And it has Addled her Brain

On a strangled cry, Phillip came, his hips jerking forward, the muscles in his moving arm taut, his wrist cramping from fatigue. Heat enveloped his sex, the rough cloth heightening his pleasure and still he pictured Giaan, exploding around him, dragging him into the abyss with her.

* * *

Two days later, on a sunny winter morning, Giaan entered Café Book armed with a long cylinder of promotional posters. She smiled upon seeing a reading group of mothers and their small children; corporates wheeling and dealing over a breakfast meeting; couches occupied by readers in no rush.

The bibliophile in her wanted nothing more than to pick up a book and settle down to read for the day.

The agent, however, had a deadline.

She wandered the store, half searching for Phillip, half lost in the quiet promise of a good story. She spotted the owner taking stocktake in the LBGTQI+ section -- impressed by his range -- and offered him a smile.

"Hey. Just the man I was looking for," she greeted.

Phillip tipped a book to its spine so he wouldn't lose his place. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and smiled at Giaan.

"Hey. I just read your email. Wasn't expecting you until later in the day."

"Meeting cancellation. Sylvia's being a bit precious," she shrugged. "I figured I'd come here before my mood is inevitably ruined going to see her anyway. Writers need both to be coddled and kicked in the ass."

Phillip laughed. "Many hats you wear, Giaan."

"Indeed."

They stared at each other in easy silence, each soaking in the details they had found attractive in the other less than 48 hours earlier.

Saliva pooled under Phillip's tongue as her subtle scent reached him; Giaan clenched her thighs. Then she smiled, a little too bright to cover her sudden nervous arousal.

"The posters for your store are ready," she said, tipping the cylinder toward him.

"Excellent. I'll get these up today. Already posted the digital version to our Facebook and Instagram pages."

Giaan nodded. "I saw. Good response."

"Indeed," Phillip murmured, feeling clumsy. He cursed himself silently and ordered himself to stop picturing her naked and bound to his bed.

"You have time for a coffee? I'd love to go over the first draft of the night with you," she said, noting his discomfort and wondering at it. Surely he wasn't lacking in confidence with women? Even as she thought it, Giaan chastised herself. A muscle-bound body did not a Lothario make.

"I've got time," he replied, and lead her through the café. "I've a machine in my office. No waiting."

"Great," Giaan smiled.

His office was small -- a shelved desk across the side wall of the room, filing cabinet wedged in next to it (with said coffee machine and an array of mugs on top), a faded yellow two-seater couch underneath a small window, and a half barrel used as a coffee table.

"Tight space," she commented.

"It's all I need. Staff meetings happen in store or the café."

"Makes sense."

"Bigger storage room through the back there," he gestured before turning to the coffee machine.

Giaan draped her coat over the arm of the couch, took a seat and watched Phillip.

"I've gotta say," she said. "You don't fit the, ah, look, of bookshop owners I've come to know. How many days a week do you work out?"

"Five or six, depending," he replied, placing their mugs down and surprising her by sitting beside her, not on his office chair. Giaan angled her body toward his, knees bumping, as she took a sip. She lifted her brows in approval.

"Nice. So," she said, swapping coffee for iPad, "Friday the nineteenth. Your capacity is two hundred, right?"

"That's right," Phillip said, enjoying the proximity of her body, her scent. A man had to be close to catch it.

"Excellent. We already have eighty confirmed -- industry PR list -- and Rosalie has another twenty for her own VIPs. That leaves a hundred for the public. Unless you have your own invite list?"

"I do, yes. I'll email your assistant," Philip said, taking out his phone to tap it into his reminders.

"How many?"

"We have about a hundred-and-fifty on our mailing list. I've got to let them all know, but will tell them places are for who? The first fifty to register? You wanted exclusive, right?"

Giaan nodded over another mouthful of coffee. "For this particular event, yes," she said, knocking her knees against his again. Phillip's gaze lowered to her legs -- clad today in dark navy tights and burnt orange ankle boots -- and back up again.

"I had a thought," Phillip murmured, "about offering a free coffee to customers who buy a copy of Rosalie's collection on the Saturday. You know, flow-on from the event."

Giaan's eyes lit up. "That's fantastic," she said, scribbling a note on her iPad. "I just knew Café Book would be perfect for this launch."

They ran through the rest of the event -- the Slam Poetry competition for students, meet-and-greet the poet, Liam's set-up and entertainment segments, Giaan's introduction and launch of Rosalie's collection and the readings before mingling and social networking.

Feeling accomplished, Giaan leaned back against the couch, crossed her legs, well aware the movement would attract Phillip's gaze.

"I'm going to see your pal Liam perform this Saturday night. We've already booked him -- his YouTube clips are great, very Tim Minchin-ish -- but I want to see him in action. Do you go to his gigs often?"

"Not often. But sometimes. With the right incentive."

"Well," Giaan said, standing, waiting for Phillip to do so, enjoying the feel of his body against hers, "hopefully I see you there."

"You never know," Phillip said, and showed her out.

* * *

Beyond the Binary -- with a boutique, underground strip-club three levels below -- was one of Phillip's favourite bars in Melbourne. It boasted a diverse workforce and was the heartbeat of the LGBTQI+ economy. Liam had a steady show once a month on its ground floor, open to the public and walk-ins.

Phillip had only once seen the bar's exclusive underbelly.

Sitting at the bar, he nursed his whiskey, keeping an eye out for Giaan, knowing she'd stand out despite the bar's moody lighting. He maintained an interrupted conversation with the bar manager, Naomi, a transwoman he'd had a brief affair with after his top surgery. It had been enlightening, he reflected, whiskey warming his throat, learning from, growing with, someone like him, but not like him.

And then he saw her.

His fiery redhead.

She was with another woman -- short and compact with a cap of black hair -- and wore high-waisted teal pants, hot pink high heels and a hot pink top, cropped just under her bra-line and subtly puffed from shoulder to wrist.

It took a brave woman with bold confidence to pull off a look like that. It shouldn't have worked, Phillip contemplated as she made eye contact with him -- raised an arm in greeting -- the bright, contrasting colours with her hair and skin tone.

But she pulled it off.

"Nomes," Phillip called. "Two glasses of champagne, and another whiskey."

The purple-haired bar manager nodded in acknowledgement, finished her current order as Giaan and her friend approached Phillip. He vacated his stool so they'd have two together.

"Wasn't sure I'd see you here," Giaan said, smiling.

"Liam needed help with set-up. His usual roadie was unavailable tonight."

"What a guy. Phillip, this is Yuki. Yuki, Phillip."

Yuki, dark eyes assessing, offered a hand. "Nice to meet you. Giaan loves your store."

Phillip was surprised at the strong grip of the smaller woman and smiled, instantly liking her spunk. "Café Book loves her event organising." His eyes twinkled over at Giaan.

Naomi placed Phillip's order on the bar, rolling her eyes at him, but pleased at the spark she saw between him and the redhead.

The trio moved over to a floor table, Yuki quickly driving conversation and making them at ease with one another, finding mutual friends from the literary world. Yuki was an editor and worked with one of the self-published writers Phillip supported.

"Small world," she said, finishing off her champagne. "Next round's on me. Same for you Phillip, Giaan?"

"Whiskey for me, too," Giaan said, not taking her eyes from Phillip. He looked mysterious -- and somewhat sad -- clad in black jeans and black shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms.

Yuki rolled her eyes. Giaan always fell for the muscle studs. They always broke her heart.

They sat together, laughing and shouting over Liam's feisty forty-minute set; Giaan was impressed with his ability to engage with the audience between songs, the satirical edge to his work and the way his fingertips plays the black and white keys. His lyrics -- I wonder how he'd go putting a lyrical songbook book together? she wondered -- were playful and witty and unapologetic in their observations of Australian culture.

He received catcalls and whistles and half a standing ovation once his set was over. He informed the crowd he'd be back after a break, walking off stage to applause as they DJ set himself up for the intermission. The small dancefloor was soon dotted with throngs of dancers; some solo, drunkenly swaying to the beat, others in small groups, couples playfully arousing each other in a close embrace. At the sight of Yuki -- all four foot nine of her -- curled around a black man who stood over a foot taller than her, Giaan laughed and shook her head.

"She always reels in big guys," she commented at Phillip's quizzical brow. "Something about good things coming in small packages, she says."

Phillip laughed, admiring once again Yuki's spunk.

"Come on," Giaan said, standing when the jazzy disco trumpets of Kungs' This Girl blasted through the speakers, "let's dance."

She held out a hand to Phillip, smiling when his palm grasped hers.

They moved together in an easy and natural rhythm, her hands clasped behind his neck, his caressing the exposed skin of her mid-back. Whenever her body bumped his, his fingers tightened at her waist, and she smiled into his eyes, knowingly.

"When I came into your store on Monday, the last thing I was expecting was this," she said, lips a breath from his.

"What!?" he shouted, dipping his head so his ear was pressed against her mouth.

"I said that you, this pull I feel, was not what I set out for when I came to your store a week ago."

Phillip pulled back, the nerve endings of his earlobe tingling from her hot, breathy confession.

"You feel it, too?" he asked, dazed, thumbs pressing into the base of her back ribcage.

Giaan's breath caught as she looked directly into Phillip's eyes. Counted two breaths, three, before exhaling slowly. Her green eyes loomed large on her face and filled with want. Phillip's hands moved higher, thumbs pressing to the undersides of her breasts as he jerked her forward. He dipped his head and covered her mouth with his, caught up in the exhilaration of acting before thinking.

Giaan's sound of surprise was smothered by his lips, tasted by his tongue, swallowed by his own moan of pleasure. Her response was immediate; both hands tensed a split second before she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her tongue met his, tangling, heating in that old, primal dance.

The music and bumps of bodies around them were ignored; they swayed and moved to the music even as those around them stepped aside to give them room while others turned to blatantly watch or look away in embarrassment.

With a groan, Phillip's hands possessively moved down to grasp her hips, pulling her centre to his, moulding the curved contours of her body against the firm, hard lines of his. His hands moved back up from her waist to the sides of her breasts, resting there, while he changed the angle of the kiss, exploring the deep recesses of her mouth.

Giaan lifted to her toes, straining against him, body tense and coiled tight. Her cunt clenched in need, aching for him to sate her lust. She sucked his bottom lip -- loved the rough feeling of his stubble under her lips -- giving him a hint of teeth.

She hummed against his mouth as they continued to assault each other with lips, teeth and tongue, the vibrations of her pleasure tickling the back of his throat. Phillip rubbed his hips against her, searching for her sex.

They were interrupted only by a firm shove from another dancer. They jerked apart -- children caught with their hand in the cookie jar -- and remembered where they were.

"Sorry!" the other dancer yelled, a wicked smile on their face before moving on.

"Fuck," Phillip muttered, resting his forehead against Giaan's. "Forgot myself for a minute there."

"I don't care," she whispered hotly, tilting her head, eyes sharp with challenge. "Or that I hardly know you. Or that we're in public. I just really want to know what's on the other side of that kiss."

Phillip shook his head, lifted his hands to her shoulders, put some distance between them.

"I care," he said. "We hardly know each other." He gently lead Giaan back to their table, picked up his whiskey and knocked it back in one gulp. "It's important that you know me, Giaan."

She let out an impatiently huffed breath, but picked up her own amber drink and took a long sip. She was surprised to feel her hand wasn't quite steady. She didn't know whether to laugh at or curse him for it. "Way to kill the mood, Phillip. We're both consenting adults. I want you, you want me. Simple."

Phillip shook his head. "For a man and a woman, yes, it's simple. And while you're consenting to who I am, you're not consenting to who I was."

Giaan crossed her arms over her chest, pressed her thighs together. "What do you mean?" she asked. "You were once in prison? Killed your neighbour's cat? Used to be vegan? What?"

Phillip rubbed his hands over his face, thinking absently that he needed to shave. Then he jerked his chin toward the door to the smoker's lounge outside. She nodded.

"Just gonna hit the bathroom first. See you out there."

Phillip ordered two more whiskies for Giaan to collect, ignored Naomi's disapproving expression -- not now, Nomes -- and went outside. The frigid winter night instantly soothed his heated skin and calmed his nerves. The air was mostly fresh with only two smokers in the far corner sharing a cigarette. He smiled at them before moving to the opposite side to wait. To watch.

To see if Giaan would come out.

The noise from inside intensified as the door opened and she appeared. Carrying the two drinks, she made her way to Phillip. She eyed him over the rim of her glass as she took a shallow sip.

"So. Not is all as it seems, it seems, Phillip MacGregor."

Phillip sighed and silently bid her -- bid this feeling, this hope -- goodbye. He took a long swallow of liquor for courage.

"I'm a transman, Giaan."

She maintained eye-contact for five full breaths before roaming down his body. The broad shoulders she knew were rippled with muscle, the flat chest, tapered waist, thick thighs, and back up again to his face. A face that was angular, pointed, and in need of a shave.

"I see," she said, sitting on a barstool and crossing her legs -- a movement that reminded her of her achy need. She cleared her throat. Silence, awkward but still charged with sexual desire, hang over them

"Now what?" she asked, needing to break that silence.

"Now," Phillip heaved out a breath, "I guess... ball's in your court."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is, Giaan. Damnit." Phillip strode away, walking off pent-up frustration. He raked his hands through his hair, and even through her shock, Giaan found herself appreciating his masculine form. Then she frowned at the thought.

He was more than a body.

Phillip heaved out a sigh, stood in front of her. "I've only had top surgery," he murmured, focusing on the lime green neon light display, the way the long snake of it twisted and turned into the bar's name.

"I see," Giaan said, her voice's tone and tenor reflecting his.

The smoking couple left with laughter from Liam's second act flowing through the open door. Silence once again descended upon them. One was pensive in consideration; the other, quiet in despair.

"Why just top surgery?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"It's the part of myself I hated most growing up," he shrugged, somewhat defensive.

"And the... rest?"

Phillip heaved out a sigh. How to make her understand? How to make anyone understand what he still grappled with almost daily? "I don't hate. I love my gender, my body, my sex. It's finally the way I've always wanted it to be."

"And you've been with cis women like me before?" she asked.

"Yes," Phillip said, searching her face for any clue as to her thinking. "But they're in the community. Have friends or exes or siblings who are out. I've never had to disclose to a potential lover my identity before."

"Hmm," Giaan hummed, taking another mouthful of whiskey. "The purple haired waitress. There's something between the two of you. Or there was."

Phillip leaned back against the brick wall, taken aback by Giaan's astuteness. He heaved out a breath.

"She was part of that early learning about honesty. She helped me figure a lot of my stuff out."

"Is she transgender, too?"

Phillip scratched his chin; Naomi's gender was her business, but he knew Giaan was smart enough to see through an evasive answer. So, he went with his gut.

"She grew up in Denmark," he said. "And transitioned early. She's lucky to have the parents she has, especially her mum."

Giaan tilted her head, considering him. "And you weren't as lucky?"

Phillip finished his drink, vaguely disappointed that the foggy whiskey brain wasn't nearly as pleasant as a foggy blunt brain. "No. I've barely spoken to my parents since I was nineteen, twenty."

Giaan reached over, grasping Phillip's hand, offering him a supportive squeeze. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, but turned his hand over to link fingers. "No one's fault. Just how it goes sometimes."

Instinctively, Giaan brought Phillip's hand to her mouth, kissed his knuckles.

"I think you're amazing," she whispered, bringing her face close to his and lightly pecking him on the lips. "But you're right. I do need to think about this."

"So, it's not a no?"

She shook her head, smiled. "It's more an 'I-don't-know-yet'. And you seem sad right now." She sighed heavily. "You also need to think about this."

"Yeah," Phillip rubbed a hand over his face. "Probably."

Giaan smiled gently. "Lucky we have Rosalie's launch to keep up busy between now and then, huh?"

"Yeah," Phillip agreed with little mirth. "Lucky. Coulda been luckier if I'd just kept my mouth shut."

That brought out an easy and genuine laugh from both of them, easing whatever vulnerable discomfort there may have been. Reminding them that beyond the physical attraction, a small bud of friendship was trying to bloom.

"I'll be in touch," Giaan said softly, kissing her fingertips and pressing them to his lips.

* * *

On top of final planning for Rosalie's Poetry Party, the working week and a half following Phillip's revelation was filled with new learning, new awakenings, new desires for Giaan. Every night before sleep, she read all she could find on female-to-male transitions.

Giaan picked up her phone to set an alarm -- twenty to midnight, pretty typical Wednesday night - before logging on to an erotic chat site to talk in real time to people because the nerd in her couldn't help but understand Phillip in any other way. Because while Giaan had only exclusively dated men -- cis men, she silently corrected herself -- she had a deep streak of kink most found pleasantly surprising. And knowing Phillip's truth had called to that kink in the deep, dark recesses of her mind.

Once she had devoured all she could on the anecdotal and technical side of transitioning, she switched to iPad to peruse the erotica that was linked to the chat site.