Under the Knife Ch. 02

As he looked across again, Hannah caught his eye and found the words spilling out despite herself.

"Of course, you know I'm transgender, Charlie, don't you?" she blurted, a hot blush hidden by the darkness.

Charlie came to halt so that she found herself looking back at him.

"And what does that have to do with the price of eggs?" Charlie asked, scratching his head comically.

"Price of eggs? Oh, sorry I see," Hannah stammered. "I just thought you ought to know, y'know. It's a thing. I'm kinda obligated to say it. Apparently. I'm post op."

"Really Hannah, you are perplexing," Charlie muttered and walked on, leaving Hannah in his wake.

He turned on his heel after several paces to speak and saw Hannah flinch, confused by his reply and mood. Charlie softened, seeing her anxiety. He was used to a confident Hannah and realised his words had unwittingly wounded her.

He closed the small distance between them with his arms open to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and gently stroked them.

Her downcast eyes avoided his gaze so he gently lifted her chin. She'd folded her arms protectively and made only a flicker of a glance, still uncertain of him.

"My bad, Hannah," he spoke softly. "I did guess you were, but now I'm in the impossible situation where, by admitting I recognised it, I was being judgemental or that I secretly outed you. Nothing could be further from the truth, seriously.

"Haven't we spent a pleasant evening of conversation? We've talked about everything from the impact of soft corals on Atlantic fish stocks to Atwood's human equality and freedom of choice and the merits of old fashioned spit versus anti-fog spray in face masks.

"Did we once talk about sex or hint that we might end up in bed? You didn't need to tie yourself in knots to tell me, but thank you. For trusting me."

Hannah was suddenly ashamed and fought to keep tears from her eyes. The tears found their way into her nose anyway so she disguised her back of hand nose-wipe as a cough. She studied the dust clinging to her sandals without focussing.

They stood in silence for a moment. It was her move. She cleared her throat to make sure her voice wouldn't sound wobbly.

"So you remembered about soft corals then" Hannah ventured, finally making eye contact.

Charlie gave a broad smile, relieved he'd been forgiven.

"You're still perplexing, but really very sweet too," his voice still gentle. "Best friends?"

"Best friends," Hannah replied, shyly.

He turned and offered his arm, which Hannah readily accepted. They walked on a little way, and Hannah rested her head on his shoulder. Charlie slid his arm round her waist.

"Here we are!" he announced as they turned a corner to find themselves on a paved courtyard. "Bug free civilisation. Welcome to my little home."

* * * *

Charlie took a shower when they arrived, leaving Hannah to look about his living room. She was drawn to the long bookshelf that lined one wall, impressed by its contents. He had everything from English classics to Travel guides, biographies to a pile of New Scientist magazines.

She flicked idly through some photos lying on his coffee table, smiling at the snaps of parties at the bar and others taken on a yacht.

There were no axes, no cable ties or plastic sheeting. Not even a stack of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

The walls were thin and she heard him brushing his teeth then couldn't avoid hearing him pee, loud and long.

He emerged a few moments later with just a towel wrapped round his middle.

"I'm bushed Hannah so I'm going to turn in. If you need anything just have a mooch about. I've no secrets here. I'll see you in the morning and I'm a coffee person, if you wake first." Charlie yawned and scuffed across the tiled floor in bare feet to his bedroom.

"Ni-night," he finger-waved, closing the door behind him.

"Night Charlie," Hannah called back, a little surprised. She'd half expected some flirting from him and she was almost disappointed that he hadn't. It was her turn to be perplexed but she'd take it. She had every reason to feel anxious and she'd often view her predicament in police report terms "Young western woman, met the man that evening, found strangled in bed two days later by the cleaner." The sort of bullshit the tabloids love printing.

Hannah brushed the thought from her head by re-analysing her host. She couldn't go through life distrusting everyone and she already liked Charlie, perhaps because he acted in such a paternal way towards her.

Hannah pushed the door to her room closed and turned off the ceiling fan because she knew the noise would irritate her. She sat tentatively on the bed and examined the room. She didn't really imagine there was a hidden camera, but all the same she turned off the light before undressing.

In the darkness she saw the glow of light on the floor from Charlie's room disappear with a distant click.

The linen smelled sun fresh as she lay back and pulled over the single sheet. It was too warm for anything else. Her eyes soon grew heavy as she lay her head on the pillows.

* * * *

A couple of hours later Hannah was awake. She wondered what had disturbed her and held her breath, her ears straining for noises or threats. But she could only hear the thump of her heart and the whir of a refrigerator next door. Beyond that she thought she heard snoring, gentle snoring and assumed it must be Charlie rather than a crouching lion or hungry polar bear.

She shifted to her other side, glad of the cooler touch of the sheet on her skin yet something still kept her from drifting back into sleep. She turned onto her back, frustrated.

"Angry sleeping doesn't work, Hannah," she muttered to herself.

She blinked at the ceiling, recounting the day's events in the hope of finding the question that was keeping her subconscious busy and preventing her from sleeping.

It seemed a long time since Eden had left. In fact it was only a few hours but in her imagination the time stretched away to the horizon. Somewhere between here and that distant place was their love, scattered like wind blown litter.

'It was nobody's fault, not Eden's nor mine.' Hannah reflected. 'Life has a habit of screwing things up. We might still meet again.'

Hannah knew she was kidding herself. She'd set Eden on a pedestal, had admired her at first and was then flattered by her attention. All she had to do was put Eden back into her treasures drawer, a perfect vision, never to be sullied by hurt feelings or broken promises.

She accepted the sadness and let it wash over her. It was done.

If Eden was fading like a dream, Charlie was larger than life. Her thoughts kept circling back to him. He was everywhere in her head like a welcome guest who'd made himself comfortably at home.

'Is Charlie the question?' she wondered.

There was little to dislike about him, but a lack of dislike wasn't a reason to like someone, or to feel attracted to them. Eden was easy to love because she gave Hannah butterflies, the same way she felt when she had crushes as a child. Charlie didn't give her butterflies, but maybe that was because he was a man?

Men baffled her and spoke a different language to hers. Their interest in her revolved around sex, or at least that's how it usually felt. Even if the sex was wonderful, lifting her like a rising wave in ecstasy, she would inevitably fall tumbling on the shore.

Hannah sat up in bed realising she found the question: did Charlie like sex? He'd mentioned men and women in his life but he said he'd never been married. Maybe he was aromantic or asexual, preferring friendships over complicated relationships and sex?

Hannah snorted at the idea. Charlie wouldn't even know what aromantic meant much less admit to it.

He seemed genuinely affectionate and that was flattering, refreshing too. He actually listened to her and tested her with meaningful enquiries. He was generous, not simply with hospitality, but with his time.

Hannah pondered for a few more minutes then made her decision. Spontaneity wasn't normally her thing so she had to act now and put regret out of her mind.

She wrapped her sarong over her chest and stepping across the hallway, carefully opening the door to Charlie's room. He didn't stir so she assumed he was asleep.

With her heart thumping she perched herself on the edge of his mattress and quietly called his name.

He awoke a little confused.

"Charlie, it's Hannah," she whispered.

"Hello kiddo. Wassup?" he replied, drowsy, reaching for the bedside light.

Hannah put her hand on his arm to stop him. She didn't want his eyes or judgement or the questions that might follow. She yearned to hide in the dark, but not do it alone.

"Charlie, can I climb in with you please?"

"Sure, yes. I thought you'd never ask," he replied, shuffling across the bed to make room.

Hannah couldn't decide if his words were serious or not, but pulled the knot from her sarong and slipped in behind him naked. She reached her hand to stroke his bare shoulder curled away from her.

"Thank you," she whispered, brushing the nape of his neck with a soft kiss.

"Sleep," was his simple reply.

* * * *

Charlie seldom needed to wake early -- that was the point of owning a bar, but he could not doze in the circumstances this morning. He felt the extra dip in the mattress behind him and the heat of her body, Hannah's thigh pressed lightly on his.

"Hannah?" he whispered.

She didn't reply. Charlie carefully turned to face her, propping his head on his hand.

Hannah was really very pretty.

'No, not pretty, she's too old for that. Pretty is for teens.' He corrected his thoughts as he watched her sleeping.

'She's gorgeous in that curious English, healthy, down-to-earth sensible way. She isn't Vogue cover, she's clever and full of life. She has sort of beauty you don't notice immediately but the kind that grows on you, so you end up wondering how you could have been so blind.'

Charlie didn't feel any guilt in drinking in her features given that she'd climbed into his bed. He examined the clear line of her lips that curved better than any painting, her long lashes that never deserved to belong to a boy and the cute freckles on her nose.

He knew plenty of trans women on Koh Tao. Most came to the island to work as prostitutes, their aspirations in life often curtailed by repayment loans for surgery. Young kids from poor backgrounds, where the established but illegal sex trade offered a way out.

Charlie was sympathetic to the local girls and they in turn knew better than to pick up clients at his bar, which would put him at risk of arrest.

Hannah was a good person and everything a young man or woman could want in a partner. So why did she crawl into his bed last night? Girls were always puzzling and this one was no different.

Her ventured a finger to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She didn't stir, but he needed to. Charlie lifted her hand from his waist and slipped sideways from the bed to visit the bathroom.

Before returning the bedroom, he filled the coffee maker with ground Italian and set it to run.

He had wrapped a towel round his tummy for modesty but discarded it as he slipped back under the covers, noticing Hannah had moved and was face down, her head now buried under a pillow.

"Morning Charlie." Her voice was muffled.

"Morning," Charlie replied, lifting the pillow, but Hannah snatched it back 'No!'

"Why am I in your bed, Charlie? What must you think of me?" Hannah cried in embarrassed anguish, holding the pillow tight over her head.

"Would you like me to leave?" Charlie asked quietly, amused by her show of bashfulness.

There was a pause, then Hannah lifted one corner of the pillow.

"Pardon?"

"I said..." Charlie laughed and grabbed the pillow out of her grasp. "I said, would you prefer me to leave?"

"No, no. God no! It's your bed, Charlie, after all," Hannah used a voice that people do when they refuse to accept it's morning, imagining stubbornness can force the sun to rethink. She hid her eyes behind her fingers against the morning, bright on the drawn blinds.

After a moment or two she had no choice but to acknowledge it was in fact morning and propped herself up on her elbows, massaging her forehead.

"I'm really sorry, Charlie. I mean if our positions were reversed and you'd crawled into my bed I'd have screamed the house down. I feel such a hypocrite and I'm sorry. I've taken advantage of you."

Charlie laughed, shaking both of them gently on the mattress.

"If you recall, you asked very politely and I replied 'I thought you'd never ask'."

Hannah stopped rubbing her temples and rolled onto her side to face him, oblivious to what the bedclothes now revealed.

"Oh. Oh, yes. Crikey! Well, that's quite a different thing isn't it? I have to think this through -- just give me a moment." Hannah furrowed her brow.

"I tell you what, sweet heart. While you think it over I'll go make us some coffee, though I have girl tea if you'd prefer. I can see your tits by the way." Charlie chuckled and swung himself away.

"Well they're not really tits, Charlie. They're more apologies than size B's but they are mine. I made 'em." Hannah called after him, looking down at her bared chest, pulling her shoulders inward in a familiar attempt at cleavage. "Besides, I've seen your hairy arse, so we're quits. Coffee is great thank you."

After a few minutes of singing in the kitchen, Charlie reappeared with the coffee. That gave Hannah an opportunity to appraise his physique. He was in decent shape. He was clearly not the athletic type, but a knot of dark hair clung to the outline of his pecs then plunged in a downward arrow to be punctuated by his belly button and the towel still tied at his middle.

"Hmm, life saver," she purred taking the cup and setting it down. She preferred white coffee but had long since discovered that milk was anathema in most foreign countries.

Charlie clung to the knot of his towel as he slipped in beside her. Hannah offered a pillow up for him to lean against.

"Charlie, since I haven't yet discovered how to reliably keep a sheet round my tits and drink coffee simultaneously, can we pretend we know each other better?" Hannah let the sheet fall and reached to the bedside table for her cup.

"Do we have to pretend, Miss Turner?" He ventured with a cheeky smile and a glance at her breasts.

"I don't even know your surname, Charlie. We can't make it as far as pretence without formal introductions."

"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Hannah Turner. If I may be so bold, my name is Charles Hicks of Helston, lately of Koh Tao in the Kingdom of Thailand, at your service." Charlie tugged a forelock.

"Actually, it's Doctor Hannah Turner." Hannah corrected and sipped her coffee.

"Is it really? Doctor with a PhD, doctor? I knew you were clever. I've never slept with a doctor before," He waggled his head, looking pleased with himself.

"Define sleep in that context, please. I'm not clever anyway, I just work hard and had the good sense to pick a subject matter that was impossible to review."

"I'd define it as 'snored with' plus I got to see you dribble on the pillow," he teased, then drained his cup and set it down.

"I so did not!" Hannah spluttered. "Neither of those happened!"

"But I did get to watch you sleeping, Hannah and that's a special privilege. I saw the pulse of blood on a little vein, here on your thumb and the curl of your fingers. You have long musician's fingers." Charlie stroked her hand as he spoke.

Hannah watched Charlie's fingers tracing lines down her own and caught her breath. She took hold of his hand in hers and slid down the bed to better examine it, studying the pads of his fingers and gently pressing her thumbs into his palm.

"And you have strong hands, Charlie," she thought aloud, turning to look into his eyes and pressing his hand flat on her breast.

He leaned forward, hesitated long enough to savour but not so long as to lose the moment. He traced the tip of his nose on hers, saw her eyes calm and dark then felt her hand at his neck.

Hannah plucked the kiss from his lips like a stolen grape from a vine, relishing the soft smooth flesh, then sighed as the heat of his tongue filled her mouth to consume her. She felt his fingers move from her ear to cradle her head, the warmth of his palm then soft on her cheek.

Time slowed, stilled by the measure of their kiss. Silence except for the exhale of his breath on her skin, the little clucks of their tongues and the single childlike mew from her throat.

At last she understood. The question that had plagued her in the dark from the confusion of her feelings that were so often opaque to her. She'd surrendered to her instincts, for once discarding her prudent logic in the fog of sleep to let her desire lead her here, to his bed.

He drew back and she saw as if for the first time, the brown hue of his eyes meeting hers. She studied his face a moment and smiled content, gripping the tangle of his hair to pull him down again, hungry, urgent.

She flexed her legs, needing his weight, any weight, something between her thighs to ease the ache that rose inside her. He recognised her move and felt compelled to push his thigh between hers, her sex open to him. It felt as natural to him as swallowing a mouthful of food or turning an apple in his hand before biting.

His hand on her breast teased her hardened nipple that sprung lightly against his fingers. He touched his lips behind her ear placing stepping stone kisses, one at a time down the flute of her neck to her breast, where his busy fingers were already making her writhe.

His fingers drew in a crescent as his tongue glossed her nipple, hiding its comfort in his mouth. As his tongue rolled on the luxury of her nipple, the primal thoughts of food and swallowing were not far from his mind.

His hand smoothed the soft curves of her lower back, the swell of her bottom and then, as she rolled towards him, the rhythmic bumps of her spine. His thigh pressed deeper between hers and she welcomed it with a sigh.

His stiffened sex pressed flat against her pelvis and she pushed back, her hips moving in a lazy rhythm against his in little circles.

Hannah didn't plan for this but now the mood had changed, she was suddenly hungry, like a person who has fasted for days might be tempted by a few crumbs but is driven to feast. Hunger filled her head and Charlie would be generous.

She reached her arm between their bodies and encircled his prick with her fingers, dragging it first upward then reaching underneath to discover the weight of his balls that lay sprawled on his thigh. She smiled at the idea of his cock standing rigid like a dog growling at the gate while his balls lazed like sleepy cats below.

She glanced at Charlie's face to see his eyes closed and his eyebrows raised like rafters in soporific ecstasy. She smiled again, saw the growling dog quietly enraptured by her rubbing fingers.

Hannah pushed his shoulder away to climb on hands and knees above him, the sheet in a ridge over her back. She raked her nails down his chest to his pelvis, eliciting a groan from outside her cotton tent.

In the thick air under the cover her head became full of his scent, tinged with fleshy male spices to which she had never been able to put a name. Every man had his own blend and no amount of Lynx body spray or roll-on could hide it.

Hannah's sense of smell hadn't always been so acute but after transitioning, it opened the door to a new world for her, full of scents and delights. Sometimes she'd find herself distracted, even aroused, by a scent she couldn't even smell but she knew was there, like a silent harp string being plucked.

It made her realise how long it had been since she'd fucked a man. Having sex with a woman was a meeting of kindred spirits but a man could kindle something quite different and produce a raw urge.