"Hi... hi," I stammered, caught off guard. My voice barely made it past my lips. "What... are you doing here?"
Amaya didn't hesitate. She walked past me like she belonged, heading straight for the couch. Her dress swayed with her every step. She sat, crossed her legs slowly, deliberately, like she was staging a scene. Then she looked at me with soft eyes and said, "What's your reply?"
I swallowed. My pulse was racing. I forced a chuckle and pretended not to understand. "What do you mean?" I asked, closing the door behind me, suddenly too aware of how fast my heart was beating.
She tilted her head, smiled, then adjusted her dress. It rose slightly, revealing smooth thighs that caught the light. I caught myself staring. Damn... I didn't know she could be this bold. I looked away, embarrassed by my thoughts.
"The letter yesterday?" she said.
I took a breath, stepping closer. "I... I don't know what to say," I whispered. "It's all happening so fast." My throat tightened as I spoke, the words catching on the weight of truth I couldn't speak out loud.
She stood, her eyes locking with mine, and then—without warning—she kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm. My body trembled.
"It's okay if you don't love me," she said softly, leaning away just enough to look at me again.
"But I do," I whispered, my voice raw. My body was already vibrating. I kissed her again, this time deeper, more urgently.
"Andy... I love you," she said, eyes searching mine.
She sat back down, crossing her legs again like she owned the place. She leaned back slightly and looked around. "You have a beautiful home, Andy. Your mom must be really rich."
I forced a smile and sat beside her. "Yeah... she is."
"And your dad?"
I paused. Her tone was casual, but the question hit something tender. "My dad?" I echoed.
"Yeah," she repeated, her voice softer now.
I looked at her and smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile. "He's dead."
Her expression shifted to something gentler, more careful.
"It's okay," I said quickly, trying to lighten the moment. "I never really knew him. He died when I was born. My mom says I look like him."
She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you forget how to breathe. It was angelic. I've never seen a real angel, but I'm pretty sure that's how they'd look if they smiled at you.
In that moment, all I could think was: She's finally mine. And I'll do everything I can to keep her happy.
"You stare like you've seen an angel," she teased.
"Maybe I have," I said, smiling back.
"Can I use your bathroom?" she asked.
"Yeah, of course. It's upstairs. I'll show you."
I reached out and held her hand—so soft—and led her up the stairs gently, like she was something precious.
---
After a few minutes of silence, I heard her voice call out.
"Andy?!"
"Yeah?" I walked toward the bathroom door.
"There's no towel in here. Can you get me one?"
"Oh... you were bathing?" My heart jumped. I grabbed a towel quickly and knocked on the door. "Amaya, here's the towel you wanted."
She opened the door wide.
And there she was. Standing naked in front of me. Water still glistening on her skin, her body exposed, confident.
"Feel me," she said. Her voice was hushed, but strong. She knew exactly what I wanted... what I couldn't have.
I stood there, frozen. Then I stepped closer, the steam from her body warming my skin. I kissed her. Her lips were wet and welcoming. I let my hands explore, trailing down to her hips, gripping her with both need and fear. Ass is life, a ridiculous thought echoed in my head, trying to distract me from everything I was really feeling.
I kissed her neck, trembling. My right hand slid down between her legs. She moaned into my mouth, gripping me tighter. I stroked her gently, feeling her body respond.
"I want more," she whispered. She wasn't playing anymore.
I led her to my bed.
She reached for me, hungry, but I avoided her hands. I couldn't let her undress me. My secret—my truth—was still hidden beneath these clothes.
Instead, I lowered myself to her center and tasted her. Her hips moved with every stroke of my tongue. Her body trembled. "Deeper," she gasped. My hands caressed her breasts, her stomach, her thighs—memorizing her.
"Fuck me, baby... I'm so on right now," she begged.
And then I froze.
Fuck you? I don't even have a dick, I thought bitterly. That pain—the reminder—cut through everything.
I pulled away.
Still fully clothed. Still pretending.
"Andyyy!" she called as I stepped back, heartbroken and angry.
I sat on the couch downstairs, trying to breathe, trying not to cry.
Footsteps came down.
She stood before me, fully dressed now. Her face confused, hurt, burning with rejection.
"Why did you leave me like that?" she asked, standing over me.
"I'm sorry," I said, avoiding her eyes.
"Don't 'baby' me when you can't even give me what I want!" she yelled.
"Amaya..." I sighed. "Please... just go home."
She narrowed her eyes, angry now. "What do you want from me?" she spat.
"What do you want from me?" I shouted back, standing up. "Sex? That's it?"
"YES! I want you to fuck me!" she screamed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I can't!" I finally admitted, voice cracking. "I can't do it. I'm sorry."
"Fuck you. You're a liar. You're a fucking asshole."
"I'm a virgin," I whispered. "I'm not ready..."
She looked at me, something soft flashing in her eyes, and then stormed out, slamming the door so hard it rattled the walls.
I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted, empty.
The door opened again.
I looked up—hoping.
But it was my mother.
"Mom?" I asked, startled. "What are you doing here?"
She raised an eyebrow. "In my house?"
"No... I meant... never mind."
She looked around. "Who was she?"
"Just a friend from school," I said, quickly grabbing the remote to avoid her gaze.
She didn't push. She simply walked toward the stairs.
"Mom?"
"Yes, son?" she paused.
"Why must it be a secret?" My voice trembled. I couldn't hold it in anymore.
She turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "What?"
"That I'm transgender... why do I have to hide who I am? Why can't I just tell my friends? Why can't I fall in love like everyone else?"
She came over and sat beside me. Her hand found my shoulder.
"Andy..." Her voice was cautious. "People can be cruel. The world doesn't always understand. I'm just trying to protect you."
"But it hurts," I said, looking into her eyes. "I'm almost twenty. I feel like I'm living in a cage."
She looked down. "Your type is rare... I just don't want them to break you. But I promise—I'll find a way to make you 'normal.'"
I flinched.
"Promise me?" I asked, my voice cracking.
She held my face gently. "I promise, my baby boy."
She stood up, heading upstairs.
"How was school today?" she asked as she disappeared down the hall.
"Fine, Mom," I answered, my voice low.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the silence wrap around me like a blanket.
This is who I am. This is my truth.
And maybe... one day, the world will be ready for it.
But until then, I'm just Andy.
Trying to find love in a world that keeps telling me I'm not enough.