Author's note: This is my Halloween contest entry, and also my first original story in a while. I'd like to thank the bois in my life, Isabel, Allyourbase, and the real life D, for inspiring me to write this story and being such good sports about proofreading it and stopping me from making too many mistakes.
If you like what you read, obviously your votes would be incredibly appreciated, given that this is a contest story, but I'd also love any comments you guys and gals have to share. Feedback is how I improve, after all. Enjoy!
Her wrists hurt, ached really; rubbed raw from a good thirty minutes of struggling against the cheap metal cuffs that nevertheless proved able to perform a sterling job of keeping her restrained. Not that she could tell the time, what with being blindfolded and all. She could taste rubber, and had no doubt that she had been gagged.
She was only wearing ropes, a blindfold and a gag... Yeah, that's unsettling.
'Yeah, sorry 'bout this,' The voice, when it deigned to make an appearance, was familiar, but so sudden that she jumped, flinched away from it. 'But it didn't look like you were ever going to let me do it to you normally, so I figured I'd take the opportunity when it presented itself. Kind of a heavy sleeper, aren't we?'
The blindfold lifted away, revealing her face, grinning down from above.
'Good morning, D,' She lilted, stepping away. This was the first time D had seen her this close to naked, and as the morning light hit her form the contradictions in her entire character clashed so wonderfully.
Marta was a confusing case, and nothing showed that off more than her body. She was all sweeping curves, a form that could have been infinitely graceful and feminine... only the sheer fact of Marta stood in its way. It was her posture, the way she distributed her weight, that did it. The way she raised her chin, almost in defiance of the rest of the world. It was the lack of sway in her hips, the extreme strength in the way she moved... she had the body and looks that kill, but a mind that didn't match.
Just like D herself...
She wore a pure black hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head, with that long blonde hair spilling out around her shoulders, drawing D's eye down, to realize that the zip was left undone... and there was nothing underneath, save the lush curve of her breasts, hidden behind fabric and wavy golden hair. There was that flat, toned stomach, with the threat muscles trembling underneath, that navel that D had fantasized about running her tongue around countless times...
There were those boy shorts she loved, showing off the legs of someone who biked everywhere, who ran track as a hobby, who... oh, so many things. Stories that had made D- generally worldly and lascivious enough to bear up under any adult conversation- want to blush. The things that could be done to those legs...
It had taken D a long time to realize it, but this is who Marta was; a queer boi in the body of a woman. One who reveled in her in-between state, the dichotomy between her mind and her body. Her gender and sexuality an open question... and she loved it.
It was glorious.
'Don't speak, now,' Marta chuckled, well aware there was no way she could. 'Just let me do my thing. I know you're ready for it...'
When they had first met, D hadn't thought much of Marta; just another femme blonde, nothing to see here. Certainly nothing to interest the lanky, dark haired boi with the big muscles and the awkward sense of physicality that she had never been able to shed. Even venturing out of her teenage years, D had struggled with trying to make her body match the image in her head. Flattening out her chest with tight, restrictive undershirts, cropping her hair as short as she could, eschewing makeup and dresses in favor of a never ending rotation of trousers, bulky shirts and, if she was feeling particularly dapper, the tailored suit her dad had gotten for her for her birthday, a few years back. She had been wearing it upon meeting Marta for the first time, and had interpreted the look in her eye upon seeing it as slightly derisive. Judgmental.
But then, the statuesque blonde femme had surprised her...
'Hey dude!' She had said, with her megawatt smile. There was something unrestrained in that grin, the way her lips parted, showing just a little too many teeth; maybe not traditionally attractive, but goofy and free in a way that D herself could only aspire to. When she smiled back, it was with a closed mouth... and perhaps a hint of blush.
She had tagged the first male pronoun as a colloquialism, just a figure of her speech, nothing intentional. But it kept happening, over and over, with a consistency that brought a kind of private, happy glow to D; dude, sir... even "my good man," a couple of times. Marta was doing it on purpose, reaching past every defense D had set up in a single meeting. Too often she had had to endure the little double takes people had, as she was riding the train to and from work, the little "hey, wait" moments, where they looked past the façade of maleness D had erected, saw the lack of broad shoulders, or the all too smooth face, and had to recalculate. Just another girl, pretending.
She had developed a habit of raising the walls, of watching the normal folk from afar. It only took Marta a moment to break through them; it was like she hadn't even needed to think of it, she just... knew. Treated D exactly as she wanted to be treated, without expecting anything, without assuming it was a phase, or wanting her to change... acceptance, without the need to compromise.
If she had only met Marta that once, or rarely, that friend of a friend she sometimes saw around at parties, that would have been enough to make D feel less alone. But there was more to it than that; Marta had been invited in as the replacement drummer in D's band. They would be spending a lot of time together, certainly an idea that intrigued her, in the beginning. If only she had known how far it would go...
D had wanted Marta as a friend, but the attraction was undeniable; she'd always had a thing for women like that, pure confidence wrapped up in soft skin and a bundle of curves. But the truth behind Marta was far, far more complex. The femme exterior was just window dressing; the blonde was full of surprises.
If Marta was anything, she quickly became the one person in the world who could draw out the social butterfly in D. Drag out, more accurately; D quickly lost count of the number of times Marta had hooked in, pulling her outside, arm in arm, ready to engage the world. D hardly minded; Marta was also her shield. Next to the tall, beautiful blonde, the looks of the people around them meant less and less. She could almost pretend that Marta was her girlfriend, despite how rare that was in reality...
Once, she had dragged D to the city, set the two of them up patrolling the pedestrian mall, hand in hand, occasionally dropping into one of the myriad little stores dotting the streets. Marta would leap for the changing rooms, leaving D to gravitate naturally to the bank of seats set up in one corner as a concession to the countless hapless boyfriends that had performed this self same service. Sitting there gave D an odd sense of disconnect, as though she wasn't supposed to be there. Whenever she made eye contact with whatever other male had ended up there, in that fashionable purgatory, after the standard double take, they would give her the same questioning look: "shouldn't you be in the changing rooms?"
But this time, Marta hadn't used this visit to parade the usual series of t-shirts and skirts before D's eyes. This time, she aimed for a distinctly more masculine target; the same hoodies and men's shirts that D herself would normally be buying. Of course she pulled them off with aplomb, sauntering around in front of her, eyes almost daring her to suggest she looked less than flawless.
This was something D would never do; in fact, seeing Marta parade around in a shirt and tie made something click inside of her, and click hard. Unbidden, various prurient thoughts entered the boi's head, until all D could think about was tugging on that tie to bring the blonde closer, tasting her, looking up into those deep blue eyes from her knees, working to undo the fly on that particularly fetching pair of black trousers...
But, of course, there was no possible way to act on those fantasies, except to spend the time that Marta spent in the changing room with her legs squeezed together, grinning to herself at how silly it was that this one little blonde who called her sir got her this worked up. When someone else took the seat next to her, D could only shoot him the same vaguely ill at ease look of solidarity that all boyfriends shared when in this situation, only briefly pausing to consider what an ill fitting thing that was. She certainly felt like Marta's suitor...
The minutes ticked on, and the young man who had sat beside her pulled out his phone, idly toying with it to avoid any form of awkward conversation. This was fine by D; she would prefer to wait in silence, entertaining herself with thoughts of what Marta would be wearing next, until her expectations were inevitably surpassed by the impossible good looks of the woman herself.
All these men's clothes... almost as if she was trying to impress someone...
She emerged from her little booth this time, clad gloriously in a vest and bowtie, eyes glimmering as she sought out D for the ever present nod of approval, before her expression darkened with recognition.
'Marty?' The man who had thus far spent his time here engrossed in his Iphone stood as Marta swept out into the room, took a step forward. The blonde's mouth curved dangerously close to a frown, just momentarily. If D hadn't been watching her so closely, she might have missed it, but she certainly saw the way it pulled up at the last possible second, becoming a plastic smile.
'Hi Jake,' Her voice had a tone in it that D had never heard on her before, but it made her feel somewhat strange, all the same. He had to be an ex, right? The thought was strangely distasteful to her; D had always held out the faint hope that Marta was... well, inclined her way, rather than toward men. Well, perhaps toward men that were like D, anyway... the concept was a muddy one.
'What are you doing here?' Again the fake sunny voice, all platitudes and no content. As she watched, D began ruminating on why it was people felt compelled to act nice to people they had no desire to be around. Well, at least it turned into kind of a cool spectator sport.
'Out with a girl,' There was a hint of pride in Jake's tone, and D could have sworn he had looked back at her for a moment, as if confirming that the same couldn't possibly be true of Marta. When he continued, this became all but certain, 'And you?'
And then it happened. Marta spent a mere second shooting D a sly look, before...
'Oh, I'm out with my boyfriend,' Though it wasn't in her nature to do so, Marta practically flounced over to D, situating herself neatly in the boi's lap, the curve of her back pressed firmly against D's tightly bound chest. The feeling was something else, especially as that flowing mane of blonde hair was flipped casually over D's shoulder, making their contact completely unhindered. Marta topped her little performance with a showy, entirely unexpected kiss to D's lips, replete with a flick of the tongue that made it very hard for the boi to contain her surprise. Even so, she felt she came away from the experience without giving too much away; Jake's perturbed expression certainly made it seem that way.
The situation remained like that for a while; Marta stayed put on D's lap, obviously for show, as she made idle chitchat with Jake- now confirmed as her ex boyfriend. In the end, the entire exchange only lasted a few minutes, and once the man's new ladyfriend had returned from the changing rooms he had removed himself from the store with no small degree of haste; it had ended up being no big deal. Well.. no big deal to everyone except D.
Being not only a boy, but a boyfriend, and having that accepted outright by another person... by Marta...
It was the day her tiny, twinging crush had morphed into full blown infatuation.
From that day, Marta's breezy teasing seemed to intensify, or perhaps D simply became more acutely aware of it. The lingering physical contacts, that seemed to go on just a little too long, the cheek-kisses replete with a possibly illusory flick of the tongue... so many little, familiar things, having taken on new meaning in the shadow of that one exchange in that little changing room. It was enough to drive a boi crazy...
It wouldn't be so bad, if Marta was like all of D's other friends; an occasional visitor that would intrude into her life exactly as much as D herself wished. But of course, she was a member of the band, too; Marta was inextricably tied to her music. Whenever D hefted her guitar case over her shoulder to go to practice, she knew that Marta would be there. Her mind would go to Marta's biceps, strung tight as she pounded out another rhythmic drum beat, underpinning every song they played. Marta had the opportunity to wind herself around D's life in a way few other people had been allowed to... and she took full advantage of that opportunity.
Which was how D had ended up staying at her house, after practice a week out from Halloween.
The band had been offered a gig playing at a party held in one of the smaller local clubs on the night of the holiday itself, and though costumes had come recommended, D herself had come to a loose end in that area. Mostly, it felt like she was wearing a costume just getting up in the morning every day; her own body felt slightly false, like wearing a mask. Wearing a secondary, more garish costume would just be redundant.
But Marta had cared, and so with characteristic insistence had dragged D away. She chattered away about all manner of things while they picked up some cheap Chinese food and beer before heading back to Marta's tiny, almost unnaturally quiet apartment. Though the place was inexpensive, it also seemed... off, somehow. Like Marta herself, really. The windows were all high enough that one felt like one should be able to see over the top of the neighboring building, but no matter how one craned, the shadow of the wall obscured it. Sitting in Marta's apartment was like existing in a null space, a gap in the world where nothing but Marta herself could intrude.
D had taken to it immediately.
'So, what are you going as?' Marta said, breaking the silence that had descended as she had busied herself in the kitchen collecting cutlery and a bottle opener. She sat at the opposite end of her couch to D, draping herself over as much of the available real estate as possible, cracking open a beer.
'Halloween. Costumes. You have to do something, everyone else is,' Marta arched an eyebrow. 'You'll stick out more if you're out of costume, you know.'
'But I've got no ideas,' D shrugged, already conceding that she would go in costume; Marta certainly seemed to know what buttons to press.
'Well...' At this she paused, shifted in her seat and sat up. She seemed to search for the words before speaking, 'Will you be going as a guy or a girl?'
D froze, crossed her legs. Part of her had hoped that Marta just hadn't seen it, just... looked at her, and seen one gender. The one D had wanted. They had never discussed it, and Marta had consistently used male pronouns with her... It had been easy to at least pretend.
She had never had it this easy before, it always came up with other people. She had never quite been able to pass; too much ass, hips too curvy, and always the hint of her breasts no matter how tightly she bound them... It was only so long before the people around her asked why she always looked so different.
'So you did notice that,' D said, trying hard not to sound disappointed. Judging from Marta's suddenly sympathetic expression, it was apparent that she had failed to do so.
'Yeah, I did, but it's pretty easy to tell which way you're swingin'. You always seem so pleased when I call you a dude, so... whatever,' She grinned. 'Though I guess I have been kind of curious as to how far that goes, for you.'
'What, you mean, like, am I trans just waiting to happen?' Now it was D's turn to spend a moment in contemplation. 'I don't really know. Sometimes I feel like that, but I get these little... girly spikes, sometimes. It's really distracting.'
'You've never shown off a feminine side before,' When Marta said it, there was an oddly accusatory edge to the words, as though by not doing so, D had gypped her out of something. A terribly adorable frown crested her features, and D had an unbidden vision of kissing it away, though it quickly faded.
'It's there, though,' She sighed. 'I don't go outside wearing dresses or anything, but that's just to save time. It goes too fast, but... well, you should see me home alone some days. Real girly.'
'Do I detect a hint of judgment?' With every sentence, Marta seemed to be actively drawing closer, pulling herself in like she was being told an entertaining story. Could this really be the first time they had discussed this? D had known her for months...
'Yeah, a bit,' She nodded, drinking deeply from her bottle. 'I mean, it's all so... changeable. Most days I just wish I could pick one.'
'Well, pick one now,' Marta said. 'For a costume. Don't be a downer at a party, D.'
'That's easy for you to say, you're just the one gender,' This time, there was no hope of stopping the bitterness from seeping into her voice. For a brief moment, D had thought that she had found someone understanding, someone she could trust enough to speak candidly about the warped nature of her body... but here she was, being blasé about it. Of all people, she never expected Marta would be one to let her down.
For her part, the blonde simply stared intently at D for a moment, eyes scanning the boi's facial expression, as if hoping to find the answer to some internal question, yet finding none forthcoming. The moment passed and, with a grin, Marta leaned all the way back in her seat and took the longest, most drawn out swig of beer that D had ever seen; when she dropped the bottle onto her coffee table, it was completely empty.
'Now, is that actually what you think?' Marta said, showing too many teeth. 'Just because I've got the long hair and the big tits, you think I'm a girl?'
'Well... yeah?' D ventured, privately hoping to herself that that meant what she hoped it meant. 'Just look at you, Marta. Total femme.'
'To the untrained eye!' With a showy gesture, Marta leapt to her feet, bouncing out a little ways to give D the best view of her- still luscious- body. 'Look a little closer...'
With that as the only warning, Marta reached down and lifted the hem of her dress until it reached the bottom of her bust, revealing... everything underneath. D's eyes didn't immediately focus on what Marta was trying to show her; instead, they trailed helplessly up her long, pale legs, gaze licking at her skin, until finally they settled on what they were supposed to.
A pair of boxer briefs, elastic clinging firmly to the beautiful curve of her hips.
'So... what?' D asked, as Marta dropped her dress once more. 'You're saying you're... like me?'
'Ask me what I am,' Marta winked, before standing expectantly. It took D a moment to even gather the mental energy to ask.