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The following story contains mentions of drug use and is sexual in nature, featuring explicit terms that some may find objectionable. While some members of the LGBTQ+ community accept and use these descriptions, I am aware that some choose not to and may find them distasteful. No offence is intended. In my defence I prefer to treat every character in my story as different, with a unique personality, lifestyle, and language that I feel reflects all aspects of the community. I hope you will continue to read and come to love the characters who live in my head as much as I do. ~ Gosunkugi
BLUE MONDAY
Adrienne daydreamed of swimming in lilac. Surrounded by flowers. Lying back and drifting down the stream like Ophelia. Lifting her legs one at a time out of the bath she examined them closely and felt them for smoothness, then her arms, underarms, neck and face. When she passed inspection she checked the time on her phone and stood to rinse off the suds.
She opened the bathroom door, and seeing the hallway was clear walked quickly to her room. She wore only a long t-shirt, and although it reached down to her upper thighs and covered her junk it probably wouldn’t be cool to get caught short.
Making it to safety, and slipping into the nice underwear and tucking, she made a turn in the mirror holding the shirt above her stomach. They were a good find, while more than she usually liked to spend on frillies, she liked how they flattered her hips and bum. Worth it.
There was a knock at the door and she pulled on the tracksuit bottoms, tying them at her waist. Singsonging: “Come in,” as she turned the music down.
One of her housemates, Steve, popped his head in. “Hi, Ade, have you got any Rizlas I can borrow?”
She always found it funny how people asked to borrow certain stuff when they had absolutely no intention of giving it back.
“Yeah, gimme a sec,” she replied and tossed him a multi-pack of rolling papers so he could help himself.
“Don’t think I’ve actually been in your room before.” He was still there, looking at the posters on the walls.
Adrienne thought it wouldn’t hurt to appear more sociable. “Roll me a couple of cigs and you can hang about if you want. Keep me company while I get ready.”
“Cool.” He obliged with the speed and ease of an experienced festival rollee, and tossed her one to smoke, which she did, half leaning out of the window, letting the street smells in along with a delicious cooling breeze.
“Is that by Junji Ito?” He was looking at the black and white poster on the wall, a blown up panel from Ito’s Uzumaki, depicting one of the characters having their head devoured by a spiral, her eye collapsing into the void where her brain should be.
“Yeah, there’s a couple of books on the shelf if you want to borrow.”
He poked at the books and ran a finger across the spines. “Are you into all that body horror kind of stuff?” He asked.
She felt naked all of a sudden, caught off guard, and turned away under the pretence of blowing smoke out into the night. “It is a bit of a cliché I suppose.”
He turned, looking ashamed. “Oh god, sorry. I meant manga, not y’know…”
“It’s fine. I’m trans, Steve, I can deal with the odd faux pas.”
She expected a whole slew of questions to come spilling from his mouth then, but to his credit, he turned away again and continued examining the walls.
“Wow, and who’s that?”
She didn’t even need to turn around to know who he was talking about. “That’s Jin Xing, Chinese dancer,” she answered.
“She’s pretty,” he said.
Understatement of the century there, she thought. There’s hope for you yet, Steven.
She finished the cigarette, pitching it out of the window and rummaging through her nail varnishes, unsure of which one to go with. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him squinting at the DVDs with his head tilted to the side to read the titles.
“Blue or black?”
He started and looked at her quizzically. “Sorry?”
She held up the bottles for him to see. “Blue or black? I can’t decide.”
“Oh. Blue I suppose.”
“Blue it is then.” She juggled a text on her phone and the brush awkwardly, in danger of dropping it and ruining her duvet.
He sat next to her on the bed and plucked the nail varnish out of her hand. “So what are you up to tonight? Bit weird to get pissed up on a Monday.”
She watched him paint her nails carefully with more than a little surprise. “A few drinks around town if it’s not too busy. The gang likes to gather when there’s no nobheads about. Probably end up at The Arches later. “
He turned her hand to get to her little finger, not taking his eyes off what he was doing. “Is that the gay club?” He paused while he waited for her to answer.
“Yes. But I suppose they prefer the term LGBTQ clubs or something now. More inclusive and all that. They get a couple of DJs in, the occasional drag act”
“Oh.”
She was a little disappointed in his attitude, or lack of interest. “Why’s that? You bağdatcaddesi escort want to come?” She teased.
He smiled shyly. “Kinda, yeah. Not really my scene though, all that shit music. I like a quiet pint.”
“Oi. It’s not shit! It’s good to dance to. Besides, I’ve seen you admit to liking The Chemical Brothers once.” She examined his nailwork, not bad.
“I was off my face at the time though,” he said, looking guilty.
Ade chuckled: “True. You was, as they like to say, proper monged.”
He looked at her seriously. “Can we not use that one?”
She was a bit taken aback and tripped over her tongue. “Righto, I just meant in that context you know, drugged up and that.”
“It’s fine. I just don’t like that word much.”
The atmosphere in the room had changed considerably, and she closed the window, taking the opportunity to get a move on. “I need to get dressed.”
He got off the bed and made his way to the door. “It’s cool. I’ll catch you later. Have a good night, Adrienne.”
She watched him leave and rolled her eyes. She doubted she’d irreparably damaged their friendship, and the irony wasn’t lost on her being corrected for once, but she decided to make it up to him later, maybe with a peace offering of a takeaway. She wondered why she’d never thought of him in a romantic fashion before. He was totally her type, and not down on her being trans which was rare. Now that she thought about it, he often went out of his way to do little things for her, little boyfriendy things that she took for granted. Would it be so bad?
She tapped the phone and threw it on the bed, letting the music get picked up by the Bluetooth speaker on the desk. Some old-school 90s trip hop played as she dropped the tracksuit bottoms and lifted the t-shirt over her head to toss in the dirty laundry pile. After taking a moment to admire the underwear again, she pulled the dress off the rack in the wardrobe and held it against herself. She’d definitely put on weight in the right places, she’d need some new jeans, but the dress was loose and fit her perfectly. A miracle.
She shimmied to the beat and applied some roll-on deodorant. A little mascara and wine-coloured lippy and she was done. She tousled her hair dry and let it fall messily to her shoulders. That would do for The Arches.
o – o – o – o – o
She left the house as the taxi pulled up with her friend Jen in the back, and climbed in awkwardly.
As they sped along the city streets, Jen slipped her two pills and Ade necked them with some water. She wouldn’t come up for a while yet, so plenty of time to drink and gossip. Her friend’s hair tonight was a shocking red, and she found herself beyond jealous. Jen was a few years ahead of her transition-wise, more experienced, confident, streetwise, and in Ade’s eyes, in a whole other league entirely.
Jen tapped a cigarette out of the packet and was offering one to her when the driver interjected. “Sorry, ladies. No smoking in the cab.”
She took one anyway and tucked it behind her ear, giggling as Jen silently mouthed the word “Prick.”
Her friend was stretching her lovely, long legs. She’d kicked off her shoes and was folding her feet under her bum when she asked out of the blue: “Ade, you’re into all that Japanese shit right? Have you heard of a bloke called Yoshiyuki Iwase?” She utterly butchered the pronunciation, but A for effort, Jen.
Adrienne didn’t have to rack her brain too hard. “He was the one that photographed all those naked pearl divers, yeah?”
“Have to get up early to get one over on you, you perv. Yeah, I saw some of his work linked on Twitter. Sexy stuff,” Jen said, surprising her.
Ade agreed: “I suppose you could rub one out to it if you wanted, but it’s nice art.” She had picked up a giant coffee table-sized collection on nudes a few years ago at Waterstones, and remembered being mesmerised by the section on Iwase’s work. The black and white bodies relaxing on the sand and rocks, the natural, explicitly feminine, curvy women seemed more real to her than the stick-thin figures that were plastered on every surface and in every magazine, show and movie.
They talked about art for a little while and soon the taxi came to a stop.
The pub was dead, and Adrienne was glad. Getting a few drinks in minus the hassle was what she needed tonight. They sat in the beer garden and smoked. Lolling in the warm spring air.
Jen steered the conversation to mutual friends and suddenly remembered something. “I bumped into Vanilla yesterday. She’s got that bootleg of that Brazilian soap opera you can borrow if you want.”
“Ah, nice one. I feel a bit of the loop, loads of catching-up to do.” University had absorbed her utterly, and now it was over she had time to reacquaint herself with the social scene. A Força do Querer was the TV show from South America that had drifted into their transy periphery by being the first time a transgender actor had starred in a major role over there, She decided she had beykoz escort to see it.
Adrienne filed the news away, ready for the next time she met up with their friend, the drag queen supreme who went under the name Vanilla Chai. “Who’s the DJ tonight?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “Urgh God, Danny Neckbeard. Can’t understand how he keeps getting booked.”
“He’s alright when he plays the old stuff.”
“Danny’s wank, Ade. It’s like he’s got feet for hands.” Jen lit a spliff and took deep lungfulls, blowing the noxious smoke away from her out of courtesy. It didn’t really help, and soon the beer garden stank of cheap weed.
They were eventually joined by Jen’s cis friend Rachel and her permanent hanger-on Diane. Adrienne didn’t like Rachel much, they’d never really bonded, having zero in common. Any attempt to talk about men with her left her feeling like Rachel was just humouring her. Diane she didn’t talk to at all, Adrienne felt like trans women intimidated the hell out of the poor girl. Still, it was promising to be a good night, and there was no sense in letting petty shit spoil it.
She got the next round of drinks in and felt the first blushing thrill of the ecstasy, dancing to the table, singing: “Come on, Barbie let’s go party!” Amazingly not spilling the glasses everywhere, making Jen roll her eyes again and Rachel laugh.
o – o – o – o – o
They paid the cover at the door of the club and walked into a sweat-box of dry ice, blacklight and pulsing music. She felt a grip on her arm and Rachel shouted over the beat, high on her own devices: “Oh my god this is fucking brilliant!” And soon the four of them lost themselves in the throbbing music and heaving bodies.
Eventually Adrienne needed another cigarette, and danced all the way to the toilets. It was indeed a quiet night, as evidenced by the fact there was no queue for once. She filled her water bottle up at the sink and checked her reflection. She was a big sweaty vibrating mess, but she felt like pure sex.
There were no smoke alarms in the Arches facilities, and the gorillas on the door never came into the club unless there was trouble, so she didn’t think anything of sitting in one of the cubicles and enjoying a sneaky fag.
Her moment was ruined when the toilet door slammed open and someone fell to their knees in the next stall over, vomiting explosively into the bowl.
Adrienne sighed, took a final drag and dropped the butt into the toilet, getting up to check on the groaning casualty.
“Diane love, are you okay?” She knelt down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, offering her some tissue.
The diminutive girl wiped her eyes and mouth. “S-sorry, me and drugs don’t mix. I’m an idiot.”
She offered her some water, and brushed her hair out of her face. “It’s fine. I could tell you some horror stories of the scrapes Jen has gotten me into.”
She led Diane over to the sinks and helped her clean up.
“How do you do it?” Diane said between splashes.
Ade was confused by the question, thinking she was talking about not throwing up.
“You and Jen, you’re so gorgeous all the time,” She laughed and burped “Urgh, I hate it.”
“Oh sweetie, you have no idea.”
“You are though. You’re all supermodels and here’s me looking like… Princess fucking Tomato.”
Adrienne put her hands over her mouth in mock exasperation: “Did you seriously just make an obscure video game reference?”
“N-no?”
“You totally did!” Ade laughed: “Princess Tomato in the Salad Kingdom is a classic.”
Diane smiled: “I don’t have many friends who are into games.”
“Oh Diane, where have you been all my life?”
The door opened and Jen and Rachel fell in laughing. Jen ruining the moment in typical fashion by yelling: “There you are, you proper slags, come on, you’re missing out on some quality dancing time.”
As they left arm in arm, Ade offered her some reassurance. “You feeling alright?”
“Yeah, much better now, thanks.”
After another five or six songs, she’d lost count by that point, and a lot of breathless gyrating, read: hilarious stumbling, Ade took a break to rest against a pillar and scan the crowd, drinking deeply from her bottle. She saw some of the same old faces, the regulars, the girls from the lesbian scene (people she intrinsically avoided these days.) Danny Neckbeard on the wheels of steel butchering another classic. She was throbbing below the waist and bumping the back of her head against the pillar, deeply regretting taking the ecstasy. Thanks to her hormones Ade didn’t get erections, so this was distinctly out of the ordinary for her. Not to mention she was despairing at the idea of any kind of sexual release in her future. Suddenly she spotted a familiar figure lurking near the entrance.
“Oh my fucking God,” she bounded over to Steve and pulled him into a giant hug. “I can’t believe you came.”
He recovered quickly: “I got lonely. Besides, I figured I owed you an apology.”
“You owe me? caddebostan escort Nah, I fucked up, I’m the one that should be sorry,” and she genuinely was.
“All square then?” He hugged her again and kissed her cheek. “Um, Ade? Are you on drugs or are you really pleased to see me?”
She felt below her waist as stealthily as she could. “Argh, that’s so embarrassing. Give me a minute to pop to the loo, I need to adjust.”
He had a hand on the small of her back and stroked tenderly. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“Steve, I can’t dance in this state, and I’m feeling really self-conscious.”
He looked into her eyes with something akin to desire. “I can’t dance period. You want to head home instead?”
Her stomach did a flip, she didn’t need to think about it too hard. “God yes. I’ll meet you outside, lemme tell Jen where I’ve gone.”
After a diversion to the bathrooms, still no queue, where she was able to rearrange her junk, she hit the bar where Jen was lining up a line of full shot glasses. Rachel and Diane were sat in a booth in the corner, heads on each other’s shoulders, looking adorable.
“Just in time, girl,” shimmied Jen.
Adrienne hated to burst her bubble and cut the night short. “I’m going to bounce. I think I just pulled.”
“Holy shit! Quick, drink this and get after them before they change their mind. Down the hatch.”
She didn’t know what was in the glass, just threw it back and swallowed. They both screwed up their faces at the taste of the vile, aniseed liquor. She hugged Jen. “Love you, bitch.”
“Good luck, you big tart, knock ’em dead.”
o – o – o – o – o
On the step outside she lit another cigarette with shaking hands and looked for Steve. She found him standing by the kerb and walked to him, pulling him into a kiss and letting herself get pressed up against the wall of the nightclub.
He kissed her neck and bit gently at her earlobe, making her glad she had foregone earrings tonight.
In the taxi she leaned in close to him, letting his arm hold her tight as she unbuttoned his trousers, her hand delving under his waistband and squeezing his dick. His face was buried in her hair and she could hear his soft gasps of pleasure as she ran her thumb over the tip and spread his pre-cum.
She had untucked again and was tenting something fierce herself, and he squeezed her playfully over the dress. She shook her head and moved his hand away just as the taxi pulled up to the house.
Steve paid the driver while she paused in the hallway, staring at a stain on the ceiling distractedly, and when he came in behind her, instead of resuming their exploration of each other’s bodies or running for the stairs dragging him by the hand, she walked into the kitchen.
He leaned into the door-frame and watched her make tea. “Is everything okay, I-“
“Just… let’s take a breath for a minute,” she said softly.
He looked disappointed and it broke her heart. “Alright.”
She threw teabags into mugs and added way too much sugar with a clattering of the spoon.
“Did I do something wrong?”
She turned at last and touched his face, kissing him briefly and resting her forehead against his. “No, no, Steve sweetie. I just need to think about this.”
She hoped he knew what she meant. This was happening fast, like being wrapped in a rug, set on fire, and rolled down a mountain. And there was more, so much more going on in her head, an animal that she couldn’t even begin to think about letting out of its cage.
She finished making the tea and headed upstairs leaving him standing holding the steaming mug, and that’s pretty much what she felt like, a steaming mug.
He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lemon, forcing her to poke her head over the banister. “Well? Are you coming?”
Her room felt different now, like he was intruding on her sacred space all of a sudden. Leaving the lights off so the room was lit only from the street outside, she faced the window.
He stood a few feet away from her drinking his tea, and spoke to her back: “What are you thinking about?”
She said what was on her mind, a quote from Virginia Woolf: “It is only by putting a shock into words that I make it whole.”
Placing the mug on the windowsill she leaned with her forehead against the glass and continued: “This wholeness means that it has lost its power to hurt me; it gives me, perhaps because by doing so I take away the pain, a great delight to put the severed parts together.”
She wasn’t sure he could understand. “Perhaps this is the strongest pleasure known to me. Can you turn around, please?”
After a beat she pulled the dress over her head, her cheeks burning. Her dark hair spilled over her naked shoulders. She pulled down her lacy underwear while bending over and her heart skipped in her chest. It was almost too much when she turned and began pulling on pyjama bottoms and a vest to see him staring.
“I don’t want to seem like a prick-tease, Steve, but… I’ve got a few hang-ups.”
“I’d never make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with, Ade.”
“I know that.”
He waited before asking: “What do you want to do?”
She blew hair out of her face. “Honestly. I want you to fuck me, but I’m bloody terrified.”
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