Simply Connected: A LesbianNonbinary Sports Romance by Alex Washoe

Author:Alex Washoe [Washoe, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2021-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Dalmancia’s was a small boutique on South Main street — exclusive enough they didn’t even have a store-front. It was by appointment only, in a renovated Queen Anne style home that somehow survived the commercialization of downtown.

A perfectly coiffed attendant showed me into the “parlor”, ignoring my shirt as if it were a personal offense. Christie was already there, being fitted for a gown. It was pale lavender with swirls of white, cut to accentuate her shoulders with an almost cape-like effect and slit up one side to show plenty of long muscular leg.

I whistled silently.

The proprietor hurried over. A slender woman with a helmet of jet-black hair and a hawk’s nose, she surveyed me critically, walking around. “Petite, nicely curved — yes, we have gowns that will work beautifully for your shape, my dear.”

Something about that thought made my skin crawl. I tried to tell myself it was just nerves. “I’ve never actually worn a gown.”

“Never?” Christie floated over as she’d been born in formal wear. Again, how did jocks get so comfortable in their bodies? “Not even to prom?”

“I didn’t go to prom.”

Her eyes widened. She looked like I’d just revealed that my whole family died of plague when I was a child.

“Why not?”

I was in the emergency room . Not the time for that memory. “I was only fourteen in twelfth grade —” I shrugged, not wanting to remember. Of course, Tommy was going to ask me. But I always discouraged his romantic gestures. I know that disappointed him.

And I remembered Stacy, asking me into the gym to talk about prom. Remembered the hard, angry line of her mouth. “Sometimes I don’t even know what you are.”

I shuddered so hard Madame Dalmancia stepped back. Christie put her hands on my shoulders and steadied me. “Madam Dalmancia can you give my friend something special? Not just a reception dress, but prom night and everything rolled into one?”

“Don’t go all Cinderella on me,” I muttered.

An appraising smile appeared under Madame’s hooked nose. “Oui, for Prince’s own ball.”

“The Prince can find his own date,” Christie said.

They began bringing out dresses. First, a simple white with tiered skirts and a lacy décolletage. I only knew those words because Madame used them. It was beautiful, and Christie obviously liked it, but I felt off. The attendants adjusted the skirts and pinned the waist until it fit better than anything I’d ever worn. Still, I couldn’t stop shifting my shoulders and hips. It wouldn’t settle right and the more I looked in the mirror the more agitated I felt.

“I don’t feel right in the dress,” I told Stacy, and her eyes flattened from friendly to cold.

They tried several more. The best was a deep purple that went beautifully with Christie’s gown. It had a gathered waist and slim skirt, made me look taller and slimmer than I knew I was. Both Christie and Madame cooed over it.

But by this point my heart was pounding and my breath was shallow. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room, and it was really hot.

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