should not have used the word pussy or fucking or goddamn with an adult but, what the hell? I went over to the phone, snatched the receiver from the set, and dialed my mom’s work number. I watched the nurse and she listened in on my one-sided conversation.

“Yes, mom but…” Deep breathing is supposed to keep me calm. “I know you don’t have time—but mom! I… theirs was so much... is something wrong with me.” Why is this stupid woman in my conversation? Can’t a kid talk privately with his mom without having to share it with a nurse who doesn’t know the difference between a goddamn boy and girl? “Mom, I was in gym and all the boys went crazy in the locker room and tore their clothes off, and well… I— ”

“No! Of course not, why would I do something like that?” Why is she having a conversation with someone else why she’s supposed to be talking to me? “You can? Thanks, I’ll be in the nurse’s office.” The nurse walks over to me once I’ve placed the phone back on the base. Her face looks strange. Confused and a little worried. Exactly how I feel right now. Strange. Confused. Worried. “Uh… thanks for letting me call my mom. Sorry about using that kind of language, I usually don’t say words like that.”

“It’s okay, Taylor. Hon, may I ask you a question? And please don’t get upset, it’s just… why do you think you’re a boy?”


That was twenty-two years ago. I was an eleven-year-old kid who watched a bunch of boys swinging their little pubescent dicks around and realized I didn’t have one of those little pricks to swing around in the locker room that day. If I’d taken my underwear off in that locker room, they would have seen something akin to a clit sitting on top of a pair of oversized lips. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would have been for them…? What? Find humor and joy where you can is what I tell myself. Now at the ripe old age of thirty-three, I don’t have those moments where I feel strange, confused, or worried. I am pretty damn happy with my life. Could I be happier? I think every-fucking-body walking the face of this rock could answer in the affirmative on that question. Have I found my person… the one that makes time and space collapse inside themselves and evaporates everything that’s not them into oblivion? No. No, I have not met my person, yet. Lucky for me, I’m open to loving whoever I happen to fall in love with. As long as we vibe and they don’t eat and fuck animals… we’re good.


It’s Friday in the city that never seems to sleep. I’ve just returned from a visit with my parents in South Carolina and as much as I love my Southern roots, it’s damn good to be back in New York. I’m meeting my boys at our favorite club in Midtown and maybe we’ll get lucky tonight or maybe I’ll have to drag my lonely, horny ass back to my penthouse and rub one out before going to sleep. Who the fuck knows anymore? Three of my closest friends just got engaged—like back-to-motherfucking-back—to their significant others. Brian and Cécile have been together for all of four-fucking-weeks. Yeah, that’s right. This ignorant shit proposed to this French girl after knowing her for all of three weeks. I hope he knows what the fuck he’s doing. I’m not mad at my boy, He knew he had to lock that shit down in a hurry. Then there’s Kevin… this love-sick motherfucker finally proposed to Jason—did I mention Jason is one of the most fuckable men I’ve ever known—after being together for-fucking-ever. I don’t remember a time when Kevin was single… and I’ve known his lanky ass for almost eight goddamned years.

That brings me to Christie-Lynne. This girl is made of… sugar and spice and everything nice. I love her to pieces, but her fiancée is a real son-of-a-bitch; I can say that because I’ve met his bitch of a mother. We’re all a little concerned about CL but she’s in love and well… who the fuck am I to tell her she’s marrying an idiot? Anyway, that leaves only four of the tribe of seven who are still single, foot-loose, and fancy free. We’re all meeting up tonight to celebrate two of the three engagements, and hopefully pull a successful intervention with CL and that cunt, Rob. We’re also celebrating my latest acquisition and being named as one of forty under forty by Bloomsburg. It feels fucking amazing to be thirty-three, wealthy as fuck, surrounded by good friends and the chance to find my person.

But enough about me and my awesome life—and it is awesome—but also kind of lonely. I’m man enough to admit I’m ready to settle down but that doesn’t mean I willing to fucking settle. I’m the main character, the star of this entire production. Why would I, Taylor Jameson Wittington, settle for a goddamn thing. I didn’t have to settle when it came to gender, so I damn sure refuse to settle for who I spend the rest of my life with.

“Fuck! This club is on fire, is there a live band playing?” Anna throws her heavy, auburn hair over her shoulder and flashes those emerald peepers at me like I know what the fuck is going on in this place. I’ve been down south for the last two weeks.

“I haven’t got a clue. Did you get a text from Brian and Cécile? I can’t see a foot in front of me.”

“Hell no, I haven’t heard shit from any of those fuckers. Are you sure they said to meet at Anthony’s and not Antonio’s?” My nutbrown face freezes when my feet refuse to take one step further. Did this hoe just ask this question after we’ve paid this overpriced cover charge, valet parking, and some motherfucker just spilled his drink on my Italian loafers?

“What the fuck, Anna? Antonio’s is our go-to spot. When I asked you about Anthony’s you were all like, ‘yeah, I know what I heard on my messages. Fuck, Taylor. Get off my back.’ That sound fucking familiar to your dizzy ass?” I’m so goddamn mad at this girl. Every time I try to give her the benefit of the doubt, she fucks shit up.

“Fine, Taylor!”

“Fine?! Is that all you’re going to say to me? Antonio’s is all the way on the other end of Midtown and in this traffic…”

“Hey, babe. I’m glad you could make it. I’ve been fucking frothing at the mouth to lick your wet ass pussy.” Red. Every fucking thing in this club is covered in a haze of red. Red like blood. Red like death. Red like this cunt’s hair.

“What. The. Fuck? You purposely tell me some bullshit so you can hook up with your fuck buddy?” Not waiting for a response, I turn around heading out the door. Fuck her, usually, I don’t leave my friends alone in a bar, but fuck her. Anna’s always doing shit like this. I’m done. Fucking done with her messy ass.

“The midnight blue Tesla X. Thanks.” I’m waiting in front of one of the most eclectic clubs in Midtown. I should’ve known something was amiss but again, I’ve been kicking it with my family for the last two weeks. I could whip her bony ass.

“Um, excuse me.” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before she plows ahead with her question. “Do you know when the valet will be back? Apparently, I’m in the wrong place.” I turn towards the raspy voice that has my stomach tightening at the tone and come face to face with a fucking goddess. I’m not kidding. Not being overdramatic, this woman is. A. Fucking. Goddess.

“Uh…” Smooth, Taylor. Clearing my throat, I start again. “Yes, he’s gone to get my car. Seems I’m in the wrong place, too. Let me guess, Antonio’s?” My heart is beating a mile a minute because if she says she’s heading there, I’m going to ask her to be my goddamn wife.

“Yes!” Her entire face smiles up at me. Dark, open brown eyes remind me of the rich soil we planted our summer gardens in. Deep and fertile. Full of all the nourishing goodness everyone is seeking these days. “I have no idea how I got it so wrong, but here I am.” She drops her lids and I swear the soft breeze from her thick lashes makes me shiver. She is fucking gorgeous.

“My loser friend knew where we were supposed to go and purposely misled me so she could come here and meet a guy she’s hooking up with. All our friends are over Antonio’s probably thinking we bailed on them.” Even though I should be pissed, I can’t find it in me to give a fuck about any of that now. If Anna hadn’t pulled such a cunt move, I never would’ve run into… “Ur, what’s your name?” She scrunches up her nose and looks at me like I just plucked those words right from her brain.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” We both laugh and shake our heads a little. Unable or unwilling to look away from each other. I hear my fucking car pull up beside the curb and I want to throat punch the speedy valet guy.

“Sir, your Tesla X. Will there be anything else?” I shake his hand and drop a fifty as I turn to my companion expectantly.

“Uh…” I leave the space open for her to fill with her lovely voice and hopefully her goddamned name.

“Suriah. Midnight black Tesla X.” She sneaks a look at me from under her lashes before quickly placing her ticket in my waiting palm.

“Thanks, could you please bring Suriah’s car around, as well.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m going to wait here with you.” Rich loamy eyes reach for my face. Questions and answers pinging back and forth between us, even though no words are spoken.

“Thank you. I appreciate a gentleman. Is that a southern accent I detect...”?

“Taylor, and yes. South Carolina, born and raised; although, I’ve lived in New York since I was eighteen…”

“And your accent is still that strong?” I laugh at her shocked expression.

“I just returned from a two-week visit. It becomes stronger the longer I’m down there with my family and old friends.” I laugh thinking about how disgusted my mom and dad are when we talk. “My parents called me a slick-talkin’-yankee. They’re not happy their baby boy has lost his southern charm.” I’m laughing in earnest, now because my folks are crazy as fuck and I wouldn’t take anything in the world for them and how they love me.

“You don’t sound so much like a yankee that your southern dulcet tone doesn’t shine through, Taylor.” Hearing my name slip from her mouth does some funny shit to my heart. What the hell is happening?

“You’re obviously not from the south, Suriah.”

“No, not even a little bit. I’m originally from Chicago but, like you, I’ve been in New York since I was eighteen.”

“Yeah? What university or college?”

“Barnard at Columbia University.”

“Shut the fuck up!” She throws her glorious head of dark brown and ash-blonde corkscrew curls back and laughs like she’s out on the playground with her best friends. Not a care as to who might be watching her cackle like a loon. I join her because how the hell could I not?

“What…?” She wipes the spilled joy from beneath her eyes and shakes the rest of her giggles away before fixing me with a look that says, ‘I’m quiet, now wow me, big boy.”

“I didn’t go to Barnard, but I did graduate from Columbia with both undergrad and JD.”

“I have my JD from Columbia.” We stand there looking at each other like maybe somebody’s trying to set us up. When at the same time and out of nowhere we both blurt out.

“Class of 2014!”

“Get out of here!” One more time for shits and giggles.

“No, you get out of here!” That’s it. We dissolve into a fit of giggles and snorts. We’re holding on to each other’s’ shoulders for support because for some fucking reason, us saying the same thing at the same time is the funniest shit we’ve ever heard.

“Ur… Um, excuse me. Um, I have a black Tesla X for a Suriah…” We hear the valet at the same time and try really hard to compose ourselves, but it’s not working. A couple of loud whoops and oh boys later and she finally takes her keys, tips the guy and looks pointedly into my green eyes, and nods. I returned her nod and put her into her car. After making sure she’s secure, I make my way around to my driver’s side door, slide in and start up the silent engine. We pull out into traffic together, cruise down fifty-seventh; one behind the other. I can’t fucking wait to get to Antonio’s and see where else this night takes us.

“Text Anna-Banana,” I tell my hands-free phone service.

“What is your message?”

“I hope he fucks better than you give information, be safe. Call me if you need me to send rideshare to pick your horny ass up. Love you.”

“Message sent. Anything else?”


“You didn’t say thank you.”

“Fuck you, you’re a computer program.”

“I'm unable to fulfill your request at this time. Is there anything else you need?” I don’t bother answering because I’m not trying to lose my mind with this damn car. I’ve got more important things… a more important person on my mind. Suriah. Goddess. Fellow Columbia Law School alum.

“Whoever’s up there looking out for me, thanks.”

“You are welcome. Now, was that so hard?” Shaking my head, I turn on Debussy and follow the most intriguing woman I’ve met in a long ass time to Antonio’s.

“The fuck you been, asshole?” Brain yells across four or five tables as I’m walking toward him and our friends. Shaking my head and beaming him with the best smile in my limited repertoire—I’m not known for smiling; although, I smiled quite a bit with Suriah—hoping to disarm his surly ass. “We’ve been waiting for you and… where the fuck is Anna’s dizzy ass?” Guess my smile did nothing to soothe the savage beast lurking just below Brian’s olive skin.

“Why are you so goddamned concerned with everyone else… where’s your three-week fiancée?”

“Fuck you! And I got your fucking three-weeks, you dickless motherfucker.” Ouch, he is well and truly pissed.

“Okay.” I draw the word out because I want to give him a chance to explain himself before I turn my dickless ass around and find that beautiful… wait, where the hell is Suriah?

“Okay, nothing. I—just. I thought you weren’t coming and I was already pissed the fuck off and then Cécile’s best friend swept in and stole her away to the lady’s room and…”

“… and you miss your pacifier? I watch his shoulders relax as he shakes his shaggy brown hair out like some kind of old sheepdog. The smile he gifts me makes me forget all about his dickless comment. “Anna is the reason I’m so fucking late. She told me you guys changed the venue to Anthony’s. I should have known her skanky ass was lying—who the hell goes to fucking Anthony’s for anything other than getting shit-faced and the all-you-can-eat wings?”

“I know my sister is a piece of work, but a skanky? Come on, man. That’s low, even for your righteous ass.” I look at him with my no-fucks-to-give expression as I look around the semi-private booths set aside for our rowdy group only to realize we’re the only two people standing around.

“Where’s everybody?”

“My sister was the one throwing this little shindig…”

“Say no more. So, everyone is over at Anthony’s wondering what the fuck is going on.” The look on his face tells me all I need to know. Why the fuck would Anna do this to her twin on a day we’re supposed to be celebrating his engagement? Then it hits me between eyes like that one guy’s dick when I was in undergrad.

“Anna doesn’t like Cécile.”

“Thinks she’s just after my inheritance…she’s fucking wealthier than me, for Christssake.” He looks off to the left and I follow his line of vision and my heart fucking stops beating in my chest. Like maybe if it plays dead, Suriah will come over and give me mouth-to-mouth to resuscitate its ass.

“Your three-week fiancée’s best friend is Suriah?”

“You know her?”

“We figured out we were at the wrong A at the same time and… oh, that makes so much sense, now.” Suriah arrives at the table, and swear to God, every-fucking-body disappears from the club. I know we look like matching bookends with our open-mouth-smiles, wide eyes, and shaking heads. But, honestly, I can’t find one shit to give about how goofy I look right now. My girl is here. She’s my best friend’s fiancée’s best friend. In my head we’ve already gone on about a billion double dates, we have houses out on Montauk only a few miles apart, and our three children all grow up together. What the actual fuck?

“I take it you two know each other. Suri, is this the guy you tell me about in the restroom?” Cécile’s accent makes every word sound as if she bathes them in thick saliva before sending them through the sieve of her small, tight teeth.

“Yes.” A small smile curves Suriah’s plump lips just enough to let me know she’s feeling the same shit I am.

“Oh, this is so amazing! Isn’t this so amazing, Bree?” Cécile’s jumping up and down like a little tea-cup poodle who’s about to piss itself with excitement, while I’m struggling to figure out who the fuck Bree is.

“Yeah, babe. It’s quite amazing.” Oh, Bree is her pet name for Brian. “Hey, Taylor, you didn’t tell me you knew my fiancée’s best friend.” What’s with the accusatory tone in his voice.

“What? I just told you when I saw them walking up to the booth that we ran into each other at Anthony’s. You all right, old man?” Brian is a few years my senior and I won’t let him forget that shit. Ever.

“I’ve got your motherfucking old man hanging like a pole between my legs, you pussy.” All right, I’m leaving that and him alone. Don’t know what crawled up his ass, but it’s like someone went down to Congaree Swamp Rd. to pay Buzzard, the rootworker, to put the work on his crazy ass. I turn to Suriah to give three-week a chance to calm the idiot down before this shit escalates.

“Suriah.” Her name feels like cool, sweet ice tea in my mouth. Something sacred, meant to be shared between just the two of us.

“Taylor.” Her face is so open. I don’t know what’s going to happen between us but I know, eventually, I’m going to have to come clean about quite a few things. Things most people don’t readily understand or accept. I hope she’s different. Hope she’s as open as her beautiful face. I sound like a goddamned Hallmark-made-for-tv-movie.

“Looks like we weren’t only coming to the same place but to the same party. How did you and Cécile become best friends?” She darts her eyes over to where the engaged couple is huddled together in a low conversation before turning her gaze back to me. “We grew up together. Well, sort of.”

“Really?” I allow doubt to paint that one word because what-the-fuck-ever. If these two grew up together, I have a ten-inch monster swimming in my Calvin Kleins and that will never be fucking true. I always thought something was off with three-weeks… and if my dream girl has information, she’s getting ready to give that shit up to me right-the-fuck-now.

“I say sort of because I only spent summers, Christmas, and New Years in Nice with my maternal grandparents. The last time I spent that time with my parents and siblings I was... five. Maybe six?” Who sends one of their kids away and allows the others to stay at home with them?

“So, you met when you would visit your grandparents and became best friends. That’s kind of… sweet. A lotut definitely mostly sweet.” I didn’t realize I’d grabbed her hand until she gave mine a slight squeeze. She was so delicate. I could crush her without thinking about it. Protectiveness surged through my veins and I almost pulled her into my body to keep her right next to me. Pipe down, caveman.

“It’s not really sad. I was… a different person back then. Difficult to please; and unlike my two brothers and my sister, I didn’t even know what would satisfy me.” A shake of her beautiful curls and I imagine how soft they’d feel on my thighs with her lush mouth around my dick. I definitely need to shut those thoughts down before I embarrass myself.

“Well, however you and Cécile became friends, I’m glad you did.” I tried to keep the excitement from my voice, but I know she heard it clear as day. Fuck, I don’t ever remember feeling like this about someone upon first meeting them. What is it about this girl?

“Yeah?” She turns her soulful gaze on me and I swear I see the rest of my life in their rich depths. Wait, was that a question?

“Yes. If you and three-weeks hadn’t been friends…”


“Oh, shit!” I laugh like I’ve told the funniest joke ever. “I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to call… I call Cécile, three-weeks because she and Brian had only known each other for a total of three weeks before they got engaged—and well, I…”

“Oh!” She throws her head back laughing harder than I had. She is so fucking magnificent. I can’t even believe this girl is real. “That’s funny as hell. I call Brian, quickdraw for the same reason.” Shaking her head, she can’t seem to stop the peels of giggles erupting from her throat. Fuck, she’s funny, too.

“Quickdraw! He’d lose his shit if he knew that. He wouldn’t associate it with the engagement thing… you know?”

“I do know.” More devious laughter turns her deep brown eyes into pools of wicked awareness. “It’s why it’s so damn funny when I call him that.”

“Wait, you call him quickdraw to his face?”

“What’s he going to do to me? I’m the best friend… if I don’t like him, he’s out the door.” She cuts her eyes over to the happy couple, who seem to have started celebrating their engagement on their own, before looking back at me. “Lucky bastard, I adore him. He’s exactly what Céci needs.”

“Is it strange… I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.” I feel my face warm, thank fuck I have this Carolina tan.

“No. Not really… I kind of feel the same way. I mean, we did graduate from the same law school in the same year… maybe…” She withdraws her hands from mine and takes a small step back.


“I should probably tell you something before everyone else gets here and whatever this is that’s happening between us goes any further…”

“Okay, do you want a drink before we sit down?” I feel like I’m going to need one. “I should probably tell you a thing or two, as well. What are you drinking, Suri?” Her nickname rolls off my tongue like I imagine her cum would when I licked her to orgasm. Shit, Taylor, get your head out of the gutter. Her shy smile tells me she likes me using the familiar name as much as I do.

“Martini, dirty. Please.”


“What else is there?” I flash her a smile as I walk to the bar. I’m squeezing my butt-cheeks together to stop myself from getting hard, not that it would cause much disturbance to the front of my pants, but still. Maybe she has a couple of children… I’m not even sure I want kids of my fucking own, they would be a deal-breaker.

“One dirty-girl martini with Grey Goose.” I set her drink on the table furthest away from Brian and three-weeks. “I see some more of the group finally showed up.”

“Yeah. Brian was really pissed with his sister. Céci told me she doesn’t really care for her.”

“Céci doesn’t care for Anna?” Even though Anna is a raging bitch most of the time, she’s like family and I’ll always have her back.

“No! Anna doesn’t care for Céci. She thinks she’s just after Brian’s money. Honestly, between you and me, Anna’s loads wealthier than Brian could ever hope to be.” I sit down beside her with my thirty-year-old Scotch and let my thigh press against hers. The slight intake of breath is everything. Maybe children wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“Yeah, Brian told me the same thing. I only just figured out Anna had a problem with three-weeks. I can’t figure out why, though. It’s weird because this is the first girl Brian’s been serious about in years. I thought she’d be happy for him, but Anna’s been on some kind of self-destructive trip lately…” I don’t know what else to say and I don’t want to fucking talk about Anna and her crazy shenanigans right now. I take a sip of my drink and look over to see Suri doing the same. I guess we both need some liquid courage to get through this next awkward conversation.


“I just…” We both start, stop and laugh when we realize we’re talking over each other. “You can go first.” I defer … I mean I am a fucking boy from the South. My mama would beat me into the middle of next week for not letting a lady speak first.

“Such a Southern gentleman.” I flash another smile and give her a slight nod to encourage her to continue. “Okay.” Deep breath. Unsure smile. Another deeper breath and a big gulp of her drink. Shit, what’s she getting ready to tell me?

“Listen, Suri. We just met… I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me your life story right now. You seem pretty fucking nervous about whatever it is you’re gearing up to tell me. Why don’t we just… hang out and see where tonight takes us and revisit the big shit later on?” I hope I’ve given her some breathing room, but she’s still looking at me with determined eyes and a goddamned spine of steel. My mama and aunties would fucking love this girl.

“No. I already know this is going to be something… we’re... going to be something.” She scoots in closer to me before drinking the last of the dirty Goose. “You know how you asked why you didn’t recognize me if we went to law school together?” I nod my head while playing with the rim of my glass. It’s intimate and weird as fuck, but I fucking love the cocooned feeling of being down here on our own.

“In 2014, I was different… an entirely different person, you know?”

“I guess. I mean… in 2014 I was a tall, skinny nerd with thick glasses and a little more body hair than was acceptable.” I smile to lessen the tension riding her small shoulders. It doesn’t.

“I’ve always been small. Small hands, feet… narrow shoulders. It really pissed my dad and brothers off because they could not understand why I wasn’t as tall and brawny as they were.”

“Why would you be? Is your sister like some kind of amazon goddess or something?” A nervous chuckle tumbles from me.

“Um, no. My sister is a little taller than me. I’m five-four and she’s maybe five-six. It’s just… when I was born, the doctors thought I would be as tall and big as my dad—he’s six-three.”

“Did your dad and brothers think your mom stepped out… that maybe you weren’t biologically your dad’s kid?” That would explain why they shipped her off to France every holiday they could, bastards.

“No!” She’s laughing in earnest, now. Shaking her head at my crazy thoughts and conjectures. “I’m both my mom and dad’s kid… it’s just. Fuck it. I was born biologically male, but it never felt like I was a boy. I didn’t see the world through the same gross-burpified lens as my dad and brothers, but I also didn’t feel drawn to all the pink and frilly shit my sister seemed to gravitate toward. I didn’t fit. Didn’t know what was wrong, except me having a dick and balls.”

“What the actual fuck? If you’re not a woman...”

“I had gender reassignment surgery in Brazil after graduating from law school. I was diagnosed with gender dysphora and wanted to do something to rectify my situation. I lived in Rio for a couple of years learning how to be a woman while practicing international civil law.” Fuck me while I’m walking down 5th avenue with all my damn clothes on. “Well… say something, please?”

“What was your name?”


“Your name… before the GRS. What would I have known you as in law school?”

“Oh!” Her soft, full lips turn up in a mischievous smile that tightens my balls. “You knew me as, Jackson Emerson Kenington”

“Shut the fuck up!” I throw my head back and bark out a laugh that draws the attention of the entire group. They’re all giving us inquisitive looks like maybe we’re plotting to kill everyone in the club just for shits and giggles. I lower my voice and grab her soft hand, rubbing the rough pad of my thumb across her knuckles.

“So, you do remember me? I mean… him? Me as him, I guess. ” I throw out a lifeline to rescue her from the hole she’s too busy digging to notice the grin splitting my face in two.

“Fuck, yeah! It was either your name or mine in the number one spot for the three years we were in school together. Wait, did you recognize my name when I introduced myself to you?” I need to know if she knew me when she was Jackson.

“No, you only introduced yourself as Taylor and if I’m not mistaken, your focus was corporate law. I honestly didn’t even know what you looked like—just that I wanted to kick your ass back to wherever you came from—and never tried to seek you out.”

“Ouch! That’s harsh, baby.” Baby? This is too easy. So natural. I watch as a soft blush takes a leisurely stroll up her delicate neck only to settle on the apples of her sculpted cheeks. She is so fucking beautiful.

“Are you trying to find Jack in my features?” Her voice has one leg over the fence and the other ready to kick me in my balls.

“What? No! I was j-just thinking how fucking beautiful you are with that soft blush barely touching your cheeks.” I can’t believe I said that shit out loud. “Is that how people usually respond to your announcement—looking for the man who made the woman?”

“Are you making jokes?” Her face crumbles in angry hurt.

“All right, let’s just take a breather. It seems like every word out of my mouth is the wrong one. And no, I’m not joking. What the fuck would be funny right now, Suriah?” I watch as her hackles retreat, and she brings both of her small feet to level ground. Suri shakes her thick curls to dislodge negative ions from her hair and looks at me with silent eyes.

“God, you must think I’m a total freak.”

“No, just gross…”

“Gross?! W-what t...”

“… ly misunderstood and a little scared.”

“… he hell do you mean I’m gross…wait, what?” It takes us both longer than it should’ve to realize we were both talking at the same time and most of what I was saying got lost in the crossfire.



“Hi, I’m Taylor J. Wittington, here for the groom. You are…”

“Suriah E. Hurston, here for the bride. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

“Even better when that friendly face happens to be beautiful.”

“Wait, are you calling your friendly face beautiful or mine?” Tension broken. Thank fucking God. We both burst into playground laughter and have to work hard to remember we’re both lawyers in a club teaming with high-end professionals.

“I’m calling your friendly face beautiful because it’s the first thought I had when we met under the awning at Anthony’s.” I let the last bit of humor color my words because I fucking love her bright, unguarded smile.

“You’re a smooth one, Taylor. I’d love to see you in a three-piece suit working the jury.”

“Would you, now?” My voice has dropped into that intimate tone I have no control over and chubby’s getting a little twitchy below my belt. “How’d you know I wore three-piece suits?”

“With a body like that, why would you bother wearing anything else?”

“Are you flirting with me, Suri?” I’ve scooted into her personal space; letting my left arm drop from the back of the bench to her narrow shoulders. I tuck Suri into my side because she makes me fucking possessive.

“If you like it, then yes… I’m flirting with you.” She gets quiet and a little shy before looking up into my face. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you. It’s just. Men have a hard time dealing with the fact that I wasn’t born female—even though I have all the working parts—most still look at me as something to check off their sexual fuck-it list. You know?”

“Yeah. You and I have so much more in common than our law degrees and cars. And before you ask, I didn’t have gender reassignment surgery, but I would have if my parents weren’t fucking awesome human beings.” She tilts her head showing full interest in whatever I’m about to say. However; before I can get a word out, Cécile saunters her bony ass up to our table. Bursting our cozy bubble with her obnoxious voice and vibes.

“You have my best friend all to yourself for long time now. You need to let her go to the ladies with me, no?” I look up into the pulled face of Brian’s girl. Her makeup is perfect as is her platinum blonde ponytail. I want to punch her in her big-toothy grin and tell her to fuck off, but I already feel Suriah pulling away to stand and go with her friend.

“I’m not holding Suriah hostage, Cécile. Just getting to know a beautiful woman. Taking the time to learn important things about each other… you know? Like normal people who are attracted to each other do. Take their time…”

“Enough! I get it. You don’t care for me either.” It sounds like she just said, ‘zhu doon’t keer fwo me eezur.’ I really have to pay attention to what she’s trying to say because I’m having to translate her English into English and it’s fucking with my head. “… Je veux qu’on soit de bons amis.”

“I want us to be good friends, too. But it’s going to take some time for me to get there. I’m not against you.” I respond in English because I’m not going to speak fucking French just because I can. Her large blue eyes sparkle with delight and I don’t know if it’s because I speak and understand her native tongue or because I said I want to become good friends, too. But damn, I see why my boy locked her ass down in three weeks. She is beautiful—not as beautiful as her petite bon ami—in that ice-princess kind of way that makes Brian’s heart go pitter-patter.

“Tu ne me détestes pas? Je pensais que je devrais travailler très dur pour obtenir votre faveur ... Brian apprécie tellement votre opinion. Plus que même sa sœur ou ses parents.” Joy replaces the heavy weight around her broad shoulder and for the first time I can see the softer side to her.

“Brian is my best fucking friend, the closest thing to family I have here in New York. I want him happy and well, you seem to make him happy. No ill intent—toward you or Suriah.” I flash the smile that makes most women want to hump my thigh and apparently, newly engaged women aren’t immune to it and neither is the woman I want to hump. “I’ll be down on the other end…” Looking into eyes that make me think about summer gardens; my words only for her. “We probably should join the party, after all, Brian and Cécile aren’t the only ones being celebrated tonight.” The smile Suri sends my way makes me want to run out and slap a motherfucking ring on her finger.


It’s past two in the morning and we’ve shut the club down. Well, all of us except Anna and her fuck of the week. They left shortly after the fifth round of Patron shots. We’ll probably get a phone call in the morning from a confused-cracked-out Anna asking us to come get her sorry ass from some hole-in-the-wall or the damn hospital, a-fucking-gain. She needs somebody to help her embrace her darkness in better ways than she’s doing right now.

“How drunk are you?” A sultry voice filled with sin and temptation whispers across my ear. My dick is truly on board with whatever she wants to get into.

“I’m not drunk at all. For every shot, I drank sixteen ounces of water. I’m good, you?” Her weight crashes against my side. We’ve danced, dry-humped each other on the floor, in a booth, and against the wall. I watched her try to hold her own with her friend but Suri’s like five-four, a hundred and twenty-five pounds—dripping wet. Her friend is at least, five-nine and probably has about forty pounds on her. I’m thinking my girl is drunk as hell and in condition to drive or make decisions about anything really.

“I’m not drunk, either.” I’m listening for a slur or something to betray her lie. Nothing. She sounds stone-cold sober. “All the shots I took were filled with mineral water. You’ll never see me have more than one drink when I’m out… I don’t like not being in control.” I turn to fully look at her. Beautiful clear eyes, flushed cheeks, and the most devastating smile I’ve ever seen. “See? Told you… that yummy, dirty martini is the only alcohol to pass through these lips.” Now, I’m thinking about other things I’d like to see pass through those puffy lips. Shit.

“Good. I’m glad you’re sober because your girl is about five sheets to the wind.” We both look over at Brian and Cécile as they attempt to gather their belongings. It’s like watching Lucy and Desi Arnaz in that scene where Lucy’s beating Desi’s ass with a pillow. They’re all fumbling, screaming, laughing at each other.

“You see it, too, don’t you? It’s hard to miss especially when you spend any amount of time with them. Their love is almost palpable. Get too close and it somehow becomes a part of your skin.” I looked down at her and wondered if what I was feeling was in reaction to Brian and his girl or my own brand of crazy-put-a-ring-on-it love because right now, what I’m experiencing has nothing to do with my dick.

“What I see is there’s something special between a certain Columbia School of Law graduate and her contemporary. What I see is us trying really hard to take it slow. Get to know each other before we’re the next three-week engagement. What I see is too many aspects of our lives intersecting for any of it to be a coincidence. What I see is the one person the Universe created especially for me.” I step into her, refusing to look away from my future and wait for her to either rip my heart out or bind our souls together.

“Is it possible for two people to have the same dream?” My brows make that Tabby cat ‘M’ but then it clicks. Like a key slotting into a rusting lock—requires lubrication and some maneuvering—giving way to whatever treasure lay behind the open door.

“If you’re asking what I think you are… then, yes. But we both know this isn’t some drug-induced fever dream, Suri. There’s a reason we met how we did. I’m a country boy from the South and if I know nothing else, I know how to watch for signs. Everything has a meaning; it’s just knowing how to read them when they decide to show themselves.

“Okay Taylor, what does all this mean?”

“It means that the Universe made me the way I am with the purpose of being exactly what you need in your person. It means we’re fated to be more than good friends whose best friends are married. It means I need to tell you more about me and I need to know more about you. It means…”

“… can it mean you kiss me, and we talk later?” I’m going to fucking marry this woman and she doesn’t even know it’ll be sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, two-weeks, that’s exactly what it means.” I plant my ass on the edge of the table, spread my legs to pull her curvy body to stand between them and place my left hand on her hip before sliding it around to grab a handful of her plump ass. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release… all while my right fingers wrap around her elegant neck to pull her lush mouth to my own.

“Two-weeks, huh?” She whispers across my lips just before I delve my tongue inside. Holy-fucking-shit! But this woman is the best kiss I’ve ever had. And I’ve kissed all kinds of people—pansexual here—none come close to this. Sweet as fuck mouth. The slick glide of an accomplished tongue. Lips, teeth, gums…I’m exploring every corner of her mouth. Fuck, she tastes like my Auntie Roberta’s homemade peach cobbler.

“Where’d you go?” She pulls back and I watch her delectable tongue slide across her swollen bottom lip, collecting the last bit of me to pull into her mouth. Damn, I’m in trouble.

“Started thinking I could come from kissing you and how embarrassing that would be.” Now would be a great time to tell her about my little gender/genital situation but I don’t want to break whatever spell we’re under.

“I was thinking the same exact thing, which is weird because I haven’t had an orgasm since my surgery.” What the fuck?

“Let’s get out of here. I need to get you alone for the shit I’m goin’ tuh do your fine ass. You good wid’at?” Damn, all the blood is heading south. Making my South Carolina twang more noticeable.

“Yes. Do you live close by?”

“Close enough, you?”

“I’m only about ten minutes out. I live in Gramercy Park.” My eyes light up, I’ve been hoping to meet someone who lives there because I want to get my ass in that motherfucking exclusive green space, and I don’t know anyone with a key. Correction. I didn’t know anyone with a key—please have a fucking key. “Why do you look like I just told you there’s a unicorn in my building?”

“A key?” I know I sound like a goddamn fool, and I still don’t care. I want into that fucking park.

“To the park?” She’s straight-up laughing at me and I don’t care. She has to have a key… no way in hell the Universe sends me perfection and doesn’t give her the fucking key to the kingdom.

“Yea… C’mon, girl. Stop laughing’?”

“God, you sound so high right now.” More laughter. “What’s it worth to you?” Fuck my life.

“I do this shit for a livin’, lil’ girl. You don’t want to open up this can of whoop-ass?”

“If I’m not mistaken, and I never am, Jackson E. Kennington graduated in the number one spot in our graduating class, Mr. Wittington?” Shit, who the hell needs foreplay when sapiosexual banter is as active as this.

“Don’t give a fuck. ‘Cause, that fucker is gone with the wind and I’m talkin’ your beautiful fuckin ass. We didn’t go to school together. So, tell me, Hurston, are you or are you not in possession of a key to the gates of Gramercy Park?” Her eyes have glassed over. They look like freshly turned earth after heavy rain. Soaking in acceptance and nurturing from a source created for just that purpose. I realize she’s crying because I only see her. Even after she told me her truth, I was still only able to see her.

“I do have a key to Gramercy Park…” Suri looks at me with eyes wide open and says the most perfect comeback in the world. “… but you most certainly hold the key to my soul, Wittington.” That’s it. That is motherfucking it! I’m marrying this woman! Definitely going to beat my friend’s three-week proposal. She’s going to be my wife—if she can accept me—within three-weeks. Engaged in a couple of days, plan a destination wedding, get married, and take a month-long honeymoon. All by the end of the fucking month.

“Let’s drop your car off, go back to my place and see where this morning takes us. Pack a bag, I want the weekend with you. No pressure. I promise. Just want to see if we fit like I think we do.” Thank fuck, the blood is circulating to my brain again.

“Is this like taking the Tesla home for the weekend to see if it works as well as they say it does, knowing damn well you’re not going to come back on Monday and say, ‘Nah, this is a piece of shit technology and I want no part of the Musk movement.’?” We’ve waved goodbye to whoever lefts of our group and are walking out the door before I even realize we’ve done it.

“No, this is me being a cocky motherfucker and hedging all my bets on the fact that you’re going to fall head over heels in love with my goofy ass before realizing you could do much better.” The valet has gone, with another guy, to pick up matching cars. “Waiting for our cars seems to be our thing.”

“Our thing? Could that really become an ‘our thing’ thing?” I look down at her at the same time she looks up at me with the silliest smile on her face. That’s when I notice two deep dimples one in each cheek. I want to stick my tongue in them. Fill them with my warm cum. Fuck, I may have just developed a dimple fetish.

“Those always been there?” I run my finger down her right cheek and swirl it slowly inside the most endearing birth defect known to man.

“Yes. Always had these bad boys. When I was planning my surgery in Brazil, the doctor asked if I wanted to have them fixed. I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Why the hell would I want to get rid of these babies. I’d lived my entire life as a bisexual male, I know how much men dig these little divots.” She chuckled softly. Bisexual male, hmmm?

“So, still bisexual?”

“No. Straight female.”

“How’s that?”

“Short version. I dated women because I was expected to. I dated men because that’s who I was attracted to, but not gay men and never gay sex.”

“Here are the cars. I’ll follow you. Do you have street parking or a garage? Garage, I have an extra parking space, so follow me in. okay?”

“See you in ten.” I lean down and place a soft kiss on her still swollen mouth before opening her door. Once she’s buckled up and ready to roll, I jog around to my own car. Ten minutes later, we’re pulling into a well-lit underground parking garage with only one level, from what I’m able to see.


“Your place is ridiculous. I didn’t think it’d be so big.”

“That’s what she said.” She throws her head back and howls at the moon. I can’t make myself even crack a goddamn smile. I hate that shitty joke. All jokes about big swinging dicks make me want to do bodily harm to whoever the fuck is making them.

What has two arms, two heads, and three legs? Me, fuckers! Head on my shoulders, fat-ass-cock-head, my dick’s so long it may as well be the third leg. Laughter and whoops abound in every locker room across the world where men come together to brag about their giant dicks. They’re not even that impressive… I mean what’s so great about having a six to eight-inch dick swinging between your legs. And oh, my God, shut the fuck up about big, hard dicks and large hairy balls!

“Hey?” I almost jump out of my skin when I feel Suriah’s soft hand on my bicep. Shit, I didn’t need that flashback and subsequent bird walk to happen. “Are you all right? You’ve been staring at this ugly painting for longer than it takes most to realize it’s hideous.” Her attempt at humor is appreciated and shakes me free of the memories, I offer her a genuine smile.

“Yeah, it’s—uh. Before this goes any further, we need to talk.” May as well get this over with just in case she decides she hadn’t paid good money to get the perfect pussy to be fucked with a microdick.

“No?” She’s unsure. Man up and tell her the fucking truth. My father’s strong voice pops into my head, You have nothing to be ashamed of, there ain’t a goddamn thing wrong with you. You hear me, son? Not a motherfuckin’ thing wrong with you. Suriah takes my hand and leads me over to her couch, effectively pulling me into the moment. We sit so close; we’re touching in several different places. It’s comforting, the heat pouring into my side from her soft body.

“I was born intersexted.” I wait for her to either ask what it is, cringe and get up, laugh and walk to the door to hold it open, or maybe all three. Except she doesn’t do anything, except shock the hell out of me.