Friends Always

She's cute, really cute. She's an eighteen-year old high school girl with silky, straight brown hair that she wears in various styles, depending on the season and her mood. Sometimes she parts in the middle, with the front sweeping across her forehead. Other times she puts it up in pigtails for that adorable, little girl look. In winter, she lets it grow long, to the middle of her back, curled at the ends. In summer, she snips it just past her shoulders, then ties it back in a pony tail.

She's got sparkling green eyes, a pert, turned-up nose and the sort of smile one sees in toothpaste and lip balm commercials. And her body, feminine to the core: full, luscious thighs, bubble butt, hips that curve gently into a slim, taut waist and boobs, not big but big enough, a respectable handful.

She's got something else, too: a dick.

Ashley Prescott transitioned when she was a freshman in high school. She, then a he named Alan, was the proverbial boy who felt trapped in a body that never felt right from the time he started kindergarten. When he turned fourteen, his parents finally reconciled to Alan's condition, giving their okay to the hormonal treatments and body sculpting that turned him from Alan into Ashley.

So now, as a senior, Ashley hangs out with a group of girls. They know and accept who she is. Not so the boys. Most of them shun her, except for a nasty element of male jocks that bully her, that call her names, that leave insulting comments on Facebook.

Well, not all the jocks. Chip Zirkin is a six-foot-two, two-hundred and forty pound linebacker for the school's football team. He's a big guy, big and strong and ruggedly handsome. He's also what jocks aren't supposed to be—introspective, self-examining,sensitive. The bullying of Ashley bothers him, particularly when his own teammates do it. So far, he's kept his mouth shut, kept his feelings to himself. How would it look for someone like him to defend a tranny, the worst kind of low-life pervert in the eyes of people like Jimmy Crenshaw and Steve Haskins, Chip's teammates and two of Ashley's worst antagonists? They'd treat him as an outcast, a lover of perversity, a closet homo, if not a "homo-erectus" himself, one of their pet names for Ashley. So, he says nothing, stays silent in the halls when either Jimmy or Steve toss out insults when Ashley goes by.

But Chip, like everyone else has a breaking point, and he reaches his one day when school lets out. He's walking with Jimmy and Steve on school grounds when Ashley walks by, alone and minding her own business. Then Steve says, "She takes it up the ass, I bet." He glances at Jimmy who laughs.

Normally, Ashley ignores the insults. But not this time; she's had enough, spins around and says, "Up yours." Not loud or obnoxious, more matter of fact.

"Not mine, you perverted bitch," Steve snaps.

Chip's had enough also, heard enough for too long from these clowns. "Oh, come on guys, leave her the hell alone. She's not bothering you."

Ashley, looking smashing in her pigtails and tight jeans and suede jacket, is stunned. She shakes her head in disbelief.

Jimmy the halfback and Steve the fullback drop their jaws in a look of incredulity not lost on their friend. "You heard me right," Chip says, "leave her the fuck alone."

"I fucking can't believe you, man, taking the side of a dick-chick."

"Look, asshole," Chip says, cutting Jimmy short, "there's people in this world who are different. And as long as they don't force their ways on us, we need to respect that, leave them be. Ashley's never done a damn thing to you guys. So, like I said, leave her the fuck alone. Got it?"

Steve, still staring in disbelief, says, "Yeah, we got it, and you can have...IT. See ya at practice."

Chip watches them slink away. Then he turns to Ashley. "Maybe they'll lay off you for awhile."

"You know, if I didn't respect who YOU are, I'd give you a huge kiss. Thanks, you didn't have to do that."

If Chip didn't know that Ashley was a tranny, he just might take her up on that kiss. Many of the girls in school should look as cute as Ashley. Even her voice is feminine, now a mezzo thanks to the hormonal treatments. "I did what I thought was right, Ashley. I'm sure I'll pay for it later on. If they tease me, as I'm sure they will, so be it. My integrity is what's important."

She nods, fights back the urge to throw her arms around him. Like most of the girls at school, she's wildly attracted to him. And after what he just did, putting his image on the line, she's absolutely smitten. "Chip, can I buy you coffee or something? Maybe take you to dinner sometime?"

He shakes his head. "Look, you don't owe me anything. And, to be frank...ˮ He sighs and shakes his head.

"Yes?"

"Well, it just wouldn't work," he says. He avoids telling her the whole truth, that enlightened and accepting as he might be of differences, he'd feel ashamed to be seen with her.

She smiles wanly. "That's okay, I understand. Thanks again for what you did."

He watches her walk away, admiring a tush that would stir the cock of any guy, even the cocks of homophobic lads like Jimmy and Steve. He hopes his rejection didn't hurt her feelings. He knows she's been hurt enough, wounded time and again by the Steves and Jimmys of the world. And yet she holds her head up and takes it, seemingly proud of whom she is. He admires her courage, wonders if he could be as strong had fate dealt him a genetic flaw alien, if not repulsive, for many people.

There's something else that bothers him: he's attracted to Ashley Prescott. She's hot and sexy, there's no denying that. She's also tough, internally tough. She'd have to be to endure the taunts and insults. And Chip admires toughness—the physical and mental toughness essential for playing football and the kind of emotional toughness he sees in Ashley. He's in a quandary. He'd like to get to know her better, perhaps take her up on her invite. Defending her is one thing; going out with her would be something else. He'd be ridiculed, teased unmercifully.

And yet he finds the idea so compelling that he approaches her the next day when school lets out. She's with three of her girlfriends, backpack slung over her shoulder, heading down the long, grass slope that leads from the school to the sidewalk. "Ashley, can I speak with you a minute?"

"Sure," she says. Her friends stand aside, giggling and whispering.

Chip seeks the semi-privacy of an oak tree several yards away. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he says, "Look, maybe we can meet sometime. Not a date, nothing like that. Just, like you said, over coffee or something."

She brushes back her hair and smiles. "Sure, I'd love to. What made you change your mind?"

He looks around, checks to see if anyone is looking besides her friends. "No special reason, just thought it might be fun." He shrugs.

She nods. "Okay. When?"

He asks for her cell number, then dials it into his phone. "I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay." She rejoins her friends after he takes off.

"What was that all about?" the chubby blond with the pony tail asks.

"He asked me out."

The girls cry in unison: "What?!"

Then the other blond, the thin one says, "Chip fucking Zirkin, jock of jocks, asked you out?"

"On a bet, I bet," says the rail-thin, pale-skin girl with the punk hair-doo and tats on her neck and ankles. "Had to be a bet. No offense, Ash."

"None taken," Ashley says. "I'm as shocked as you are." She then tells them what happened yesterday.

"Maybe he's got a tranny fetish," the thin blond says. "Some guys do, I've heard. I once caught my older brother watching tranny porn."

"Maybe," Ashley says. "Or maybe he just likes me."

*****

He does like Ashley. But he's intrigued more than anything else—intrigued not just with her transgender nature, but with a side of his own sexuality that comes as a total surprise. He's a guy, a big, strong guy attracted to girls and women, not boys and men. He's not homophobic. Still, the thought of two guys getting it on makes him wince in disgust. Of course, as he understands it, Ashley isn't gay. In her mind, she's a female. Looks like one and talks like one, and a very pretty one at that. And, like all straight females, she's attracted to guys. But—and maybe this gets closer to the nub—she's got a dick and therefore is taboo in his social circle, taboo by the general norms of society. Getting it on with Ashley? Kinky shit, man. He'd be taking a walk on the wild side, not his thing. On the other hand, what's so perverted about sitting down with someone over coffee? Not a fucking thing. And if his narrow minded friends can't handle it, that's their problem.

So he calls and arranges a Saturday morning meeting at Starbucks, one a couple zip codes outside their area. He gets there first and takes a table in back. He watches the entrance, fidgeting with his watch, tapping his feet, trying to stay calm. He's wearing a blue knit pull-over, jeans and his Nike cross trainers. When a young female server approaches, and he begins to tell her that he's waiting for a friend, he spots Ashley coming through the door. His eyes go right to her bare legs, exposed a couple inches above her knees in a yellow cotton dress, paired with a green sweater over a white blouse. She'd look great in high heels, he thinks, though today she's wearing suede casuals, thick sole shoes that buckle on the side. No pigtails today; instead, her hair is swept back in front, the sides and back hanging down. If this had been a blind date with a girl, he would have been very pleased.

She pulls out a chair and sits opposite him. "Been waiting long?"

"Just a few minutes. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Aced a biology test on Friday and now I'm spending part of my weekend with, of all people, Chip Zirkin. How are YOU doing?"

He chuckles. "Can't complain, although, I must admit, I'm a little nervous."

She slips off her sweater, hangs it on the back of her chair, and then folds her hands in front of her. "No need to be. I don't bite, you know."

He nods. "No, I didn't think you did. It's just that, well, I think you get it."

The server comes over; they both order lattes. Then Ashley says: "I suppose I do get it. But if you're uncomfortable, why did you agree to meet me here, meet me at all?"

He looks down, fidgets with his watch some more. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I thought it might be fun, exciting in a way to be with, well, someone who's different, who's, um, well, that is to say...I mean—ˮ

"Who's a freak? Is that what you mean to say?" She huffs, shakes her head and looks away.

"Ashley, that's not what I meant." He sighs. "Look, I can't really explain it. I like you, okay? Can we just leave it at that for now?"

She purses her lips and nods. Her voice softens. "Sure, we can leave it at that. Sorry I got defensive. But please understand that I've been defensive my whole life. People like me usually are. Unfortunately, we're forced to be."

She takes his hand. So soft, he thinks.

The lattes come and the conversation flows easier. They talk about school, academics and sports, the presidential race that will be decided in another month. Both will be voting for the first time this year. They both liked Bernie Sanders. But, since he's no longer in the running, they remain undecided who they'll vote for. Then it gets more personal.

"You say you like me," Ashley says. "Care to get more specific?" She smiles eagerly.

He smiles shyly and stirs his drink. "You're a nice person, nice and courageous and strong to endure what I've seen you go through. You know, the bullying and all that."

She nods. "Anything else?"

"Anything else...Okay, I think you're really cute. And not just for a tranny. If I didn't know better, I'd have had you pegged for a chick for sure." He pauses, watches her smile. "But I'm curious." He leans forward and whispers. "You've obviously had work done. But did that include...I mean, do you still have a... penis?"

She laughs. "Yes, I still have—ˮ she drops her voice to a whisper also, more of a mocking whisper—"a penis. And what's more, I intend to keep it."

"Good. Well, I was just curious, that's all."

"Any more questions about my anatomy? If so, shoot." She suddenly realizes another way that can be interpreted. "Shoot your questions, I mean." She giggles.

"I know what you MEANT," he says, flashing a mock scolding look.

After finishing their lattes, they chat for a few more minutes, then walk outside to their cars. Ashley drives a Mini Cooper, Chip a Chevy Impala, both registered to their parents. Chip follows from behind, admiring her smooth, shapely legs and sexy wiggle. "Well, I've had fun," he says. "I'm glad we did this."

She stands by the door of her Mini and takes his hand. "Me too. And look, I understand your wanting to meet far enough away to avoid running into people you know. At first, I was put off by it. But I can't blame you, seeing how Jimmy and Steve acted."

He folds his arms against his chest and nods. Should he kiss her? If her DNA was different, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. He can't deny he wants to; she's awfully cute. And those legs! He reaches out to her. "A kiss good-bye, perhaps?"

She beams. "Now you're talkin'. But, are you sure you want to?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."

They embrace in the parking lot and press their lips together. She feels like a girl, tastes like a girl and smells like a girl. The only thing different is that thing he's starting to feel between her legs—not only her thing but his thing that's pressing against her thing. He pulls away. "You're getting hard, aren't you?"

She laughs. "Of course I'm getting hard. You turn me on and I have a penis, like I said. And if I'm not mistaken, your penis feels like it approves of what you're doing as well."

More than that, he notices his breathing has picked up. He shakes his head at this surreal situation he got himself into. Silently, he admonishes himself for wanting Ashley to lift her dress and show him her cock. He bristles at the thought of a guy doing that. Yuck! Somehow, though, it's different with her.

"Well, maybe you can show me." He says it like a shy little boy asking for something he knows is taboo.

"Be glad to."

They wade into a grove of pine trees behind the Starbucks. She lifts the hem of her dress and pulls her pink panties aside. "Just think of it as a large clit. As you can see, I'm not very big."

She's got two, two and a half inches, tops: a large clit like she said. He feels relieved, because it only makes her more feminine. He gently wraps his hand around it. She moans. This isn't bad at all, he thinks, and begins to message her cock, fore and aft. "Ooooo, that feels really good," she purrs. She reaches for his pants. He helps her, snapping open his jeans and pulling his pants halfway down his thighs. They stand there, hidden by the tall pines, engaging in a mutual cock rub. He gets harder when she lifts her blouse and bra. Boobs! She's got boobs! Not huge but real, or at least they look real. He stoops down and starts to suck on them while still doing her cock. "Chip, if you don't want a handful of jizz," she warns, her breathing heavy, "then you'd better quit now. Cause' I'm about to shoot my wad."

"Shoot away." he says. "That stuff washes off easily enough."

She's too high to stroke him any longer. She's throwing her head back and moaning, and her legs begin to buckle. She's fully erect, her "big clit" rock-hard and primed to release its precious liquid. And then: "Ahhhhhhh, oh my god! Ahhhhhhhh..." Chip holds her under her shoulders to keep her from falling down. She grabs onto a tree branch to steady herself. "Whew! That was one fucking O, bro." She shakes her head. "Whew!" Her whole body quivers when she begins to rub her slowly shrinking cock. Her "fucking O" felt like a wave cresting; the sensitivity coursing through her in the aftermath feels like the wave rolling back to sea.

Chip is too turned on by this exciting, novel engagement to wait for her to return the favor. It takes only seconds more for him to get himself off. "Ahhh...ahhh..." He restrains himself from moaning too loud. He holds up his right hand, a mess of jizz, his and hers.

"At least let me lick it off," she pleads.

He demurs. "No, that's okay. I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

She nods. "Well, at least let me kiss you."

After fixing their clothes, they smooch briefly before Alex sees her off. Then, while washing up in the Starbucks, he stares at himself in the mirror over the sink, stares at the bruising high school linebacker who just engaged in a sex act with a guy—a guy who looks like a girl and acts like a girl and in most ways feels like a girl. But still... He washes his hands obsessively, his way of trying to purge himself of the guilt that begins to envelope him like a filthy blanket. "I'm a pervert, a fucking pervert," he whispers. Ashley feels no guilt at all, he'd bet. It all seemed so natural to her, so right. Fuck society's norms, appears to be her attitude. Could he ever feel that way? Somehow he doubts it, restrained as he is by years of social conditioning and conservative thinking.

What next? He isn't sure. He returns to school Monday not knowing what to expect. He spots Ashley in the cafeteria at lunch. She's sitting with her girlfriends a few tables over. He's sitting with his football buddies, including Jimmy and Steve. They're barely on speaking terms with Chip since last week's incident. If they only knew what happened on Saturday. Chip chuckles picturing what their reaction might be. Ashley waves at Chip from across the room. He gives a token wave back and then looks away. He intends to keep his distance.

Not so Ashley who approaches him after school. "I gather you still care what others think," she says. They're standing in front of a Rite Aid drugstore near the school.

"Of course I care what others think." Pause. "Look, Ash, I'll never be your boyfriend, if that's what you're hoping." He says this while his dick hardens, thinking about Saturday and the way she looks today, with the wind blowing across her face, her nipples pressed against her sweater and her jeans wrapped tightly around her fabulous thighs.

"I'm not asking you to be. But I would think you'd at least treat me like a friend instead of the pariah you made me feel like in the cafeteria. I thought you were better than that."

"Ash, look, I, I—ˮ

She shakes her head. "Oh, forget it. Just forget it."

He watches her storm off, feeling terrible. He didn't mean to hurt her. He'd like to be her friend; wouldn't mind a repeat of Saturday either, an incredibly erotic experience that left him wanting more. If not for the stigma of it..."Oh, fuck it," he says, and runs up behind her. She walks briskly and he follows. "Ashley, Ashley, stop a minute, would you? Let's talk this out." She walks on, ignoring him. A few steps later, he grabs onto her shoulder. She then stops and spins around.

"What the hell do you want from me?" She's got her thumbs tucked under the straps of her backpack. Her face registers a mix of emotions—sadness, anger, exasperation.

What DOES he want from her? In the immediate short term, he'd just like to hold and comfort her. Long term, he hasn't the slightest idea. He takes a deep breath and looks around. Then he reaches out and pulls her against his chest. She resists for a few seconds before submitting to his embrace. "I'm sorry about what happened in the cafeteria," he says, pulling her tighter against him. "I'll never ignore you like that again, no matter who's around. I do want to be your friend."

She nods, brushes away a tear. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it."

"Thanks, I could use a good male friend in my life." Pause. "You don't owe me anything else, Chip. Just respect me, okay? People like me want the same things that, quote unquote, normal people want, and that's to be loved and respected. Not that I expect you to love me."