Chapter 04: Not My Cup of TeaI havely led a sheltered life. There’s been more than my fair share of violenbsp; There was a lot of weird stuff that went on in my youth--stuff that I didn’t even realize was unusual until much ter. In other way though, I guess my life was fairly sheltered in some ways. Distracted by other stuff, I didn’t clue in to matters of love and sex until te. More specifically, I didn’t figure out that some guys actually prefer uys until I was fourteen. Hey, I’m pretty clued in now when it es to sex and all that. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got trouble finding female pany for the weekend, if you know what I mean. But I had a bit of a te start on at of my screwed-up childhood. So the first time a boy came on to me . . . yeah, it took me by surprise.

  I’m a good-looking guy. I was a good-looking kid. Sakura gave me this job to do o this high-school, around when I was thirteen; it was one of the first solo jobs she gave me and I was still earnirust and was eager to please and . . . well, that’s where I met Ken. Ken was a nice kid, a few years older than me, and I knew I could trust him. We worked well together and he helped me get the job done even though he didn’t really uand what was going on. We became good friends. Stupid, na?ve me, I didn’t realize the kid was helping me because he had this huge crush going on. And so, at the end when it was all over, Ken kissed me. He just kind of lunged in ahing I know, his lips were pressed up against mine, and a sed ter his tongue was in my mouth, and his fingers were digging into my arms, pulling me closer.

  Hell, at that point I hadn’t even figured out girls yet. My first kiss was with a guy and yeah, I issed off. I smacked him in the fad knocked him down a hitting him. I hurt him bad, and the punches were only a small part of it.

  Fubsp; Some part of me still hates myself for hitting him. I was an idiot. I was young. Ken’s gone now. Last time I saw him was a few years ago, before the disease took him. I think that was the st time I cried. I don’t cry often.

  Well, I’m older now. I uand some things better. I eventually figured out that there were other people like Ken out there, and that it wasn’t a big deal. Some guys like guys. Some guys like to wear frilly clothes and derwear. Hell, some guys even want their dick sliced up and pushed i and try to pretend they’re really a girl. I mean, from my point of view, that’s weird shit. That shit’s wrong. You are what you are. But sometimes, it’s hard to figure exactly what you are and that’s where it all seems to fall apart.

  I don’t pretend to uand it. I like girls. I mean, I really do. That moment, when you first slide your coto a ussy, that closeness and soft intimacy, and of course the feeling of power, of authority--God, I love that. I holy say I’ve never looked at a guy and thought, “I want some of that.” The thought of a man’s co my mouth sis me. Girls do that shit, and they do it well. They’ve got the body for it, the soft lips and long hair and curves and all, you know?

  Don’t get me wrong: I’m no fug homophobe. I’ve got no problem admitting when some guy’s good looking. But guys just don’t do it for me and I ’t imagine why any guy would want another mahe softness of a girl.

  But even though I don’t uand it, I guess I kind of respect it. I’m not one of those freaks quotieronomy and g God’s going to cim diviribution just because some dude wants to wear a bra. That’s fucked up. God’s got bigger shit to worry about. But as they say, it’s definitely not my cup of tea.

  So when K pushed that folder over to me and I saw a chick’s here? Yeah, I was more than a little taken aback.

  “Uh, K?” I said. “That’s a chick’s name.”

  K nodded. She didn’t seem apologetic or bashful or anything. About as empathic as a taloupe, K is. “Yes, it is.”

  I may have been groggy, but I retty sure of ohing. “K, I’m not a chick.”

  “No, you are not,” she said. “However, sidering your uuation I believe it to be your best ce to reach safety alive.”

  I shook my head, then stopped when the vertigo hit. “But I don’t want be a chick.”

  “Of course not,” she said. I swear she almost smiled. “In a way, this is your own fault. It was you who gave me the idea, when you asked about that dress back at the courthouse.”

  “You said that was idiotic.”

  “Yes, I did,” K answered. “To throw a dress on you and walk you out of that building would have been foolish. You would have looked like a man in a dress. You would have drawn more attention instead of turning it away. But we have a little time here.” She gave me a quick look-over. “But I believe with a little work you could be passably made to resemble a woman. At least from a distance.

  “You are short for a man,” she said. Yeah, thanks for pointing that out, bitbsp; “But your height is ideal for a woman. You are slender and many of the features that make you a handsome man are also sidered beautiful on a woman. You are too muscur but that be cealed with the proper clothing. To be ho, with effort you may not just pass as female, but as an attractive one.”

  Somehow that reassured me a bit. I mean, if yoing to do something this fucked up, you at least want to look goht?

  “Mr. Steele doubtlessly has more assassins searg for your location at this moment. We may already be under surveilnbsp; This disguise, unlikely as it may seem, may be enough to at least temporarily throw off any pursuit.” K finished her spiel and watched me expetly.

  It must’ve been the multiple bullet wounds, but for some reason K was making a twisted kind of seo me. Anyone chasing me would be looking fuy. A good-looking guy, if I say so myself. My face robably pstered all over the papers by now. Even if some fug assassin didn’t see me, all I’d need is some pedestrian moron to point a finger and shout my name and it could all be over. I still had one important argument to make, though.

  “But I don’t want to be a chick!”

  K sighed. “Yes, Mr Saunders. I uand this. And I assure you that this would only be temporary, until we relocate you to safety aablish your new home and identity. But I holy feel this is your best ce of surviving until then.”

  And you know what? I trusted her. I really did. It was a crazy idea, worthy of the worst kind of paranoia-fuelled alien-fi tabloid--but hell, sometimes the crazy ideas are the best, simply because they’re so fug crazy. I normally trust my instincts but they were flicted: on the one hand they told me that this was absolute bullshit, plete nonsense, impossible and unnecessary; but my instincts also told me to trust K. And fair enough, I retty messed up and woozy and all, but I decided to throw my lot in with her--even though the idea of hiding behind a skirt felt very, very wrong.

  “I . . . trust you, K,” I said. “What do I have to do?”

  “Rest, and gather your strength,” she said. “I will gather your disguise together and wake you when we are ready.”

  I wasn’t about tue with her. I’m tough, sure, but part of that’s knowing when to take it easy. I could barely keep my eyes focussed on her as it was. I passed out about five seds after K stood up and walked out of the room.