Four hundred pounds. Four. Hundred. Goddamn. Pounds. Jesus, I’m a millionaire!

  Alright, I might be getting ahead of myself, but this is by far the most cash I’ve held in my hands…possibly ever, and I got it for nothing. I think. I really wish I could trust my memory right now.

  Sure, I distinctly remember meeting a beautiful woman who handed me a fistful of cash and a business card. A card that is still sitting in my pocket. On the other hand I was - and definitely still should be - absolutely pissed. A small, or if I’m honest with myself, quite rge part of me worries that in my drunken haze I met, and promptly mugged some random woman and constructed the story in my head.

  Can’t think like that. It didn’t happen. You didn’t do anything.

  Weird. I’m feeling remarkably sober for some reason. I must have been out for ages.

  I check my phone and I’m astonished to find it’s only half ten. How in the hell has it only been twenty-five minutes. Honestly, I’m disappointed. Why spend the whole morning drinking if I can’t even lose half the miserable day. Sure I’m currently flush with what is, for me, an obscene amount of cash, but what the hell am I supposed to do now.

  Darling, Take this, buy yourself a nice sun-dress and do what you will with the remainder.

  Ariadne’s voice echoes softly in my mind sending a tingling shiver across my skin. God she was beautiful. I really, REALLY hope she wasn’t a dream. But, dream or otherwise, she’d given me an instruction and since I have literally nothing else to do today, I may as well follow it.

  By pure chance I manage to find my missing trainer lodged under the world’s most prickly thorn bush. After contorting my limbs at all manner of unnatural angles to avoid the evil spines - and failing miserably I might add - I manage to extricate the sodden shoe, shredding my arm in the process. The shoe is totally fucked, but since my options are destroyed shoe, or going barefoot, I slide it back on to my foot. I regret my decision immediately. Every step feels like I’m stamping on a soiled nappy.

  Real fucking pleasant. Oh well, onward and upward I guess.

  *****

  The walk into town is pleasant enough - at least if you ignore my clothes and shoes. The storm has passed, the sun is shining and unless I’m very much mistaken, the network of icicles that seems to have repced my skeleton seems to be thawing.

  I catch more than my fair share of dirty looks from people as I make my way through the city streets. What’s the matter people? Never seen a drowned rat before? In their defence, I must look like something out of a zombie movie. I check my reflection in a shop window. Obviously I’m soaked to the skin and then some. My shirt is shredded thanks to my encounter with the bush and my left arm…well at the moment it’s more blood than skin, which has gotta freak people out. I’ve got to fix it, and soon.

  I hot-foot it through town to Sprimark. I loathe shopping there, but considering the state of half their customers I’m at least fairly certain my appearance won’t get me kicked out.

  I head inside, closely followed by a man in his pyjamas and two women who had clearly been out on the sh st night and never made it home, at least I assume so judging by their battered pink cocktail dresses and the silk sashes embzoned with the word “Bridesmaid” in obnoxious glittery bubble writing. Hey, we’ve all been there.

  I grab the first towel, top and leggings I see, swing upstairs for a pair of socks and some fresh undies and then immediately hit the changing rooms. I really, really wish I’d paid more attention to what I was grabbing. A salmon pink crop-top with full, puffy sleeves and jogging bottoms pstered with the branding of a famous bakery. Christ, I’m gonna look worse than when I came in. But I will at least be dry, and that almost makes up for it. Besides, I’ve got a stack of twenties burning a hole in my waterlogged pocket so I can get something else if I have to, preferably from somewhere a hell of a lot nicer.

  I peel the wet clothes from my body, dumping them unceremoniously on the filthy carpet that may have been cream once upon a time, but now…well probably best not to think about too hard about it. I make a vain attempt to dry myself on what I now realise is the worlds worst towel, and I again find myself menting my choice to shop here.

  I never used to. Shop here, I mean, I’ve always hated the pce. I really don’t give a crap about fashion, but I do care about where it comes from. I don’t care what my t-shirt and jeans look like, as long as they weren’t stitched together by child sves in some sweatshop somewhere, and made to fall apart in six months. Unfortunately, since almost every penny I’ve earned for the past three years has gone towards either rent or my university, this is the only pce I’ve been able to afford. I tried to stick to my principles for the first six months, and I pretty soon learned that when your options are ethical clothing choices and eating more than twice a week, unfortunately your hands are tied. Being poor fucking sucks.

  I just about manage to dry myself skin, coming away with only minor burns and cerations from whatever wire-wool-ass material this towel is made of. My hair is still soaked, but without a hairdryer and a few hours to kill there’s not a lot to be done about that. The changing room is well and truly soaked, and I really do pity the poor bugger who has to come in and clean it when I leave. Sorry dude.

  Whelp, can’t think about that right now, I’ve got clothes to buy. I throw on my mismatched items and head out, my daring new outfit turning more than a few heads. Including, unfortunately, that of the nearest security guard.

  A squat, baby-faced looking guy in a uniform three sizes too big for him comes waddling over and cmps me on the shoulder. Well, squeezes me gently on the shoulder I should say, this guy has all the upper body strength of a worm. Honestly, he looks about twelve with a nose too big for his face, and I have no idea if they gave him a stab vest to make him look more menacing, or if they genuinely thought someone was gonna stab this pipsqueak. Either way, he looks ridiculous and there is no way anyone on earth would ever take him seriously. Me especially.

  “Sir, you have to pay for those.” he says, his stupid voice breaking as I gre at him.

  Oh I really wish he hadn’t said that. I really could have done without that today. Just another casual reminder of how people see me. I mean really, what more do I have to do. Aside from the fact that I’m currently dressed like half the girls in this town, my tits, which while far from the biggest, are currently very much on dispy. Prick.

  He seems in no hurry to correct himself, and I resist the urge to punch him in the nose. Normally I’d ignore being misgendered, it’s rarely ever worth the hassle. Sure most of the time people will apologise and correct themselves, but there’s always that chance they’ll kick of and start screaming at you. But, I’m already having such a shit day I really, really want to make something of it. Like, really want to.

  I could push him down the escator. That’d show him. Or break a mannequin over his head. Yeah, Riley, and while you’re at it, why not just stab him in the eyes or set him on fire. Stop being a dick and calm down before you get us arrested.

  Cooler heads prevail, and alright I have to admit it probably does look like I’m shoplifting from where he’s standing. I mean from his perspective he saw me go in with one outfit, and leave with another. He doesn’t know I’m pnning to pay for them. And since his only purpose for being here is to prevent exactly this scenario from pying out, I can’t really fault him for stopping me. Still, SIR? Accuse me of being a thief if you like, but…

  But what? I can’t yell at him. I mean I can, but it’s only gonna make things worse. He already thinks I’m a criminal… I keep my lips tightly sealed.

  I hold my old, waterlogged clothes in one hand, and the tags for everything I’m wearing in the other. Hoping he’ll get the message.

  “Sir? Did you hear me?”

  I bite my tongue. Once more. Say it once more.

  “Jesus dude, I got caught in that huge fucking storm. I just wanna be dry right now. I’m gonna pay for everything, see?” I shove the collection of tags in his spotty face.

  “Sir, I’m gonna have to…”

  “I’m a woman you beaky little cunt!” Body shaming. Not cool, Riley. Instant regret. Fuck I hate getting angry. “Just take me to the fucking checkout.”

  He says nothing, no rebuttal, no apology. Not that I really deserve one. He leads me over to the tills and stands there staring until everything I’ve got is bought and paid for. He even checks the receipt as proof. He lets me leave, albeit begrudgingly.

  Unfortunately for my new best friend, I have one item left to buy. The requested sun-dress.

  My new friend follows me. He’s doing his best to pretend he isn’t, but he’s a terrible actor. Every time I turn in his direction, he immediately starts browsing through whatever items happen to be in front of him. The face he pulls when he is forced to browse through a pile of mixed thongs is priceless. Sweat pours down his nervous face, his cheeks burn crimson. As far as revenge goes, it’s pretty weak. Still feels good though. Go on little man, browse those thongs and know that every woman in the pce is watching you.

  *****

  Dresses are not my thing, they never have been. Actually that’s not true, before I came out I thought dresses where amazing. One of the things I was most excited about when I transitioned was that all of a sudden I was finally allowed to indulge my fantasy and wear all the pretty dresses my stupid little heart had been dreaming of. This sted all of about six weeks. I bought five, maybe six different dresses in a range of styles and they all looked shit. On me, I mean, stick them on someone skinny with bigger boobs and some actual hips and they’d look fantastic. Stick them on me, however, and they are ill fitting, boxy and just pin weird looking. Add to that that the first time I dared wear one in public, a sudden gust of wind blew the skirt over my shoulders, giving everyone and their mum a front row seat to the girl-bulge show. Admittedly, I have a couple of gorgeous trans femmes approach me afterward, and once they’d assured me I had nothing to be embarrassed about, they took me back to their pce and took turns railing me until I couldn’t walk straight. And despite that being dope as all hell, the risk of public exposure isn’t something I’m hugely keen to repeat.

  And yes, technically I know there are different cuts and fabrics and I know that modesty shorts exist. But finding those things takes a hell of a lot more effort than I’m willing to put into finding clothes.

  I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the selection of dresses racked up before me are somehow even worse than I imagined. A fair number might like tolerable on someone built like a rake, and a handful more might just about suit someone with melon-sized tits and absolutely no shame. Unfortunately I am neither, so my options are severely limited.

  Sun-dress, sun-dress, sun-dress, I repeat to myself as I explore, the word losing all meaning far quicker than I would like. They all look the same to me, boring and uncomfortable and entirely not me.

  I manage to narrow it down to two options. The first, a blue and green number featuring everyone’s favourite turtle-based super heroes, the other, pin white with a pink ribbon around the waist. Now I love the turts as much as the next gal, but I’m also an absolute sucker for a pretty bow. Sure it might be a bit more toddler-bridesmaid than perhaps I’d like, but I’m pretty sure I can make it work. I mean I’m all kinds of cute, of course I can pull it off. Maybe Ariadne will pull it off me…

  Yeah, I can see it now… No, not now. Just buy the damn thing, we can be horny about it ter.

  *****

  Finally I can leave. Not that I have anywhere particur to go. I mean I could go home, but the prospect of sitting alone in my room until I eventually pass out isn’t exactly appealing. Plus there’s always the chance if I go home, I’ll wake up from whatever insane dream I’m currently in and at that point I don’t know what I’ll do.

  I take my time walking through town, feeling the midday sun bst my skin with it’s delightful warmth, melting the ice from my bones.

  Sweet, precious warmth, how I’ve missed you.

  I’ll be burned to a crisp ter, fair skin, red hair and hot sun don’t mix. But right now that doesn’t matter. I’ll risk certain lobsterisation if it means the persistent chill that’s gripped my body all morning gets the bums rush.

  I feel good, for a while. It’s short lived. My regurly scheduled anxieties come kicking and screaming, annihiting my good vibes and repcing them with crushing dread.

  When you’re poor as hell, buying pretty much anything is kind of a curse. You only buy what you can’t live without. Anything else, and I do mean anything, starts this awful spiral of dread and regret.

  What’s that? You want a nutritious meal? What, instant ramen not good enough for Little Miss Fancy-Pants? Well now you’ve bought your fancy ￡5 sad meal deal. It’s sitting in front of you, staring back at you. Taunting you with its superfluousness. Just think of all the essentials you could have bought if you hadn’t splurged. You’re so weak. So useless. You’re gonna die hungry and cold because you just HAD to have it. Pathetic.

  And the worst thing is, the sad is right. You did make a choice, and now you have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. And every time it feels worse. And for me, clothes are the worst. I hate buying new clothes and I only ever do it when I have literally no other choice.

  The reason I'm telling you this is to emphasise just how fucking confused I am right now. I’ve just spent a whopping (for me at least) forty-five quid on a dress I’d normally never even look at, let alone buy, and another fifty and change on some dry clothes and shoes. I’ve spent nearly a weeks rent on basically nothing, and yet somehow I still have three hundred quid in my pocket. Three hundred quid I didn’t earn. Three hundred quid I’ve been told to treat myself with.

  I could cry, it takes every ounce of strength I have not to drop to my knees and bawl my eyes out. I should save the rest, use it for emergencies, but when am I ever gonna have this chance again. A chance to actually have fun and actually splurge? Never, that’s when.

  My stomach snarls at me as the scent of garlic bread prances through the air and takes up residence in my nose. It’s all I can do not to drool. Another snarl, followed by the peculiar sensation of a bck hole opening inside me. That settles it, Mama needs food.

  I follow the scent as best I can - which is to say, extremely badly. Ten minutes of intense sniffing yield nothing in terms of results. Bugger.

  “I can’t wait to try the cacio e pepe” says a bubbly voice from somewhere behind me. “Tuck says its to die for!”

  “Babe, smell that?” said another, slightly deeper voice. “That is the smell of the best garlic bread in the known universe! It’s all you can eat!”

  The voices, and the bodies they belong to, pass me by. OH. MY. GOD. So adorable. A young punk with short green hair and more piercings than teeth, walks hand-in-hand with the nerdiest, sweater-vest-wearingest, librarian-core femme I’ve ever seen.

  YES! Thank you queer Goddesses for sending me a guide!

  *****

  I follow the young couple at what I hope is a respectable distance, and it’s a bloody good thing I did. I would never, EVER have found this pce on my own, hidden away down some back-alley. Heck, they don’t even have a sign, just a menu in the window.

  Now, I told you how uncomfortable it felt spending a weeks rent on clothes, so when I tell you a single appetiser cost nearly twenty quid, well. After the initial shock wears off I pick my jaw off the floor and pop my bulging eyes back into their sockets. I should walk away right now. There’s no way, absolutely not goddamn way I’m paying that much for…

  The door opens, I smell carbonara, my favourite. I feel my feet leave the ground as I float gently into the restaurant like something out of a cartoon, drawn inexorably to that divine scent. I find a table tucked away in a nice cosy corner of the restaurant.

  This pce is all kinds of fancy. I’m used to cardboard boxes and paper straws. This pce is all crisp white tablecloths and multiple forks. Hell, there’s a basket of hot bread and a jar of olive oil on the table. Ritzy! I head inside and find a table tucked away in the corner. It’s dark and cosy and the whole restaurant smells incredible. Fresh baked breads, olive oil, garlic…god it feels good to be in a restaurant again…at least one I don’t work at.

  Oh. For a brief moment I’d managed to forget the festering wound that was my morning. The reminder hit me like cricket bat to the gut. I feel sick.

  My life is over. I’m fucked. I’m totally and utterly fucked. My life is…

  “Breathe” I whisper under my breath. “In-2-3-4, Hold-2-3-4, Out-2-3-4”

  My mind stops spiralling, mostly. It’ll keep going in the background, but as long as it stays back there I can pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s healthy, right?

  I turn my attention to the menu, trying my best not to baulk at the astronomical prices. I try to remind myself that just this once, the money doesn’t matter. Just this once.

  I was told to do whatever I want with this money, and what I want more than anything right now is a sp-up binge. Actually what I want more than anything is that vision of a woman to tie me up and milk my prostate until I go blind, but besides that, what I want is to eat so much delicious food I have to roll home.

  I spot the young couple I followed here sitting at a table nearby as try my best to fg down a waiter. I don't know what they've ordered, but from the looks on their faces it must be delicious. I can't help but watch them as I wait for my camari, they're just so damned cute together. They can't be more than sixteen - and how they can afford this pce at that age I'll never know. One of them, the brunette future-librarian with big round gsses and more freckles than I've ever seen on a human face before, has a little trans fg pinned to her purple best. It does my heart good to see that. Honestly, I'm jealous. I'd kill to have transitioned at her age, and to have done so and be dating another woman?

  I start to imagine how different my life could have been when a waiter arrives to take my order, I'm so focused on the menu, I barely look up at him. A little rude of me, perhaps, but I'm too distracted by the thought of food and the unexpectedly adorable lesbian date pying out nearby.

  He returns some time ter and pces my dish of camari fritti in front of me, and I find myself having to fight an anime-style nosebleed that seems determined to burst out of me at any second.

  I know I said earlier I’m a lesbian, and that’s mostly true. Technically I’m pan with a heavy preference for femmes, but I still have a healthy appetite for all the other delightful sections of the gender spectrum. And this dude is so my type. Kinda buff but soft looking, a well kept little beard, and enough tummy to use as a pillow. He could be my big spoon any day.

  "Buon apetito!" the waiter says in a soft, warm voice that sends a chill down my spine and straight into my junk. I'd let that man do unspeakable things to me if I had the chance, but I'm pretty sure giving your number to a random waiter is a bit skeevy. Bollocks. Perhaps another time.

  I've never had camari before. Even when I had a well paying job I struggled to try new things in expensive restaurants. The thought of paying through the nose for something I might hate never sat right with me. But today I have money to burn and for some reason I'm feeling adventurous.

  There's a nagging feeling in the back of my brain that I've made a mistake, and an expensive one at that. Sure the food looks incredible, and smells even better, but still. Chunks of squid? Have you seen squids? Ick!

  I can't help but notice the hot waiter is pretending not to watch me as I stare helplessly at my food. It's probably more likely he's staring into space and I just want him to be staring, but whatever, it's weirdly encouraging. I stab a chunk with my fork, dip it in the garlic butter sauce and shovel it in.

  I should remind you that for the st few years I've been living off instant ramen and the occasional microwave meal, so when I tell you my taste buds exploded, I'm not exaggerating or being dramatic, I mean they almost literally blew themselves up and damn near took the rest of my head with them.

  The texture is pretty weird, I'll give you that. Not unpleasant, just slightly chewier than I was expecting. Although if I'm honest I was expecting slimy, which it definitely isn't. The batter, so light and crispy, has been seasoned with something I'd never be able to identify and more than likely have never heard of, but the delicate crunch compliments the weird chewy squid far better than expected. I'd happily eat this every day, and it's a real effort not to dwell on the fact that I might never eat it again.

  *****

  The hot waiter returns to take my order for the main course. I twirl my hair around my finger like a nervous schoolgirl, whose crush has just noticed they exist. I catch a glimpse of his name-tag, and the pronoun badge pinned next to it. Zeus. He/they. Oh bloody hell he's the whole package. Fuck.

  "And what main course can I tempt you with today, Miss" his voice doing things to my body and brain I'd rather they didn't in public.

  "You can tempt me with anything" I say without thinking.

  FUCK!

  If Zeus is bothered by my accidental flirting, he doesn't show it. To be fair he probably gets it all the time and has just learned to put up with it.

  Oh god, I'm THAT customer.

  "Anything?" he asks, fshing me a wicked grin as my face turns increasingly red.

  He winked. The bastard winked at me. Oh god he's enjoying this. Oh god, I'M enjoying this.

  "Y-yeah. I can't decide between the Cacio e pepe, the carbonara and the ricotta and spinach cannelloni. Any thoughts?" I just about manage to steady my voice enough to complete the sentence, my composure almost regained. It doesn't st.

  "Hmm, I'm off in five, why not order all three and I'll join you?" There's that wicked grin again. Shit, does he actually mean it? If my cheeks burn any hotter I'm likely to burst into fmes.

  "I mean....I could...Do you..."

  "Rex, cutie, I was joking...unless..."

  He pces a finger on top of the menu, pushing my only hiding pce to the table. He locks eyes with me. I'm so fucked. Oh god I am SO fucked. His eyes are a deep green, his gaze soft and calming. He is entirely too cute, his lips entirely too kissable. Well, I've already been brave and eaten fried squid bits today, so what the hell.

  "Alright" I say in as sultry a tone as I can manage in my overly aroused state. "I'll take all three and you can join me for lunch."

  He's obviously gonna turn me down. Obviously. I mean this is clearly joke flirting, this sort of thing doesn't just happen.

  His wicked grin spreads from ear to ear. The bastard. He's not backing down, he's rolling with it. FUCK!

  "Wonderful" he says, his voice becoming brighter, more lyrical. He hastily scribbles the order on his pad, shoving it into his pocket.

  He holds out a hand. I take it. "I'm Zeus, pronouns he/him to most, they/them if I think you're cute. So you can use they/them if you like." They wink again. They think I'm cute! My mind spins.

  "Uh, Riley, she/her?" I say, my confused voice turning it into a question. I don't know what's going on anymore. Have I just nded a date somehow? I'm vaguely aware that the lesbian couple is watching our interaction and giggling to themselves. In their defence, I'm probably the same colour as a fire engine right now, and it wouldn't surprise me if steam was coming out of my ears. I'd be staring too.

  Zeus shakes my hand and then, quite unexpectedly, draws it to their mouth and kisses it. I have a distinct weakness for old-school romantic nonsense, and hand kisses are no exception. I'm not sure how it's possible, but my cheeks burn hotter. I could provide heat for a whole town right now, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna get worse.

  "An absolute pleasure to meet you Riley. I'll put your order in to the kitchen, and once I'm ditched the uniform I'll be out to join you."

  Zeus heads off, leaving me to imagine them without their uniform. I colpse back into my chair, fanning myself with the wine list. I'm certain they did that on purpose. Ditch the uniform. They want you to picture them naked. Well, mission accomplished Zeus, you crafty bugger, I'm definitely imagining you naked. And I've got to stop, immediately. I don't often get this worked up in public, but if I get any more turned on I'm gonna have to sort myself out in the bathroom... Maybe Zeus can sort me out in the bathroom. Jesus Christ, Riley. Pull yourself together.

  Zeus returns a few minutes, having traded their long-sleeved uniform for a rather smart button-down and jeans, the shirts short sleeves revealing an array of intricate tattoos I would very much like to examine in more detail. Preferably while those strong arms pin me to the mattress.

  "May I?" they ask, politely. I nod and they take the seat opposite.

  *****

  Zeus is charming. Charming the pants off me! Joke. Sort of. It's nothing I can put my finger on exactly, they just have this, I don't know, a sort of aura about them that puts me at ease. I want them to know my body, but I want them to know my mind and soul as well, and unlike most of the people I've dated, I get the feeling they'd like that as well.

  Our food arrives, delivered by the cutest little femboy waiter you ever saw. He fshes an adorable little grin at both of us, before shooting Zeus a knowing wink. They blush, hard, amusing the waiter, who nearly doubles over trying to hide his ughter.

  "Buon apetit, cuties!" the femboy says, sauntering away with a little wave in our direction.

  I don't know why it's taken me this long to notice that basically every person in this pce is some fvour of queer. The walls are all adorned in an array of pride fgs, interspersed with photographs from local pride events - I recognise many of the ndmarks, heck, I went to half of these events, I'm probably lurking in the background of at least one of them.

  All observation of my surroundings is immediately cut short as Zeus helps themself to a heaping fork of carbonara. The effect is delightful. Their face lights up, their smile broadening as they savour the exquisite fvour. I take a small bite of my own, followed immediately by three much rger bites.

  I make a noise that probably would only be appropriate in the heat of passionate lovemaking, but sweet damn this is to die for. "OH hook this shit into my veins..."

  Zeus' smile grows ever wider, their green eyes sparkling. "You like it?"

  "Like it? If you try and take another forkful I may have to fight you for it!" I wave my knife in their direction, trying to look vaguely menacing. It does not work, at all.

  "Fuck yeah!" Zeus cries, cpping their hands together with glee. "It's my own recipe!"

  I gawp at Zeus. This is a problem. You can't be cute, charming, and an excellent cook. It's just not fair. How am I supposed to not fall in love with them now? Rude.

  "You're shitting me" I say through a mouthful of pasta, managing to find some actual words rather than the vague sounds of arousal I'm trying extremely hard to suppress.

  "Nope, actually the cannelloni is my recipe too, I'm really gd you picked it!"

  I know my restaurant experience is limited entirely to fast food, but since when to wait staff get their recipes on the menu. Suspicious. I dig my fork into the cannelloni, under Zeus' watchful eye. What I want to do is keep a straight face, to analyse the dish and give an insightful opinion. I want to impress them is what I'm getting at. The cannelloni has other ideas.

  Complex and subtle fvours dance on my tongue. I have experienced culinary nirvana and there is a high chance that no food I'll ever eat will ever compare to this. If it weren't steaming hot (or totally insane) I'd just smash my face into the pte and gorge myself. Fortunately, I haven't completely lost my mind and settle instead for banging my fist on the table and moaning in the most public-pce-appropriate manner I can muster.

  If I've achieved nothing else from this experience, I have at least managed to turn Zeus' face a deep red. I can practically feel the heat radiating from those cheeks. Got you back, sweetheart.

  Right now I'm torn. Part of me wants to take them by the hand, take them somewhere private and let them utterly destroy me. Another part of me would rather die than leave so much as a spec of this divine meal intact. Besides, I really want to know more about this mysterious waiter-cum-gourmet.

  “So, riddle me this. If you’re apparently such a culinary mastermind, how come you’re waiting tables and not in the kitchen?”

  Zeus takes a big bite of cacio e pepe, letting out a satisfied sigh as they swallow.

  “Well, if I was in the kitchen all the time I wouldn’t be able to flirt with pretty strangers, would I?” Zeus’ stupid grin sts less than a second. “I mean, not that I do that often, or at all really…never…actually this is the first time I’ve…”

  There’s something infinitely enjoyable in watching a usually confident person get flustered, and this is no exception. I almost feel sorry for them.

  “So” I say, breaking up Zeus’ panicked bbbering. “I guess I must be pretty special, huh?”

  Zeus nods. “Totally, I’m risking my job just to have dinner with you!”

  There they go again with the old school romantic pybook. God, all they have to do is throw a couple of cheesy pick-up lines my way and I’m basically theirs forever.

  “Really?”

  “Well technically yes, in that it’s against the employee code of conduct. But since I’m the boss, I figure I’m probably safe.”

  Blimey. Wasn’t expecting that. My three years experience as checkout-bitch at a fast food joint suddenly seem woefully inadequate.

  "So I guess you eat for free, huh?" I ask, more joking than anything.

  "Ehh, sometimes, depends how well we've done that week. Not sure about this week." They look disappointed, in my or in themself I can't tell.

  "OH shit, I wasn't trying to..." FUUUUCK!

  Zeus chuckles, and pats my hand. "Don't worry, I know you weren't. But next time we do this it's on me, okay?" The pat turns into a gentle squeeze. Be still, my beating heart. Go down, my throbbing cock.

  "Next time?" I gulp, suddenly nervous.

  "Only if you want to..."

  A take a deep, steadying breath and fsh him my most sultry of smiles. "Try and stop me, hot stuff!" That sounded SO much better in my head. Moron.

  *****

  Something is trailing slowly up my thigh, coming to rest just shy of my crotch. I peak down. Zeus' foot. I look at them and they cock their head, asking permission. I nod sheepishly. Oh fuck.

  Zeus edges closer, closer, taking their sweet bloody time about it. Backing away ever so slightly when I lean in to their advance. My cock is twitching in my panties, desperate to be released. I manage, just, to stifle the moan building in my throat as their foot gently rubs me through my clothes. I've never understood how people can be dexterous enough with their legs to give a foot-job, but I guess I'm about to find out.

  I bite my finger as they gently increase the pressure, zily drifting their foot up and down my shaft. I spread my legs wide and lean back in my chair. It's clumsy, a little awkward, but it feels so fucking good.

  My eyes roll back in my head as they gently rub against my tip. And then everything stops. My heart pounds in my chest, my thoughts a blur.

  Fuck no! Please don't stop.

  I'm in luck. Zeus shifts round the bench seat to my side of the table, their body pressing against mine, their hand resting on my thigh, their fingertips tantalisingly close to my nethers.

  Zeus leans in and I feel their warm breath on my neck. "Wanna get out of here?"

  EEEEEEEEEEP. I nod frantically, words entirely lost to me.

  Zeus summons the femboy waiter, whose cheeky smile has no grown so rge it threatens to escape his face entirely. "May, be a star and put this on my tab, please."

  "Oh, look at you pying the gentleman!"

  May winks at us as he speaks. "Going somewhere, are we?"

  May doesn’t wait for a response before leaning in and whispering sharply in my ear.

  "Treat my Zeus right, Missy, or I’ll gut you like a fish and feed you to our regurs!" He pulls away and smiles sweetly.

  "Jesus christ." I whisper as May skips merrily away.

  "Don't mind May, he's just a little protective."

  "So he won't gut me like a fish?"

  "Oh he absolutely will. May looks cute, but he's an absolute bloody sadist. Which believe me is hot as hell, but also kinda scary."

  "So you two are a thing?" I ask, with a vague hand gesture I hope conveys more meaning than my words.

  "A thing, yes. An item, no. Sexually compatible but not romantically - we went on a date once, absolute catastrophe. But if you ever want someone to tie you up, bully you and fuck you 'til you see stars, May is DEFINITELY your guy...well, gal I suppose. She/her pronouns when she's in dominatrix mode."

  The thought of being tied up and teased by anyone is enough to get me going, but the thought of May doing it...well. My cock twitches against Zeus' hand. They grin and give me a gentle stroke sending shivers dancing across my skin.

  "You know, my pce is upstairs, and May's due a break any minute...I could get him to come back and..."

  “That might be a bit…intense for a first date” I say, only slightly regretting my choice to turn down what would almost certainly be the hottest thing that’s happened to me in months. “Besides, I think I’d like you all to myself!”

  I turn to offer my trademark flirtatious ‘wink and finger-guns’, but before I get the chance Zeus has closed the already tiny distance between us and peppers my neck with kisses.

  “Your wish is my command, gorgeous.”

  I all but melt into a puddle as they whisper softly in my ear. Fuuuuck…

  *****

  Zeus takes me by the hand and leads me out through the kitchen to the alleyway behind the restaurant. “Nice pce!” I joke, receiving a punch in the arm for my trouble.

  “Thanks, I decorated myself.” Says Zeus, in the most mock-superior tone I’ve ever heard. “You know those bin-bags over there are vintage!”

  I snort-ugh, and bury my face in their shoulder. I can’t help but giggle. “You have such good taste!”

  “Damn right I do!” Zeus says, pulling me up a metal flight of stairs and through the heavy red door at the top. “Welcome to my humble abode.” They bow deeply, ushering me inside.

  It’s nice, heck compared to my pce it’s a pace. Zeus leads me inside and we head straight for the living room.

  I snuggle up next to them on the sofa. their arm wraps tight around my waist as they pull me onto their p. Eep. I close the gap between us, kissing them softly.

  Zeus leans into the kiss, pulling me into them. I melt into their embrace, my body suddenly burning. I feel their hand work it’s way beneath my top. I break the kiss to pull it over my head, my bra following close behind.

  I squeal as Zeus buries their head in my chest, kissing across my breast until they reach my nipple, pinching it gently between their teeth.

  “Fuuuuuck” I moan as they tease me, their tongue flicking deftly over the sensitive little nub, sending shockwaves through my system.

  While one hand rests at the small of my back, holding me close to them, the other snakes down beneath the waistband of my joggers. I start to regret not picking a more visually appealing outfit - not that Zeus seems to mind. They slip their hand into my panties and squeeze my butt, eliciting a moan. These things have got to go.

  I try and fail to remove the hideous things without changing position.

  I fumble, and if not for Zeus’ strong, tattooed arm clutching my waist, I’d have ended up on the floor. I pull back, and - having decided to avoid further mishaps - stand, dropping the hideous joggers to the floor and kicking them somewhere behind me.

  I stand before Zeus, naked except for my panties, which at this point have a wet spot on them so rge it might as well be decred an ocean.

  I wouldn’t say I’m uncomfortable with my body, actually I quite like it. Hormones have been fairly kind to me - remarkably kind to me in fact. I’m part of an experimental hormone treatment that’s seems to be infinitely more effective than the usual stuff - Come to think of it, I’m not actually supposed to talk about it, so forget I said anything. Mums the word, okay?

  That said, I do always find it a little strange when other people see me naked. Especially when they enjoy it. There’s that little disconnect in my mind where, if someone with my body type was stood in front of me, I’d be drooling like a teenage boy getting a p dance, but it always surprises, or more accurately totally stuns me when other people think the same thing about me.

  Judging by the sck-jawed, wide-eyed look on Zeus’ face, I’m guessing they approve. They grab me firmly by the wrist, and throw me to the sofa, ft on my back, before twisting and looming over me.

  “Uh, Hiiiiii” I gasp as their hand reaches between my legs, their thick fingers stroking me through my underwear. My eyes roll back in my head as they reach beneath and take my cock in hand.

  Zeus chuckles. “Fuck you’re cute!”

  “No way!!” I squeak. “Not a chance.”

  “Oh but you are” Zeus leans in and kisses my neck again “especially when I do this!”

  Zeus trails their fingernail along the back of my shaft, which is entirely too fucking sensitive and I have no idea how they worked that out so fast. My whole body trembles at their touch. I buck my hips against their hand, desperate for more.

  “Oh you bastard” I groan, my breath becoming ragged.

  Zeus’ face becomes one enormous grin as they pull their hand from my underwear and hold it to my face, their fingers slick and sticky.

  “Mmm, I can stop if you like, cutie. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”

  They stick their tongue out, teasing me. Bastard. Total and utter gorgeous bastard.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” I yelp, grabbing their hand and shoving it right back where it came from. “I think I’ll die if you stop.”

  I put on my best doe-eyed expression, accompanied by what I hope is a decent pout. “You wouldn’t want me to die, would you?”

  Zeus ponders this for a moment. “Hmm, I suppose I wouldn’t. It’s rather complicated dating a dead girl. Not impossible, just complicated…”

  I feel their hand wrap around me, teasing, stroking, pumping. I won’t st long at this rate.

  Scratch that. I won’t st at all. “Oh fuck I’m…”

  Zeus.

  Stops.

  Dead.

  My orgasm retreats, my stomach tying itself in knots.

  “Ah ah ah” Zeus clucks their teeth at me. “Not yet cutie, Daddy wants to feel good too!”

  I nearly choke on the ugh that bursts its way out of me, leaving my denied orgasm entirely forgotten.

  “Daddy, really?”

  “What, I can’t pull off Daddy?” Zeus pouts, feigning offence.

  “I mean…”

  Their pout grows more pronounced, their thick eyebrows knitting into a frown. Alright you bastard, you win.

  I summon my sexiest, sultriest voice. “Of course you can, Daddy!” I say, and I have to admit, it feels a lot less cringey to say than I thought it would. Actually, I kinda like it. “How can Riley make you feel good?”

  Zeus hooks their arms around me, and with only a little difficulty sits upright, easing me gently to the floor. They reach down and attempt to wriggle out of their jeans and boxers. I’m half tempted to watch them struggle and tease them mercilessly, but I’d much rather see where this is going, so I help pull them off and chuck them behind the sofa.

  Now call me weird, but I am a huge fan of body hair. Not full on bear-fur style, but enough to run my fingers through. I don’t know why, it just gets me going. Something about burying my face in musky fuzz… oooh.

  Zeus doesn’t disappoint on that front. Light brown hair covers their chest, save for a the thin line over their top-surgery scars. Not the thickest chest hair I’ve seen, but definitely enough to get my engines running.

  I follow the cute little happy trail that runs down their stomach, and down below their waistline and…well, that’s a totally different story. I’m left practically drooling all over them as I take in the sight before me.

  Zeus’ cunt is surrounded by a glorious thicket of hair that spreads in all directions and down their legs…I want to bury my face in it, run my fingers across every hairy inch of them. Look, I told you I was weird about it, fuck off. I don’t come into your story and kink shame you. I resist the urge, barely, but I cannot resist stroking those thighs that I really, really hope are gonna be cmped around my head in about ten seconds time.

  “You like?” Zeus asks, stroking my cheek.

  “Oh fuck yes” I moan, my fingers edging steadily closer to their dripping cunt.

  “You wanna…uuuuugh” Zeus moans as I bury my face in their crotch, my tongue pping at their folds.

  I’m the first to admit that this isn’t really my area. Vaginally speaking. I’ve really only been with cis guys and trans femmes before, and I’m starting to realise that I have no clue what I’m doing down here.

  I mean, not no idea. I know the theory - at least I think I do - just no practical experience. Although from the sound Zeus is making, I must be doing at least something right.

  I start to panic a little - I really, desperately don’t want to fuck this up or do something wrong. I don’t want to accidentally ruin the date or put them off me. You know, all the fun little anxious thoughts that tend to crop up when you’re face deep in someone’s crotch. Or maybe that’s just me.

  Fortunately, Zeus is either a mind reader, or just enjoys giving instructions, ‘cause no sooner has the panic started to dig its nasty little cws into my psyche, their hand appears in front of my face, presenting their stiff, swollen clit.

  “Riley…Riley…please…suck my dick…”

  Feeling grateful for some guidance, I take Zeus’ dick into my mouth, allowing my tongue to gently explore. I feel their legs shake, an almost inaudible whine escaping their open mouth. I stare up at them as my tongue does it’s thing, every subtle movement in their face egging me on. This is one hell of a view.

  “Hand…hand…” Zeus pants, reaching out to me. Aww, hand holding! Totally cute. Cute, and totally not what’s happening.

  Zeus grabs my hand and jams it between their legs, guiding my fingers slowly, deliberately. Their whine grows louder with each subtle movement of my, or I suppose technically their hand. I feel their thighs tighten around me.

  I’m acutely aware of my inexperience as Zeus teases themself with my fingers. This should feel weird, shouldn’t it? It doesn’t, but it definitely feels like this should bother me. Plus Zeus seems to be thoroughly enjoying it, after all, my hands may not have a clue, but my tongue is doing some of its best work.

  Zeus grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me into them. Their scent intoxicates me.

  “Riley…fuck, Riley, I’m close…” their voice is breathy, ragged, words falling between gasps and pants.

  “Fuuuck” they cry and I feel them slip two of my fingers inside them, building a steady rhythm as my tongue flicks and circles the tip of their dick.

  I can’t hold take it anymore. I reach between my legs and grasp my cock. I do my best to match my strokes to Zeus’ fingering. I want to moan and whine and scream Zeus’ name but I can’t, with my head held tightly in pce, my mouth stuffed with their sweet, delicious dick.

  “MMNNFNF! ZRRRSS!! FFFFF”

  “Fuck…Oh fuck…Riley…fuck…” Zeus’ legs start to quiver, their hips cmp tight around my head. Cum for me, Zeus. Cum for me. Zeus doesn’t disappoint.

  With my head - and most importantly my ears - lodged firmly between Zeus’ thighs, its difficult to tell if the noise they make is more whine, howl or squeal. But whatever it was, that muffled sound sends my brain into overload. I feel my feet twitch, my legs weaken. I cum, hard, spilling thick white globs all over my stomach, my thighs, and the carpet beneath me. My legs give completely, and I fall limp against my lover.

  *****

  Zeus, their body still quivering, scoops me up and pulls me close. We lie wrapped up in each other, arms and legs intertwined, basking in each others sweaty, musky warmth.

  Zeus kisses me tenderly on the forehead. “That was gooood, huh?”

  “Mmmmm…soooo good…” I say, trailing my nails down their chest, drawing little circle in their body hair. “Thank you for…I mean…how did you know?”

  Zeus pulls me into a tight hug I hope I’m never released from. “You’re not the first person I’ve been with who doesn’t know her way around down there…it’s cool.”

  “Well, I like to think I’m a good student…” I saw before giving their earlobe a gentle nibble.

  Zeus groans a little. “Well, a good student has to get plenty of practice. Wanna do this again sometime?” There’s a nervous edge to their voice I know all too well. I guess I’m not the only one around her who’s had people just vanish after sex.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely”.

  I manage to worm my way on top of them, and kiss them deeply. “Heck, we can go again now if you want…” I’m only half kidding.

  Zeus pulls me in for another kiss. “Tempting. Very tempting. But I think I might need to recharge a bit first.”

  Another kiss, then another. And another. Each time our lips linger a little longer, neither wanting to be the first to pull back.

  “Counter offer. I’m back on at five for the dinner rush…want to watch a movie and cuddle?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  *****

  Five O’clock rolls around far too soon. In truth we spent far less time watching…whatever movie we put on, than we did making out, and honestly less time making out than we did just gazing at each other and cuddling. Which in my book is just about the perfect end to any date.

  It takes us a minute or two to find our clothes again. Apparently I did a wonderful job in flinging them about the room, especially those heinous joggers that somehow managed to escape the room entirely.

  My panties are all but ruined. They were already soaked before I got up here, but considering I came all over them an hour or so ago, I’m really not that keen to wear them in public - at least not without strict instruction. Good thing I bought a multi-pack.

  We walk hand-in-hand back through the restaurant. Five minutes until their shift starts. We exchange numbers.

  Zeus kisses me on the cheek. “Call me ter?”

  “You know it, Daddy.”

  Zeus blushes hard as I give them the old finger-guns. They manage to compose themself far quicker than I would have. Jammy git.

  “Can’t wait, cutie.” The arm on their phone beeps. “Shit, gotta run…promise you’ll call?”

  I pull them by the colr a little too hard. I aim for a kiss, but accidentally bash our heads together.

  “Ah fuck!” I cry, rubbing my forehead, “That’s what I get for trying to be romantic!”

  Zeus bursts into a fit of giggles. “Oh, you were going for romantic? Wow.”

  I punch them in the arm before pulling them in, slowly this time, for a deep, long kiss.

  “Yes, you dick. And I swear I’ll call…pinkie swear.” Pinkie swear? What am I five?

  Zeus raises their hand, pinkie finger extended. Alright, fuck it. I raise my own pinkie, lock it with theirs and shake.

  “If you don’t call, I’ll tell May!”

  “Hey, hey!” I protest, spping their chest with the back of my hand. “I already pinkie swore, no need for threats!”

  Zeus’ arm rings again. They stare back at the kitchen, then back at me.

  “Go on, before you have to fire yourself. Talk to you ter, okay?”

  Zeus turns and runs back into the restaurant, and promptly collides with a door clearly marked Pull. They stagger back out toward me, wrap me in their arms and kiss my forehead.

  “I meant to do that. Couldn’t let you leave without one st kiss.”

  God they’re such a goofball, I love it.

  “Sure you did champ”, I chuckle, kissing them on the cheek.

  They turn again, walking this time.

  “TRY PULLING IT THIS TIME!” I yell after them, receiving a middle finger and a jocur Fuck yooooou for my troubles.

  *****

  That was, by a wide margin, one of the best dates I’ve ever had, and definitely my best first date.

  Thinking about it now, it seems impossible. This whole day is impossible.

  First, I get fired. My life falls apart in an instant.

  Next, I drink myself so far beyond drunk I thought I died.

  Then, inexplicably, I meet an actual Goddess who gives me fistfuls of cash for no reason at all.

  And to top it all off, I try to buy myself a ridiculously expensive dinner and end up on a date with an insanely lovely guy, and they may or may not become my boyfriend.

  And somehow, I still have money, and an appointment to meet the Goddess again to discuss a deal that might fix my entire life overnight.

  The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems. And the more ridiculous it seems, the more convinced I am that I’m dead. I mean what other expnation is there? A perfect date. A beautiful stranger offering to solve all my problems. Those things don’t just happen. And they definitely don’t happen on the worst day of your life.

  No, I’m dead. Clearly. I died in that bandstand and this is…I don’t know, heaven? Am I good enough for heaven? What am I even talking about, I don’t believe in any of that shit in the first pce.

  My afterlife based illusion, at least the ‘being in heaven’ part is promptly smashed to bits as I step through my front door. Same shit-hole ft share. Same creepy ftmates. Same tiny shoebox room.

  Fine, maybe not heaven. Purgatory? Hell? Oh fuck, was this incredible afternoon just a fucking set-up? A cruel joke pyed by an angry god to ramp up my suffering. For fuck sake. My brain’s on fire.

  I lock my bedroom door and crash hard on my bed. I can feel the day’s events catching up with me. I think I’m gonna puke. My head is spinning. Oh hell, I guess the five or six or however many bottles of port I drank this morning have finally decided to rock up and beat me to death. Second death? I can’t keep track of this.

  I grab my phone and call Zeus. Answerphone, obviously. Fuck my head hurts.

  “Hey Daddy…got home…safe” I pull the phone away from me as I give over to the dry heaves. Ugh I’m dying… “Feeling super tired…gonna sleep…call…call you tomorrow…”

  My stomach turns, flips and leaps out of my throat. Vomit psters the wall next to my bed. I hope, I pray I managed to hang up before I puked…Zeus doesn’t need to hear that.

  The room spins. Spots bcken my vision. I colpse to my bed, unconscious before I hit the pillow.

  *****

  I dream of her. The woman. The vision. Ariadne. I find myself in a ballroom, surrounded by faceless figures.

  She’s wearing a midnight blue suit jacket, with a flowing skirt of the same fabric, sparkling and shimmering as she moves. Beneath the jacket she sports a crisp white blouse, cut almost to her waist. An elegant emerald brooch hangs from her neck, the gem in its gold mounting nestled between her small breasts. She is breathtaking, radiant, and heading towards me.

  She takes my hand and pulls me to the centre of the room, onlookers muttering their distaste. My joggers and crop-top are missing, repced by an elegant ball gown of green silk, the colour matching her neckce perfectly. It hugs my figure, accentuating my chest and hips in a way that would usually freak me out, but at this precise moment feels almost good. Almost. I’m still self conscious but it’s hard to tell if the dress or the beautiful woman pulling me towards the dance floor is the cause. It could always be both.

  Music pys from somewhere, a slow waltz. A pretty arrangement I’ve never heard before. Not that I’m at all versed in cssical music. I can’t dance. At all. Not a step.

  “I don’t know how…”

  She puts an arm around my waist and pulls me towards her, our bodies pressed tightly together. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, she probably can too. She sets those glorious eyes upon me and my legs buckle. She cups my chin in her hand, forcing me to meet her gaze - as if anything could make me look away.

  “You’ll do fine, my sweet. Just follow me.”

  She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. My legs buckle again.

  She’s right, of course. She leads, and by some magic I find I’m able to follow. We dance for what seems like eternity, my head resting on her chest. I could never tire of this. Let this dream st forever, please. I’ll do anything. Just let me stay here, in her arms, where I’m safe.

  Of course my wish isn’t granted. Wishes never are. The music stops, the dancers bow, the band leaves the stage for a well earned break. But still she holds me close. She says nothing, I say nothing. We stand perfectly still, our hearts beating in sync. She’s staring at me and I cannot help but stare back. I close the gap between us, our lips brush against each other. I’m sure she shivers from the contact. I close my eyes as I lean to kiss her. I feel her press against me, returning my kiss. It’s electric, perfect, and entirely too short. I feel her pull away. I open my eyes.

  I find myself staring at my arm clock.