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I admit it.
I moped.
Truthfully, despite my emotional state, it was probably good for me, all things considered. I retreated from everything; I talked with Angela over phone and text, but refused to go out at all. Mom sat me down and had a talk with me about needing to live my life despite these disappointments, and Just tried to get me into playing basketball with him – like I could compete with him, he’s well over six feet tall – but I resisted their attempts.
As usual, it was Dad who cut to the heart of the matter.
It was a couple weeks after I’d seen Grace at Neil’s house, and I’d been lurking in my room and essentially avoiding everyone; using the private shower, doing yoga when Mom was done, and generally restructuring my schedule so I didn’t have to see anyone or talk to anyone.
The thing was, while I was sad, I didn’t feel depressed. This felt…different, and it was Dad, coming into my room with a cup of coffee made just the way I like – heavy cream and more sugar than is sane; Mom always gags when she sees me making it – who put his finger on it.
Connor Mist is either the center of sanity for this wild family, or the point of madness about which we all revolve. He accepts the sexual nature of the rest of us without batting an eyelash, seeming more amused than anything else; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him surprised or out of countenance, though Mom tells me that this Irish waif of a man, thin and pale, of medium height, could manage to be absolutely terrifying when he wanted to. All I’ve ever seen of him is an unbreakable serenity, a sea of calm he brings everywhere he goes, and as he sits at my desk while I lounge on the bed, he sets down the coffee and sips at his own.
I eye the cup of coffee. “If that’s a bribe, I still don’t feel like talking.”
“Looks more like coffee to me,” he says mildly.
I arch an eyebrow. “No strings?”
Dad gives me a steady, unblinking look, the kind that tells you you’re better than whatever it was you just did and you should feel ashamed for it. I sighed and crawled to the edge of the bed to sit and drink my coffee.
“The real bribe,” he says while I’m mid-sip, “is that I won’t leave until we do talk about it. I mean, you can leave the room. I’m not holding you prisoner. I’ll just be there. Constantly. A silent presence at the corner of your eye. Wherever you go, as long as necessary.” He sips his coffee, completely unperturbed while I stare at him.
“So your approach to parenting,” I say slowly, “is to be a huge creep.”
Connor shrugs. “It’s worked so far,” he replies without a hint of shame. “But no, seriously, Arcadia, I’m not here to tell you you need to cheer up or get over it or any of that other noise that dismisses how you feel and ignores the process you need to move on. I’m here because I feel I need to be. I’m here because I love you. I don’t know what you need, but I am here to fulfill whatever need I can. I have the feeling you have something you can’t express, but need to say.”
I sip my coffee for a moment while I think about how to reply to that. He isn’t wrong. I just don’t know what it is, or how to start. “And what if I told you all I needed was a good lay?”
“Then I think Just would be exhausted by this point,” he says blandly, and sips his coffee. “You and I have had that conversation, Arcadia. You’re a beautiful, desirable young woman – but your mother, and only she, has ever been able to arouse me. I don’t know why,” he confesses, shrugging. “It’s simply how it is.”
I sigh heavily, accepting that I wasn’t going to deflect my way out of this. Besides, I truly love my father. He’s a rock, and has guided Just and I growing up just by being the solid, serene person he is. It’s a mistake to call him impassive; he has emotion and shows deep affection and care for us. The passion he has for Mom is impossible to ignore. But the storms of life just seem to wash over him without leaving any effect, and the confidence that builds in us for him is hard to describe.
Dad is safety, certainty, comfort. Dad is home.
“Mom and Just think I’m depressed,” I tell him, working my way around to this thing I’ve been feeling without knowing what exactly it is. “I’m sad, yes. I learned I felt a lot deeper for Neil than I realized. I was shocked, when I saw Grace, and it felt like…something was cut. Severed. But I passed that low point already. I feel like…” I wave a hand, unable to express it.
“Waiting,” Dad supplies, and it’s like a revelation. The one word echoes in my mind, settling in like a piece into a slot shaped precisely for it. And with that one piece, the picture became clear.
“…yes,” I say, surprised. “I…how did you know that?”
Dad’s blue eyes are serious, but the corners of his mouth tilt in a small smile as he shrugs eloquently. “I’ve seen a lot,” he says, “and you’re a lot like your mother, in some ways. Introspection isn’t something you do. You’re waiting for something kağıthane escort to happen. There’s some that will tell you, when you get this feeling, that you should make something happen, but I don’t agree. If it feels right to wait – if you are waiting without fear or hesitation, simply waiting, and it feels as though you are where you need to be – then wait. A great deal of life is about patience.”
“I hate being patient,” I mutter disconsolately, looking at my empty coffee cup.
“Nobody enjoys it,” Dad comments, and takes my empty mug. “But it’s something we all have to do. If you get to feeling like you’re done waiting, and nothing has happened, come talk to me, and we’ll explore what we can do. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Just and your mother and convince them you aren’t about to start hurting yourself or finding religion.” He makes a face as he stands up to leave. “From the way your mother talks, the second would be worse.”
“Personally,” I tell him with a wide grin, “I’m not sure I see the difference.”
Dad just rolls his eyes as he leaves to take the dirty mugs to the kitchen.
****************
The waiting ended a week or so later. Mom informed me I had a visitor. I had been trying to be less antisocial, while still desiring my space, so I decided I’d go ahead and see who it was. I put on clothes – we don’t always, at this house, though Mom has a rule that everyone has to at least wear underwear at the table – consisting of a simple peach-colored t-shirt and jogging shorts, though I was damned if I were going to bother with a bra in my own house.
Grace is at the door.
Just like the last time I saw her, I freeze, standing in the doorway, not sure how to feel. She is tall and elegant, with sleek black hair that falls to her shoulders without a curl or wave to be seen and wide gray eyes that pull at you like they want to drown you. She’s dressed modestly in a silk blouse and a knee-length skirt, both of a soft charcoal color.
“Can I come in?” she asks quietly, and I shake myself out of my shock and move out of the door so she can enter. The way she walks epitomizes her name, a lovely flowing stride that makes her almost seem to float. I shut the door and follow her to our living room, and as she takes a seat on the sofa, carefully arranging her skirts, I take a seat on the loveseat opposite.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing out of my mouth. I have no idea how else to start this conversation. “For falling apart like that. I…it took me by surprise.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Grace tells me soothingly. Her voice is rich, deep, a soft and mellow contralto. “It was an emotional moment. We were all at a bit of a loss as to how to navigate it.” There’s a moment of silence, and then she asks, “Are you angry at Neil?”
The expression on my face is one of pure shock, green eyes as wide as they will go. “No!” I answer sharply. “What would I be angry for? This was always the plan. Everything except me catching feelings, I guess, but that’s no one’s fault but mine.”
“He’s been trying to call you,” she says gently, and I look away guiltily. I had been ignoring his calls, and his texts. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls,” I admit heavily. “Except Angela’s. Even my family’s started to worry. All except my Dad, and I’ve never seen him worry about anything.”
“Neil is worried too,” Grace admonishes me, and I hang my head a little. “Very much so. You left before we could discuss things, and we all understand why. You were overwhelmed and needed space. Look, Kady, I’m going to be blunt here. We all know that me coming along changes things. But after you left, Neil and I discussed how, exactly. And if you hadn’t left the way you did, you would have been part of those discussions.”
I blink, brushing curly red hair out of my eyes. “I…what?”
Grace stands and moves to join me on the loveseat, and runs a lock of my hair through her fingers. I love how wild my hair is, honestly; it’s untamable, just like me, and the deep red of its color suits me as well. I let her play with it; the distance I created between us was always intended for her comfort, not for mine, and if she wanted to be closer, I wouldn’t object.
She smelled amazing. Clean, of soap and soft powder.
“Neil and I never intended to be exclusive,” she tells me. “He isn’t ready for that, and I’m not inclined to monogamy in any case. No more than you are, from what he tells me. Change doesn’t always mean an ending, dear. Sometimes it can mean growing, too. He loves you, Kady. It’s in how he talks about you, and he’s very hurt by your cutting things off like you did. Me, everything he’s told me makes me think I’d like the chance to get to know this brave, beautiful, sort of crazy young woman.” Her hand goes to my face, and she strokes my cheek before turning my chin to make me look her in the eye. kağızman escort “We want you back in our lives, Kady. If you want to be. I came because we both thought you’d refuse to see Neil.”
I look away at that, because she’s not wrong, but she shakes her head and pulls my gaze back to hers.
“We understand, Kady,” she says soothingly, and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You don’t have to answer right away. If you need more time to think, we completely -“
I cut her off by covering her mouth with mine.
She is sweet on the tongue, honey and wine, heady and rich. She melts into the kiss, her tongue finding mine, and I cup her face with my hands while hers move to my shoulders; after a moment, I find I don’t like the angle, and move to straddle her, throwing one leg over her hips and settling. She makes a sound, startled, and her hands press on my hips as if to stop me, but I will not be denied as I take her mouth and settle my hips to hers.
And then it’s my turn to be surprised. I break the kiss, my eyes wide at the hard length between my legs.
“I would have warned you,” Grace says, sheepishly, her color high and her breath coming short and fast.
“Fuck me that is so hot,” I pant, and attack her mouth with even greater ferocity, drinking her in, drowning in her scent and taste and the hot feeling of her against the crotch of my shorts.
This was what I had been waiting for. Not that I knew it, of course. But just like my dad choosing the right word had crystallized the situation I was in for me, clarifying it and giving it reality, this moment completed that sense of waiting as if it were the only possible thing that fit there.
I pull back from the kiss again, dizzy, and Grace’s eyes seem to have difficulty focusing as well. “Yes,” I tell her. I hold her face in my hands, her soft skin against mine. Her skin is flawless. She is perfection in every line, and I won’t lie, there is an element of envy in my desire. “The three of us? Yes. But first, I want you. Here. Now.” I grind my hips against her, and she moans softly. “All of you.”
“Let me think,” Grace says, sarcasm marred slightly by her racing breaths. Then she seizes me by the hair and pulls me back down to kiss her again.
At some point, I dismount her and drag her to my room; I wouldn’t be embarrassed at being caught fucking on the couch, but it might be a bridge too far for Grace, and I didn’t want to hear Mom bitch at me over cleaning it up. Once I shut the door, clothing is removed in a frenzy, thrown all about the room. Grace’s breasts in my hands are full, warm, soft and heavy and she groans as I suck on her thick red nipples. Her hands are all over me, greedily stroking as if her hands could devour me, her perfectly manicured nails scratching lightly, making me shiver.
I push her back on the bed, sinking down, taking her cock in one hand, unable to wrap my fingers all the way around it. God, she is thick. Not as long as Just, but not everyone could be; Just was something special. I press her against my face, breathing deeply of her scent, kissing the hard, hot flesh.
Then I devour her.
Fellating a cock like that is a challenge; it takes me time to open my throat to her, working the head deeper and deeper, tears in my eyes, and I guide her hands to my head to help me along; together, we force that monster into my gullet, and I swallow around her length. Grace cries out hoarsely and bucks; I pull off of her to get my breath and stroke her with one hand, slick with spit.
Suddenly, she shoves me back, and I realize for the first time that while Grace doesn’t look particularly muscular – under her clothes she is very fit and firm, but she isn’t cut like a gym freak – she is shockingly strong. Ignoring the bed, she pins me to the floor, and I accept her between my thighs, glad I’d talked my parents into soft plush carpeting. Her hot length rests on my pubis, and I writhe under her, wanting it in me.
“God, I see what he likes about you,” she purrs, then fits herself into me and slides in, a slow but inexorable glide as wet as I am. She stretches me to the point of pain, a hot, burning ache that confuses my senses and drives my lust even higher. I cling to her, our breasts pressing together, her nipples teasing mine, and gasp, feeling as though I were drowning.
“Fuck,” she gasps.
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly. “Do.”
And she does.
Deep, relentless strokes, scraping my walls and driving all reason out of my head. It’s exhilarating, and I keen and wail as she fucks me like a machine, all control and deliberate effort. I long to break that control. Her eyes are wild over me, hands planted on the carpet, but her motions are steady and sure. I pull her down to kiss, and she moans into my mouth; I wrap my arms around her neck and buck up into her, legs locked around her waist, and shudder as the first orgasm washes through me.
The first.
There maraş escort are more.
She power-fucks me for what feels like an eternity, screwing me into the carpet with a steady, firm ferocity, through another orgasm, with me crying and wailing and clinging for dear life to her, solidity wrapped in softness. I don’t usually get this loud for anyone except Just, but Grace knows what the hell she’s doing. It’s only toward the end, me nearing a third a third orgasm, that her rhythm breaks, her thrusts becoming faster and deeper, and she groans deep before rasping out, “Oh fuck, Kady, where -“
I tighten my leglock on her. “In me. It’s safe. God. Come in me.”
Grace shudders, and I feel her twitch inside me, a spreading heat, and then she collapses on me like a falling house as her climax triggers mine, and I cry out and shudder under her, burying my face in her shoulder.
We lay there awhile, basking in the afterglow, and I run my hands over her back, soft, gentle strokes, as her breathing settles. Her weight is comforting, not crushing, and I support her easily; I’m no delicate flower. Finally, though, she pushes off of me and rolls onto her back; I gasp as she slips from me. Even soft, she is big enough to feel in there.
“Holy shit,” she says, panting.
“Yeah,” I agree. We lay there a bit, catching our breath and unable to think of anything to say.
“So,” she says finally. “I guess that secret’s out.”
And it’s right there I come to a decision. “Yeah,” I tell her, and turn my head to look into her deep gray eyes, lidded and soft with her pleasure. “I got something to tell you and Neil. And then, if you still want me – I’m in. I think I was…waiting, for something like this to happen. I couldn’t come to you. I wasn’t expecting this…but damn did I need it.” The last words are spoken on a little laugh.
We clean up, and get dressed – this time I wear my favorite summer dress, a little yellow sundress I like to wear with absolutely nothing under it – and she drives me to Neil’s, firmly rebuffing my attempts to give her road head on the way. It’s fun and playful on both ends, and I find myself liking Grace immensely, not just for the mighty weapon she wields, but for her, an outward seriousness that belies a deep core of whimsical absurdity.
A little like Dad, I realize.
Neil greets me with a crushing hug, and I squeeze him back almost as hard. We almost fall all over each other apologizing, but Grace puts a stop to that quite firmly, and guides us to sit in the living room, as she putters in the kitchen to prepare our coffee. She gives me the same disgusted look as Mom does when I tell her how to prepare mine.
Once she joins us, I take a deep breath.
“When we first got together,” I say to Neil, “I told you pregnancy wasn’t a possibility for me. I’m not on any birth control, it just…can’t happen. What I’m about to say might not change anything for you. It might change everything. So far, only my family, my doctor, and my therapist know. But I trust you two. Grace has shared her secret with me. I’m going to share mine.”
I have to take another breath to prepare, and exhale, closing my eyes. “Complete androgen insensitivity syndrome,” I say, breathing the words out like an incantation, or a curse.
Neil twigs immediately, but I can tell from Grace’s questioning look at him that she doesn’t understand. Instead of taking over, Neil nods to me and gestures that Grace should ask me, earning a warm flush of gratitude and a thankful smile from me.
“It’s what’s sometimes called an intersex condition,” I tell her. “To put it in the bluntest terms, my body had the blueprint to be a boy, but somewhere along the line, the construction team wasn’t told. We all develop in the womb mostly the same until a certain point. At that point, there’s a trigger, and hormones determine how your body develops from then on. For me, that trigger didn’t happen the way it should, and I developed differently. But even though the masculinizing hormones didn’t work, my body still didn’t have the proper blueprint for a female body. Most of those differences are pretty minor, honestly. But because of the way it all happened, I ended up missing some bits. Namely, a uterus.”
I’m clinging to calm. Sharing this secret is terrifying. I’ve seen how folks reacted to trans folks like Grace. One of the reasons I’d been homeschooled until my last year in high school was because of what happened when the secret had gotten out in middle school. I won’t go into it, except to say that my parents made the right decision pulling me from school – as much for Just’s sake as mine, as he was getting beaten up defending me more than I was. Even clinging to that outward calm, though, I have to set my coffee down on the table, because my hands are starting to shake.
“When I was sixteen, I had surgery to remove the testicles,” I admit softly. “I’ve been on hormone supplements for years. My parents were very clear that my gender would make itself known to me, and when I knew, I could tell them. But I’ve always been a girl. Whatever my genetics say, I am a woman. I was raised a woman, my body is that of a woman, my lived experience is that of a woman. All except having a period, anyway,” I admit, waving a hand.
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