Planting Trees

Author's introduction.

I've not published to Literotia.com for long, with just two stories up. I'm pleased with the views, the hits my work gets. I'd like to see more comments. I've received some nice letters.

I've been writing in open forums for about a decade, so I'm used to ignorant comments, somehow the reader mistaking my characters for me. I write social commentaries, stories about human beings in their natural habitat.

Some of my literary fiction is also erotic, or deals with erogenous subjects. These are the stories I'll submit to Literotia.com.

I write objectively, journalistically. I believe in allowing my characters to tell the story, without interference from me supplying needless voice-over explaining what should be obvious to the reader. My writing is subtle, nuance. "Real" is a word I see often in comments.

Here, I offer my third story: "Planting Trees." The story is a conversation between two co-workers. It's not stated, but we can assume they know each other, though not well. Many things not stated can be gleaned from the conversation.

Jacky peeled her sweatshirt over her head, looking toward the sun, squinting. "Hot day."

Kevin treated himself to a quick up-down. "You're looking sweet in your husband-beater."

"Thanks," she answered flatly. "I live to have my eye candy status affirmed."

Ignoring the quip, he asked: "Do you have a confidant?"

"Yeah. My teddy bear. No one wants to hear the shit going on in my head."

Smiling sardonically, he put the shovel aside. "I actually like your attitude."

"I'm a real Dale Carnegie girl. We need get these maples in the ground, else Donny's going to have one of his many pissy fits, yell at me again, maybe piss his pants, stomping his feet like Donkey Kong." She produced a pack of cigarettes. "Got a light? Of course, you don't."

"Fuck Donny."

"Not with your dick, pal."

Again, the smile, rolling off his knees, sitting. "Maybe about a million years ago, I was seeing this guy." He squinted, counting in his head. "Thirty-odd years."

"Oh, we're sharing now?" She sat.

"He liked to blow me."

"You were seeing?"

"I guess you could call it dating, kinda."

"You're gay." The inquiry was a statement.

"That's a complicated question."

"Tell me about it." She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes it takes a lifetime to come out, even to yourself."

"Funny thing is, I never told him I was a cross dresser."

"Oh, now we're really sharing. Shouldn't you start out by saying: 'Father forgive me, for I have sinned?'"

He chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, maybe. I've not told many people over the years I was a cross dresser."

"Do you cross dress still?"

"That's a complicated question, too. Cross-dressing is, I hate to use the word disorder, but I will, a compulsive disorder. Like smoking, or drinking for the alcoholic. We just gotta do it no matter what."

"OK. I've wrestled with that demon once or twice. What was his name?"

"Who?"

"The guy who liked to blow you."

"Oh, right. Richard. I met him through a guy I knew. I was stuck for a ride one night, and he really bailed me out. He told me he liked me and asked to do me."

"You were oh, so young and innocent, him older and experienced?"

"I wish. We were the same age." Kevin sighed deeply. "I'd been done by guys before, the oh-so-young-me-him-older years before."

Jacky nodded, affirming knowledge of a world many people are not privy.

"I felt I owed him, and I've always loved a good blow job."

Again, the nod. "So, you dated."

"Not by the slimmest definition. He'd call, we'd get together, he'd blow me. One night when he called, I suggested I make dinner. I do a shrimp and scallop scampi that's to die for. I had the night all planned out, flowers, candles, music. He said if I were hungry, we could grab a quick burger."

"Well, he was a man, you know."

"It wasn't about the dinner."

"I know. He never took your hand? Never kissed you? Never had a real conversation?"

"No."

"You wanted a human relationship. He wanted to suck your dick."

"Pretty much."

"Did you tell him you wanted to be his girlfriend, not just a popsicle?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't admit it then. I was afraid he'd say no."

"Sad."

"Yeah."

Jacky narrowed her eyes, fiddling with a cigarette. "What kind of cross dresser were you – are you? I mean. I'm not sure what I mean."

"Again, a complex question, its answer has changed across the decades."

"Things are often clearer on the other side."

"I never thought I was born a woman in a man's body, if that helps."

"I knew a guy, I mean girl like that."

"Me, too."

"I had this boyfriend years ago, who'd like to dress up and jerk off."

"I'll admit that's sometimes the case."

"Sometimes."

"Yeah. When I was much younger, I used to dress up and go out all the time, and not masturbate." He squinted toward the sun. "There was something overwhelmingly fresh, peaceful about it, like when a violent storm passes in the middle of the night, stepping outside, breathing the humid air, watching the clouds race across the moon."

"You passed?"

He shrugged. "Oh, don't be misled by what time and flesh has stolen. I was such a pretty little girl."

"I can imagine," Jacky said, raising an eyebrow. "I'd do her."

He laughed subtlety. "You weren't even born yet."

She closed her eyes. "Ah, but I can imagine."

"So can I."