Them

To me, sexually objectifying women wasn't about dehumanizing them; it was about fueling an engine that I felt was hard-wired into the XY chromosomes that made me a male of the species--a predatory-like instinct to procreate. I could build friendly relationships with women. I didn't need to objectify all of them, all of the time. To fuck them? Yeah, I couldn't do that without first identifying objects that inspired my sexual desire.

As I tossed around in the bed of my apartment on the night before my flight, I realized it was a hopeless situation. I could not seduce Harper. I was going to have to go there as her friend, and that was it. Sorry, Maria. Sorry, Darin.

It was only after making that decision I was able to sleep.

***

Darin and Maria were gone when I arrived in my rental car just after midday. I debated for a moment whether I ought to assert myself and just walk inside the house or adopt the role of guest and ring the doorbell. I decided to ring; I wanted Hunter to feel some control.

She answered.

I smiled. She didn't.

"Hey, Hunter! How you doing?"

She let me inside without a word.

I said, "It's really nice of you to let me hang out here for the next few weeks."

No response. She gestured for me to follow her. We walked downstairs together, and she pointed to the guest room.

"Here? Okay, we'll be like roommates, then. Cool."

She turned and left.

Maria and Darin's home had two bedrooms in their walk-out basement. One was Hunter's, the other for guests. Between the bedrooms, there was an open mini-kitchen and den, and a Jack and Jill bathroom and shower. Just outside the sliding glass doors was a wide patio covered by the deck above it. On one side of the patio was a hot tub, on the other, a sauna shack.

It was not going to be torture, staying for two weeks at Darin and Maria's.

When I emerged from stowing my luggage, Hunter was there in the den. "I know why you're here," she said.

I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

Hunter said, "You're a narc--an agent of Darin and Maria, a spy. You're here to watch and report. You're a traitor."

I raised a hand--easy now. "'Traitor,' maybe, is a word you don't want to throw around at a veteran, Hunter."

"Fine, but a person can be loyal to his country, but disloyal to his friends, disloyal to me."

"Disloyal how?"

"My parents brought you here to change my mind about the things I want to do--my transition. That's disloyalty to my wishes."

We were standing across from one another on either end of the den. I didn't like the sense of opposition. Walking around the front of the couch, I sat down and hung my foot over my knee. I finally replied, asking, "Why would you think that?"

She sat in the lazy boy beside me, kicking out the footrest. "I know they don't like what I'm doing--they disagree with it. Sure, they support me, but I can tell their true feelings. And, since I don't really need a house-sitter, the only reason you're here is because you're a trusted friend who might be able to change my mind and report back to them."

"May I tell you why I agreed to come?"

She gestured--a bit sarcastically--for me to go ahead.

"My mission, if you want to call it that, is to protect and comfort you and this house. Yes, they asked me to come. Yes, they're worried about you. Yes, if I see you up to something that might be dangerous I will encourage you to stop. But, I am not here to change your mind about anything. You'll get no speeches from me, other than this one, right now."

Here, Hunter side-eyed me suspiciously.

I continued, "If you want to talk about your transition, I will listen and try to learn and understand. If you don't, so be it. I'm not your parent; I'm your friend, so long as you want me as one."

She rocked forward, pulled in the footrest, and said, "We shall see." The moment she finished speaking, she hesitated for a split second, blinking as if her words came out wrong. Just as quickly, she rose from the chair and turned away.

Smirking behind her, I said, "Oh, we shall. We shall indeed." Then, I started laughing, and I could see from the subtle rise of Hunter's shoulders as she opened the door to her room that she might have been laughing, too.

It was a decent start, maybe.

Her door closed.

***

Hunter never reappeared that day. I texted her about dinner together; she never answered me. I got some takeout from one of her favorite places, leaving her regular order in the refrigerator behind the bar.

After eating, I took a short nap. When I woke, I went for a run up Mount Scott and back, stopping every quarter mile or so to do push-ups and abs. When I got back, I sat in the sauna for fifteen minutes, and then I rinsed myself in the shower and plopped into the hot tub. Darin and Maria's jacuzzi had one of those special massage seats with scores of little jets for the back and thighs. Damn, it was nice.

When I was finally clean and dry, I texted Hunter again, inviting her to watch a movie together--her choice. Her radio silence policy was still in effect. I relaxed on the couch in the den and watched an outlaw named Josey Wales get his revenge.

After the movie ended, I knocked on Hunter's door. She didn't answer. I asked her door if she wanted to get some ice cream together. More silence. At that point, I wasn't even sure she was home.

The kid was eighteen. She had a right to go out without briefing me on the matter, but I needed to make sure she was okay.

I called to her through the door.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

I told her I wasn't going to quit knocking on her door until she answered me.

Before the first knock, she yelled, "I'm in here! I'm fine! I don't want any fucking ice cream! Leave me the fuck alone!"

Mildly offended, I replied, "There's no cause to be rude, Hunter. Just an invitation."

I left, climbed into bed, and tried to read, but I was starting to think it was going to be a long, shitty couple of weeks.

And as I adjusted my nuts under my boxer briefs, it occurred to me that I still knew a few hot women in Lawton, a couple down in Wichita Falls, Texas, and several in Oklahoma City, all of which were about an hour or so away in my rental car.

***

The next morning, I woke up to find a note from Hunter on the bar: "Out."

I worked out for an hour, did my sauna and jacuzzi thing, and then I spent the rest of the morning on a driving tour of Lawton. I knew the place pretty well, so it was more of a thinking drive.

I hadn't the first clue as to how I was going to melt Hunter's icy attitude. Again, I reminded myself, this was not even remotely about seducing her. This was about being friends again, spending some time together, and having a few conversations. I wanted to understand.

So, I decided to wait her out. I would position myself in a place where she couldn't possibly avoid me, and wait for her return. Then, I would try to get her talking.

I sat on the couch and watched movies. Several.

I heard her car just after 10:00pm. Shutting off the television, I took a position at the bar--out of sight, but not hiding. She crept down the stairs, and when she arrived a the landing, I rather loudly announced, "Hi, Hunter."

She jumped. "Shit!"

I laughed.

She smiled for a moment, and then as if remembering I was her enemy, made it disappear. "Hi," she replied, and she strode toward her bedroom door.

"Hey, wait."

She sighed and turned to me.

"Darin and Maria are gone, and you're treating me--your guest and someone who has always been your friend--like I'm some kind of filthy, disease-ridden turd. Come on. Talk to me. I want to hear about your life and your plans--this thing you're going through. Let me be your friend, at least."

"Okay. Fine. You want to be my friend? You want to listen? Ask--and listen." She sat determinedly in the chair.

I nodded. "Alright. Cool. And I can ask anything? You won't get mad again?"

Her eyebrows bent in that wary, angry way. She opened her mouth, but I interrupted.

"Not judgy questions."

She nodded. "I won't get mad unless I hear judgment."

"Deal. So, first one. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hunter guffawed. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You are trapped in social constructs. I am liberated. We are aliens to one another."

"What? Hunter, what?"

"What is a man?" she responded.

Confused, I stammered for a second before understanding. "Oh. Oh-oh-oh. I'm reading you now. Okay, try this: have you ever been with a person with an X-Y chromosome pairing who matured into a person with a penis and testicles?"

"Been with how?"

"Romantically. Sexually."

"I'm not answering that."

"Hunter, I'm not asking to judge you. I'm asking to understand where you are at."

"Still not answering."

"Okay, have you ever been with an X-X chromosome person who had a vagina and breasts? Been with romantically, I mean."

"I am not going to answer that either."

I said, "Hunter, look: if you tell me you like country music, it doesn't tell me your identity. It helps me understand you a tiny bit better. Same if you tell me you like hip-hop. I'm asking who you want to be with romantically to help me understand you a little bit better."

"I like people. I want to be with a person, and I don't care about what parts happen to be between their legs."

"So, are you bisexual?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I know what you mean by that word, but I don't believe in such a category. Man, woman, straight, gay, bi--those are all terms that are amorphous and ultimately meaningless to me."

I nodded. "Okay, Hunter. Will you please tell me about your transition? What are you moving from? What are you moving towards? I want to understand."

She perked up a bit and, slapping her thighs, she said, "Maria and my Dad probably said I'm transitioning from a woman to a man, and well, you know how I feel about those words. It's completely inaccurate. I am transitioning from a person with breasts and a vagina to a person with a penis and testicles. Female parts to male parts, but--!"

I was about to speak. She had anticipated it and raised her finger.

I closed my mouth.

She said, "But that doesn't mean I'm becoming a man. It doesn't mean I'm going to be some macho guy who itches his balls, drinks beers, and watches football games. This isn't about the social construct of masculinity or femininity. I am going to be me, just with different parts, and I'm going to be friends with--and, maybe, fall in love with--a person who is just as authentic and true to themselves as I'm trying to be, regardless of sexual anatomy."

"Thank you," I said, "for setting me straight. I think I'm beginning to understand now."

Her eyebrows went up and she said, "Well, thank you for actually being an adult who listens."

"Ask you something else?"

"But I may choose not to answer."

I nodded. "What's wrong with having female sex parts?"

"It isn't who I am."

"That's it? Just that feeling?"

"Not just a feeling," she clarified. "Knowledge in the deepest recesses of the mind."

"You don't care about the menstruation and the having two weights attached to your chest?"

She smiled. "Well, I could do without those things, but no--to answer your question. If I felt in my mind these parts were truly mine and belonged to me, I would never change them."

"Alright, I've got a question you may not answer, Hunter, but I'd like your permission to try."

"Try."

"When you get horny, what parts excite you the most in a potential partner?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Nice try."

I raised my hands. What was so bad about that question, the gesture begged.

"Because," she explained, "those parts don't matter to me. It is the person who does."

"But, surely--."

Seeing my persistence, she elaborated. "Look, and this is as far as I will go on this subject. I have--envisioned, let's say--I have envisioned different partners for different reasons."

"New subject?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Maybe a risky one," I added.

She gestured for me to go ahead.

"You mother, Nadine," I began. "Is there any part of you that sees her impact on your life as contributing to this decision?"

This question took Hunter completely by surprise, it seemed. For the first time, she appeared off-kilter, adjusting herself in the chair and stammering a bit in her response. Finally, she managed to ask, "Why should Nadine matter in my life?"

"Well, I guess my point is that we are all a product of our experiences, right? Your experiences with her were terrible from what I understand. She is a woman--a female, I should say; excuse me. To hate one's own mother is--and I'm not saying you do--but if you did hate her, then in some way, it would be kind of like hating a part of yourself."

"The answer is simple," Hunter responded with sudden calm. "I don't hate Nadine. I pity her. I really pity Moni, who has to live with her."

Monique was Hunter's half-sister. The father was not, as I understood it, involved in her life.

"Okay," I said. "Thanks for taking the time to chat with me, Hunter. I hope we can do it some more while I'm around."

She nodded. "Sure."

"I think you're a pretty amazing person, you know."

She smiled. "So, no more questions?"

"For now, only one."

"What?"

I said, "I want to have some fun. Let's rent jet skis and race around Lawtonka tomorrow."

She gasped. "You would?"

I nodded.

"Hell, yes!" she said with a big smile.

***

Darin had reasonable personal--but not exactly data-driven or logical--reasons for being opposed to jet skis. I knew that Hunter had begged her father to buy a pair or just one, for her, many times throughout her teenage years. Darin always flatly refused on account of his feelings about their safety.

One of the marinas at Lake Lawtonka rented them out, and I reserved two online after our talk--once Hunter promised never to tell Maria or her father.

I admit I was curious as to what kind of suit Hunter was going to wear. I imagined a loose-fitting swim shirt over men's trunks. I was about one-third right.

She wore a fairly tight-fitting, long-sleeved black swim shirt over boy short-style black bottoms. What surprised me a bit was that the bottoms had a kind of criss-cross cut out, about two inches wide, running up each side, exposing a bit of her hip and ass. It was a surprisingly feminine look for a person set on becoming physically male, and I found myself surreptitiously peeking at the skin under the cutouts, wondering how that flesh could ever belong to a male.

Did seeing some of the flesh of her ass, I wondered, change my sexual feelings toward her at all? I wasn't sure.

I also took the opportunity to survey her body as a whole, trying to imagine it somehow transforming into a male's form. Hunter, I noted, continued to shave her legs, and there was nothing remotely masculine about them. They were short and shapely, unmistakably female.

I glanced over her breasts, too. They remained as I remembered them--fat, rigid cones that seemed to leap from her body--also indisputably feminine. But, even if they were gone, I realized, the remainder of her torso could not be misconstrued as male or masculine.

She had a narrow waist and--though not especially prominent--curvy hips. There was nothing rugged about her shoulders, either; they were small and sleek--ill-equipped to pack on a man's--even a skinny man's--musculature. I could say the same thing for her arms; they were fit and skinny in ways impossible to envision becoming stout or brawny. Rather, her musculature seemed long and delicate.

Adding these impressions together, I took in her face anew. It was heart-shaped and inviting. Her dainty jawline came together at the point of a small, soft chin. Above, there were those thick lips, always looking as if puckered for a kiss. A tiny nose and big doe-like eyes with long eyelashes rendered the idea of her ever becoming manly a ridiculous joke.

But, I reminded myself, manly was not her target. She just wanted the male parts.

We were able to rent the jet skis for two hours, and these things were fucking water rockets. I had no idea of the acceleration these machines had developed since I last rode one.

Hunter and I tooled around at first, testing out the power and stability during turns. Before long, we devised a kind of race track. From the Marina buoy, between the two small islands on the north end, and back became our course. I won the first race. She won the second. On the third--"World Championship Finals"--as we called it, her jet ski broke down while we were neck and neck heading back to the Marina.

Fortunately, there was a tow cable in the under-the-seat storage compartment of mine, and I was able to tow Hunter back to the marina. The rental guy didn't give us any shit about it, informing us that it was the third time it had happened with Hunter's machine. We got a fifty percent discount.

Since both skis were two-seaters, Hunter jumped on the back of mine. We zipped around the lake, eventually getting with a few other jet skiers who had been watching our races and decided to join us.

So, the races continued. Hunter loved it, screaming and laughing behind me, encouraging me, and hugging me after we eked out second place in the first race. Apart from the joy of seeing her so fiercely engaged and happy, there was one other interesting thing that happened.

Perhaps it was nothing at all, but when we started riding together, Hunter's hands held onto me over the sides of my life jacket. Later, I felt her hands slide underneath the jacket and hold onto my waist, skin on skin. I liked the feeling of her little hands there.

After another second-place finish, I delighted Hunter by telling her it was her turn to captain our racer. We switched positions.

I got into the seat behind her, and I slid my hands under her life jacket, holding her tiny waist. It was not skin-on-skin, of course, because of her swim shirt. My crotch nestled against her ass. My legs hugged hers. There was a powerful engine thrumming underneath us. The closeness of our bodies didn't yank her out of that "no sex" compartment in my mind, but I enjoyed the physical contact almost absent-mindedly because we were having so much fun racing and doing little cookies and burn-outs to splash our fellow jet skiers.

The two hours flew by. We drove back home laughing and reliving moments; nothing could erase the smile from Hunter's face.

***

I decided to work out later that afternoon. Hunter was in the mini-kitchen, nibbling on some slices of cheese when I passed through in my shorts and trainers.

"Working out?" she asked.

I stretched a bit, nodding.

"What do you do?"

"Jogging and calisthenics like push-ups, body-builders, dips, crunches, and stuff."

She swallowed a bite, and holding the cheese beside her mouth, asked, "Mind if I watch?"

"You'll have to join me. I do my exercises on my run."

"Oh," she said. "But will you do them here, so I can watch?"

I looked around at the space. "Sure, I guess, but what's there to see? I don't do anything particularly special."

She smiled in a shy way for a moment. "It helps me see what my body will be like."

"Oh." Seemed reasonable. I shrugged. "Tell you what. Let me do my run first. When I get back, I'll do all of my exercises here. Be about 40-45 minutes, okay?"

She nodded.

I ran Mount Scott and back, about 6 miles.

When I opened the patio door, Hunter was on the couch in short shorts and a tank top. I was too tired to care about being observed and breathing too hard to comment or respond to questions.

I dropped down and did 4 quick sets of 25 push-ups--regular, wide, fingertip, and triangle. Finishing the sets, I rose to my feet.

Hunter said, "Can you take off your shirt?"

"Get sweat on the carpet," I huffed.

"Don't care."

I took off my shirt, sat down, and knocked out an abs crunch cycle.