Best Lesbian Erotica 2002 by Tristan Taormino

Author:Tristan Taormino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2017-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Johnny

Alison L Smith

I first met Johnny Sisnowski at a transsexual pool party in Hadley, Massachusetts, three months after his surgery, twelve months into the change. I am not transitioning and I’ve never been what they call gender-ambiguous. I’m just a plain old gay man born gay and male and, no, I am not on a life journey to being anything other than gay and male. I’ve never been what you call fashionable or political, and up until that fated afternoon the whole transsexual movement had just passed me by. While everybody else was busy rearranging their sexual proclivities or their sexual parts, I was just standing there in my tan Dockers and lace-ups looking for a good man to take me from behind.

When Johnny emerged from the pool that afternoon, his tan shoulders and long tan back glistening in the hot afternoon sun, his slick dome of blond hair dripping pool water across the patio, I just about dropped my spatula. A gorgeous boy with great biceps and a set of mysterious scars on his chest is not what I expected to find that afternoon. Johnny shook the water out of his hair, slipped on a pair of Buddy Holly glasses, pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler, and headed straight toward the grill. He stared down at the sizzling meat. The first thing Johnny said to me was that the sight of raw meat made him queasy.

“I love it,” I said and I pressed the juice out of a turkey burger with my spatula. The coals flared and sizzled.

“I’m Greg,” I said and I put out my hand.

Johnny shook it, despite the meat.

“I’m an F to M,” Johnny said.

“A what?”

“A female-to-male,” Johnny replied and he flashed a winning smile.

He wore the beach version of club-boy clothes: oversized red swim trunks and green goggles that hung loosely around his neck. He held a Corona in his cool, white hand.

“What are you?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said and I stared up at him.

His blond hair, slicked back against his scalp, softened as it dried.

“Nothing’s obvious,” he replied. “Not any more.”

I flicked ash from my Pall Mall into a can on the metal side table and prepared to flip the burgers. Johnny tapped his beer bottle against the side of the grill and stared into the red center of the coals. I was required to lean over him to reach the grill and as I did my face came close to those two scars, young and red, where, I realized, his breasts used to be. They shined up from his broad chest, resting like narrow crescent moons right under his pecs. It made my eyes burn to look at them and so I stared up into his face.

“I’m a fag” I said. “And no offense, but I’m not into girls.”

Johnny let out an audible sigh. “I’m not a girl,” he said. “You were,” I replied and I lit another cigarette off the burning ash of my last.

“My former gender is a subject we could debate for hours, but right now, here, this minute, I’m a guy.

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