Masquerade

Masquerade Pt 4

I wish to retain all rights to this story. However, I am delighted to grant permission to any person to publish this story as long as there is no charge to the reader and as long as no changes are made to the story.

Copyright 2006. All Rights Reserved.

Masquerade

CHAPTER 4

Both our yards needed mowing when we returned from vacation. Sam and I did them, and when I removed my shirt, I frowned at her across the yard and wagged my finger in case she got any ideas. She laughed and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, pretending as if she were about to pull it off. But all we did was joke. There was no replay of our intimacy on the mountain.

Dad had saved a list of chores for me; of which one was painting the house trim, and Sam helped with that as well. It impressed the hell out of my dad, who uncharacteristically put up money for me to take Sam out to dinner as a thank you.

I took her to eat on the Riverwalk, at the Little Rhine Steakhouse. All week, she’d been working in short shorts and old T-shirts, but for our dinner, Sam wore elegant black slacks and blouse with what little silver jewelry she had; including silver combs that pinned her hair to the sides of her head so that it fell long and straight down to the middle of her back. I dressed in my one good sport coat for our date, and enjoyed the looks we drew as we took our seats at a table lower down, close to the river.

The night was warm. A gentle breeze swayed the upper branches of the trees around us. Candlelight danced in Sam’s eyes as she read the menu and I had a fleeting wish for maybe the hundredth time that summer that I had been straight, because it would be so damned easy to fall in love with her.

We danced. We’d danced before, but that night, holding her body close to mine, her familiar scent soothing me, I let her feel my hardness against her. I knew I shouldn’t encourage her, but the evening was something out of time for me; an evening when I let myself feel my love for Sam.

. . . . .

School started again, and suddenly we were into the third week of September. That Tuesday night, Sam and I were studying together on her front porch swing, enjoying the mild evening. Dottie was in the kitchen cooking a beef roast, and the aroma wafted from their open windows. Sam leaned toward me. “When are you getting together with Brad again?” she asked quietly.

I shrugged. She knew I hadn’t come up with anyone other than Brad yet, and Sammy pretty much laid down the law that I was to not meet up with Rigo in the john. “It’s stupid,” she said. “You’ll get yourself outed.” So until I found a new Mr. Perfect, that pretty much left Brad… or Rigo if he had some other place we could meet.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Brad hasn’t asked me to sleep over yet.”

She nodded, and I wondered if she was hoping that we would continue to just hang together. Despite my hard-on the night I danced with her on the Riverwalk, we’d done nothing sexual, and I was glad. It didn’t seem right to encourage Sam romantically since I’d still be looking for a guy.

The truth was that even though I wanted to find a guy to get my rocks off with, I enjoyed hanging with Sammy as much as she did with me. I was glad to not find a boyfriend any time soon and I hoped she wouldn’t either, as unfair as that might have been to her.

Gay guys did hang out with girls. Everyone knew that Rigo’s best friend was a dark-complexioned girl with straight, black hair and exotic eyes by the name of Myra. She always reminded me of a dark version of Lily from The Munsters TV show. And she was probably the main reason I hadn’t tried going over to his house.

That night, as I sat on the swing with Sam, I worried that Sam had asked about Brad because she was ready to start looking herself. “Are you still thinking about finding a boyfriend?” I asked.

Sam closed her book, and nodded thoughtfully. “Timmy,” she started to say, but then stopped to take a deep breath. She turned toward me on the swing and took my hand.

“Mason Reid asked me out this weekend,” she said, “and… he’s really cute, you know?”

I nodded. I had enjoyed looking at Mason myself.

Sam’s eyes dropped to our hands. “One of these times, Timmy… I might, you know, want to do stuff with a boy.”

I nodded. “It’s not like you haven’t told me… several times,” I told her. I still didn’t like the idea. “Stuff like you and I have done?” I asked.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and shook her head “I want to try the real thing, Timmy. I want to go all the way.”

My stomach dropped. “Sam…” I paused, not sure what I wanted to say.

“I want you to be my first,” she interrupted.

“What?” I asked, swallowing hard.

“My first time to go all the way,” she said quietly.

“Sam...” I started to protest, but she squeezed my hand.

“You’re far cuter than Mason,” Sam said with a grin. Then her brow furrowed, earnestly. “We almost have already, right?” she pointed out. “And my first time… it should be a boy I love, right?”

I nodded, dumbly.

“And a boy who loves me,” she whispered.

“But Sam,” I whispered back, “I’m gay… and you don’t need to be doing a guy yet anyway.”

I said it, and I was indeed gay, but I felt my cock growing hard at the thought of getting it on with Sammy. Sam excited me. She was the only girl that did. It wasn’t simply because she was hot and so different from other girls -- other hot girls certainly didn’t excite me -- the main reason Sam excited me was because I loved her. And I was beginning to suspect that my heart for Sam might take me where my sexuality would normally never go.

Sam took my hand into both of hers, and shook her head. “You don’t know,” she said quietly. “I lie awake at night, thinking of the things we’ve done.” She glanced at me and then quickly looked away. “I touch myself… wishing it was a boy touching me.” She took my hand and pressed it to her breast. “Wanting it to be you.”

Sam almost never wore bras, and almost as a reflex, I caressed her firm breast with my hand, even as I nodded. “I understand, Sam. I’ve done it myself… lying awake at night… needing someone. I’ve even dreamed about you sometimes at night, Sammy,” I admitted in a moment of unthinking honesty. “I think about the stuff we’ve done -- and I’m gay! Go figure!” I laughed lightly, and then let my eyes drop to my hand on her breast. “I’m gay,” I protested softly, and pulled my hand back.

Sam sighed and her head dropped.

“I didn’t know girls did that,” I said. “Lie awake at night like that; dream like that.”

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know if others do… but I do.” She took my hand once more into hers. “It’s time, Timmy. For me, anyway, it’s time to be with a boy. I’m ready and,” her eyes rose to mine. “It has to be you… please?” She leaned close. “For me? Because we’re friends… because you love me?”

I nodded and swallowed hard. “Sure Sammy… when? Where? How do you want to do it?”

Sam smiled, a glint in her eyes as she gazed off down the street. “It’s going to be special,” she said. “I’m going to set up candles, put on some music… the mood has to be just right.” She glanced at me. “You’re going to sneak into my room.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, laughing “Like I’m going to climb up to your second story window.”

“You have a key,” she reminded me.

“Yeah, I do,” I said, “as long as your mom doesn’t shoot me thinking I’m a burglar.”

Sam shook her head, and said, half to herself, “If she knew it was you, she’d probably leave the door unlocked to begin with.” Sam leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m going to see the doctor first,” she said. “I’m going to ask Mom to take me for a… well a girl check up. All the other girls our age have already had one.”

I nodded, but had no real idea what she meant.

She glanced at me nervously. “I’m a little afraid.”

“Why?” I asked. “I didn’t think first times were that much to worry about.”

Her eyes dropped to her book. “No, you don’t understand.” She glanced up at me. “I’ve never had a period.”

“A menstrual cycle? Never?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No wonder you never get bitchy like other girls,” I joked.

But Sam looked away.

“Sorry, Sam,” I said. “When do girls usually start having periods?” I asked.

She looked at me, and swallowed. “I should have started at least two years ago.”

. . . . .

The news shook me; not so much at first, but the more I thought about it. I knew almost nothing about female anatomy, and I was afraid that there was something wrong with Sam. I told myself that it couldn’t be anything really bad, like some kind of female cancer or something, because whatever it was had been around for a couple of years. Still, it frightened me.

I had trouble falling asleep for a few nights. I worried about losing Sammy.

Dottie couldn’t get Sam in to see the doctor until the third week of October, so we waited, and I worried.

Brad finally asked me to sleep over, and I turned him down. “Not for a week or two, OK dude?”

Rigo caught me in the hallway and furtively asked if I would meet him in the john. I explained about not being able to do stuff in johns any more. “OK, my house,” Rigo suggested. “After school.”

“Not yet, OK bro?” I said. “Give me a week or two.”

Sam didn’t seem as worried as I was. Her focus was still on her ‘first time.’ The Saturday before her doctor’s exam, Sam and Dottie went shopping, and I mowed a couple of neighbors’ lawns for a bit of extra cash. That night, when Sam and I were washing dishes and Dottie was in the other room, Sam told me that she had purchased more candles. Then Sam leaned close. “I talked Mom into buying me new sheets,” she told me. “They’re really soft and that color of brown you like so much… the brown you said looks good with my hair color.”

“Sam,” I started to say, afraid that she was making far too much out of my agreement to be her first.

She shushed me. “Timmy,” she whispered with a frown. “A girl has only one ‘first time.’” Then she smiled. “I already have the perfect boy. I’m just making sure that everything else is perfect.”

. . . . .

I ate supper with Dottie and Sam the evening after her exam. It was difficult waiting to find out the results, but I did. I didn’t bring it up until Sam and I were alone on the porch afterward. “Well?” I asked.

“They did tests,” Sam said. “We go back Friday for the results.” She frowned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the way the doctor acted.”

“How did she act?”

Sam shook her head. “I’m sure it was nothing.”

. . . . .

I was waiting on the back porch when Sam and Dottie returned from the doctor’s that Friday after getting the test results. I stood up as they came from the garage, but Sam rushed past me and into the house. Dottie followed, her face a mask of concern. She paused beside me. “It would be better if you come back later, Tim.”

“Why?” I asked. “Is Sam OK? What’s wrong?”

Dottie shook her head, her eyes on the door to the house. “Later, Tim,” she said absently, and went inside.

I’m sure that I slept some that night, but I don’t remember it. As soon as I thought Dottie and Sam would be up, I went over, tapping lightly on the door before going in. But the door was locked. They weren’t up yet.

The morning was crisp, but I had a jacket on, and I walked down to the wooded park where Jason, Sam, and I had spent so much time growing up. I was afraid, and I had no idea how to name the fear, other than something was wrong with Sam, and that meant my whole world was in danger.

When I walked back, the door was still locked, even though it was close to ten in the morning. The door was always unlocked once they were up. I knocked, and finally, Dottie opened the door. Her face was grave.

“We need a day or two, Tim. Please. Sam’s just not ready for you yet.”

“Ready for me?” I asked.

Dottie waved her hand, as if not having the right words. “When the time is right, maybe she’ll talk to you,” she said, and then closed the door.

Maybe? I wondered.

I sat on the porch, not willing to leave. Eventually I went home, brought back a book, and stayed on the porch until dark. And I was back the next morning.

Dottie came out, just before lunch and took a seat on the porch swing beside me. I waited for her to tell me what was happening.

Dottie smiled sadly and took my hand. “Samantha has had some… difficult… news,” she said. “You have to give her time, Tim, to work things through.” Then Dottie squeezed my hand in hers. “I don’t know if she’ll tell anyone else, but I think she’ll tell you… when she’s ready.”

I squeezed Dottie’s hand back, and looked earnestly into her eyes. “She doesn’t have any choice,” I said. “I’m like her brother, Dottie. You know that! What ever it is, you need to tell me.”

Dottie patted my hand and shook her head sadly.

“I haven’t been able to sleep at night,” I told her. “I can’t think about anything else because I’ve been so worried about Sam.”

Dottie smiled gently. “Sam’s not sick, Timmy. She’s healthy. It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” I demanded.

Dottie shook her head. “Give Sammy time,” she said quietly. “And be here for her when she’s ready. She needs us now.” Dottie glanced back at the door to the house. “She really needs us.”

. . . . .

Sam wouldn’t see me that Sunday, though I stayed on the porch until dark again. She skipped school on Monday and Dottie looked like she had been crying when she answered the door that afternoon to tell me that Sam wouldn’t see me.

I sat on their porch doing homework until dark, and then knocked on the door before going home. “Tell Sam that I’m walking her to school tomorrow,” I told Dottie.

Dottie bit her lip. “Sam may not want to go.”

“I’ll be here,” I promised. And I was. I was sitting on their porch by six thirty the next morning. When Sam finally came out with her schoolbag, I stifled a gasp. Her beautiful, long, red hair had been cut off -- make that chopped off. Her eyes were red and downcast. She wore a loose T-shirt and jeans. I swallowed and kept my cool, but I felt gut-punched, seeing Sam like that.

Dottie watched, concerned, as I reached for Sam’s bag to carry it for her. Sam didn’t release it, but I tugged again, and she let me take it.

We walked silently to the school and I stuck with Sam through the day as much as I could. When I wasn’t with Sam, I was answering questions. “What happened to Sammy?” Loren demanded.

“Dude, did you guys have a fight or something?” Richard Rodriguez asked.

Equal numbers of guys and girls asked about Sam, and I was impressed that they all seemed genuinely concerned for her. Until then, I hadn’t realized how much people liked Sammy. But to each of them, I simply said that I didn’t know what was wrong, and as far as I could tell, Sam didn’t say a word to anyone all day.

After school, she started for home before me, but I ran to catch up and took her bag, walking silently beside her again.

It was the same the next day, but by the time we reached Sam’s porch that Wednesday evening, I felt like I’d given Sam all the time I could. I took her by the shoulders and shook her, looking hard into her eyes. “Stop it Sam! Just stop it! You have to tell me what’s wrong!“

She looked away. So I pulled her into my arms and hugged her hard to me. “Sammy, I love you.”

A sob caught in her throat, and leaning back, I saw tears in her eyes. She tried to push away from me but I held on to her. “Sam,” I said with a voice that sounded strangely steady compared to how I felt. “I have to know.”

She waved her hand, pulling away from me. “Ask Mom,” she said, and dashed inside.

So I followed and found Dottie in the kitchen cutting vegetables for supper. “Sam said to ask you,” I said. “That has to mean that it’s OK for you to tell me.”

Dottie paused, and then nodded. She laid down the knife and dried her hands on a dishtowel, motioning me to the kitchen table. She took a seat at the end of the table and I took a seat next to her. Dottie extended her hand, and I took it.

Looking tired and strained, Dottie searched for words. “Have you ever heard of Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome?” she asked.

I shook my head.

Dottie smiled sadly. “I don’t think too many people have. It’s very rare… only one in twenty thousand have complete… Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome.” Dottie frowned. “It’s me,” she said. “It’s my fault. I have what they call a defective gene on one of my X chromosomes… Have you studied chromosomes?”

I nodded.

“It’s all about heredity, right?” she said. “They tried to explain it to me.” Her eyes met mine. “You know about boys having XY chromosomes and girls having XX?”

I nodded again.

“Well one of my two X chromosomes has, like I said, a defective gene, and I passed it on to Samantha.”

I nodded; my stomach turning. I knew enough to know that there were serious diseases that were hereditary. I swallowed hard and blinked back the start of tears -- I just knew that Dottie was going to tell me that Sam was dying.

“Well,” Dottie said… then stopped. She got up from the table and went to the kitchen counter where she removed a stapled sheath of papers from under her purse and handed it to me.

“Go ahead and read this,” she said, sitting back down. “It’s what Samantha has.”

The title page read, “CAIS -- Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome”

I turned to the first page. “Recent studies have linked a wide range of disorders of sexual differentiation to mutations of a single gene located on the human “X” chromosome. The gene encodes for androgen receptivity. Mutations to the gene cause various levels of androgen resistance during fetal development and can result in a range of undervirilization and infertility in affected genetic males. Those genetic males with complete insensitivity develop female configurations and identities. Secondary sex characteristics may never develop in some, while others develop a fully feminized physique.”

Perplexed, I reread the first paragraph.

“Males?” I echoed silently, glancing up at Dottie. She nodded.

“They explained it to me this way,” Dottie said. “In the womb, little boys start out the same as little girls. But then, if the baby is a little boy, his little testicles put out a special hormone -- that’s what Androgen is -- and that hormone makes things grow differently for a boy than they do for a little girl.” Dottie’s eyes filled with tears. “But sometimes the mommy gives the little boy a chromosome that doesn’t work right, and he doesn’t grow things like he should.”

I tried to understand what she was saying. “So Sammy’s really a boy?” I asked dumbly.

Tears ran down Dottie’s cheeks and she rose from the table, turning from me to the counter for Kleenex.

I returned to the printed papers. There were references to XY individuals and genetic males, failure of key mechanisms during gestation, lack of formation of the penis and scrotum -- the things that Dottie tried to tell me about.

The paper went on to describe how puberty came later to an individual with the syndrome and it talked about minimal or no androgenic hair (pubic or body hair), no adolescent acne, a thick head of hair that didn’t recede off the temples with maturity… I read further… it talked about someone like Sam having a vagina and apparently female, external genitalia but testes inside his abdomen instead of ovaries, and no womb -- no uterus or cervix.

The article talked about the lack of menstrual periods, but a feminine body. It said that most individuals with the syndrome were oriented toward males, sexually, but that they also seemed to posses a male’s sexual drive.

There was more, but what I had already read was too much to take in.

I stood numbly from the table

Dottie had been watching me, her head tilted sadly to one side.

My mind was reeling. I wasn’t really aware I was outside the house until I was on the street, walking in the growing dusk toward our park.

. . . . .

Thoughts fluttered around in my mind like a flock of birds trapped in a small building… a building without air… I took a deep breath and tried to focus… focus… Sam is a boy. Holy shit! And all the birds took flight again.

She… he... Sammy had XY chromosomes, just like me. Sam had testicles, just like me; only inside… inside… Sammy had a boy’s heart… I could believe that… yeah, I could believe that… Sammy had a boy’s heart. That was the easiest thing to believe. A boy’s heart… and a boy’s mind.

Oh, hell, what must she… what must he be going through? All his life, to think he was a girl. To find out only now that he’s a he. Sam’s hair! Oh shit, his hair!… I thought of Sam’s chopped off hair… what must be going on in his mind? My thoughts finally began to coalesce, settling… on Sam.

Unconsciously, my hand dropped to my crotch and I cupped my privates. What would it like to not have my cock and balls? What would it be like to be born without them? I couldn’t even begin to imagine. In some ways, it would be worse than being born without an arm or leg; even for someone like Sam who had something else instead… well at least part of something else instead. What must it be like to realize that such an important part of you is missing? What did Sam feel like, learning what he was born without?

I thought of Sam, all alone, and I knew that she… he needed me. I looked around -- I was in the park. I got my bearings and turned back for Sam’s house.

The night was cold. I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands in my pockets. Overhead, city lights illuminated low clouds.

All along, Sam was a boy… oh shit; what must he have been feeling all those nights I spent with Jason? I had a lot to make up to Sam. I’d forget about everyone else. For the time being, I’d forget about Brad and Rigo and trying to find a boy… oh shit; Sam is a boy. How the hell could I look for another boy now? What would that do to Sam?

I stopped on the sidewalk.

On occasion, each of us gets a glimpse of our future; an idea where our path might take us. That night on the sidewalk, in half-form thoughts and gut feelings, it occurred to me that each step I took toward Sam’s house might be a step away from finding another boy, another Jason… maybe for a long time.

But Sam was all I had in the world, and I was all he had. Oh, we had Dottie, but we loved each other. And that thought started me moving again. I loved Sam with all my heart, and he needed me.

I didn’t need another Jason, I thought. I had a Sam.

. . . . .

Dottie was in the kitchen, washing the supper dishes. She glanced over her shoulder, saw me and smiled as she turned back to the dishes. “Are you hungry, Tim?” she asked. “Can I get you some supper?”

I shook my head. ”Where’s Sam?”

She paused and half-turned from the sink. Her eyes met mine, searching my face. “Are you alright, Timmy?” she asked.

I frowned. “Where’s Sam?” I repeated.

She cocked her head, looking slightly bemused. “Sam is up in her room,” Dottie said softly.

I turned on my heels and headed for the stairs

. . . . .

Sammy’s door was closed, so I knocked as I opened it, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. Sam, fully dressed, still in jeans and T-shirt, was lying on his side on the bed, facing the door. The only light was from the small lamp on the dresser. Sam’s eyes followed me as I removed my jacket and crossed the room to his bedside. He had been crying.

“I didn’t think you would come back after Mom told you,” Sam said quietly.

I kicked off my shoes, crawled on the bed with him, and pulled him into my arms, holding him while he cried… just holding him.

I stroked his back and when his weeping slowed, I kissed the top of his head. “I love you Sam,” I whispered. “You know that. You know I’ve always loved you.”

He clung to me, keeping his face buried in my neck.

I stroked his back and he began to relax. It occurred to me that Sam had probably been sleeping as poorly as I had; maybe worse. I held him and stroked his back, and we fell asleep that way.

Despite the clothes and all, it was, strangely, the best night’s sleep I had since the exam. In the morning, I woke not long before Sam. I was on my back, and a little stiff, but Sam was sleeping on my side with his head on my shoulder, so I didn’t move, wanting him to sleep.

When he finally stirred, I kissed the top of his head. “I was thinking,” I said. “About fairy tales where the hero learns after he’s grown up that he’s actually a prince…”

Sam sat up and frowned down at me. “Mom tried the ugly duckling story on me already, Tim. Only in this case, the swan found out he was actually a duck.” He got up from bed, and walked to the window, staring out.

I got up and followed him, and laid a hand on his back. “No Sammy,” I said. “The swan is still a swan… just a male swan.”

Sam was quiet a moment, his back to me. “Thank you for staying with me last night,” he said.

I rubbed his back. “I love you,” I said quietly.

. . . . .

Dottie gave me a fresh shirt -- one of Sam’s T-shirts -- and we walked to school, me carrying Sam’s book bag. When I tried to take his hand, he pulled it back, and we walked silently.

I dreamt that night. We were kids again; Jason, me, and Sam. And Sam was a boy; a redheaded, running-jostling boy. We took a whiz together and he had a dick like mine. Sam smiled and we had a piss sword fight. He slept over and I laid my arm over his back. “I knew you were a boy,” I told him. “I knew you were.” I woke, and wondered if that could be true; deep inside had I recognized all along that Sam wasn’t like my step sisters and every other silly, stupid girl I’d known?

I dreamed again, and Sam was trapped inside a tree. It had grown around him and trapped him, and he was smothering. With my bare hands, I clawed away at the bark and the fibers beneath, pawing wildly, and then Sam was free and naked in my arms and I felt his erection against my leg. I clutched him to me and then I woke up, ejaculating powerfully into my boxers.

My breath was ragged. I was sweating. My heart and mind were a storm of emotions. Holding Sam naked in my dream had excited me more than any dream ever had.

It was four in the morning. I got up and showered. Then went over to Sam’s porch and waited until he came out with his schoolbag. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the face of the boy in my dream. And it became even more settled in my heart and mind that Samantha was a boy.

I took the schoolbag in one hand and Sam’s hand in the other, and this time he let me. After we were on the sidewalk, I gave his hand a squeeze. “Will you go with me to the dance tomorrow night?” I asked.

Sam gave me a blank stare. “Dance?”

“Your friend Loren is putting it on,” I reminded him. “Halloween… Sophomore dance? After the football game? To raise money?”

“Oh,” Sam said, nodding.

“Will you go with me?” I asked again.

Sam glanced sideways at me then, looking straight ahead again, nodded. I squeezed his hand.

. . . . .

We were on his porch that afternoon after school, on the swing, doing homework, when Sam turned to me. “You know, you don’t have to stick around.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Sam looked away. “Now that you know the truth,” he said, “I understand if you don’t want to be around me.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Sam…“ I paused because I’d never called Sam an asshole before. I’d called other guys that, but then I didn’t know that Sam was… another guy.

He glanced at me, having caught it, too.

“Well you are being an asshole,” I said. “You’re my best friend, Sam. Nothing has changed that.”

“But everything has changed,” Sam said quietly, staring off toward my house. “You had a hard enough time with me as a girl. Now that we know I’m a freak…”

I gasped. “Don’t say that!”

Sam turned to me, as if surprised I would mind, and then turned away. “I am a freak,” he said sadly. “A ‘freak of nature.’”

“A wonder of nature,” I said.

Sam frowned at me. “Don’t you be an asshole.”

“And don’t you,” I said. “You aren’t a freak, Sam. You’re beautiful, you’re my best friend, and… I love you.”

Sam’s look softened. He lay down on his side, laying his head on my lap. “You don’t have to do what you promised,” he said quietly. “You know… about going all the way. I understand.”

I stroked Sam’s chopped red hair. “I want to.”

Sam gave a rueful chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant.”
Looking down at Sam’s face, I saw it go sad. “I won’t ever have children,” he whispered.

I stroked his hair. “Did you want to?”

Sam nodded.

“People adopt,” I said.

Sam nodded again. “But it isn’t the same.”

With my feet, I pushed off, swinging us gently.

“What guy’s ever going to want to marry me,” Sam said. “I mean, if any guy wanted to, I’d have to tell him the truth and that would be the end of it.”

“Not if the guy really loved you,” I said.

Sam didn’t answer.

I kept the swing moving gently, thinking to myself. It seemed to me that Sam was probably right. I couldn’t imagine a straight guy not freaking at finding out that Sam was a boy. And a gay guy wouldn’t be attracted to him to begin with. But it was all moot, actually. Sam had me.

It was the first time I thought about marrying Sam. I decided I really wanted to think about that.

“Mom and I talked… we’ve talked a lot,” Sam said. “There’s nothing I can do about it. The doctor told us that there isn’t an operation that will really fix anything.” He glanced up at me. “Mom cried,” he said, and then laid his head back down. “She’s done a lot of crying. It’s not easy finding out that you won’t ever be a grandmother; that you won’t ever have a son-in-law; that your daughter’s nothing but a mutilated boy.”

I remembered the CAIS paper; the sentences about secondary sex characteristics not developing and lack of androgenic hair. Did that mean Sam would be perpetually pubescent? Oddly, that appealed.

Stroking his shoulder, I let my eyes travel over his body. Sam was already willowy, beautiful, slender… boyish. He was beautiful, even without having all the parts.

“Sam,” I said sincerely. “You may be the most beautiful boy there ever was.”

Sam just stared ahead, not seeming to hear. “I wonder,” he said, pressing his hand to his sternum, “if inside here I’m a boy, and I like boys… does that mean that I’m gay?”

I didn’t know. I wondered what I was, if I was a boy who loved him.

. . . . .

I ate with them that night, and it was quiet at the supper table.

Back home afterward, I lay in bed thinking of Sam as male, and how when I held him I really was holding a boy. To say that my mind, my whole world, had gone through a revolution in the previous few days would never adequately explain the inverting of my universe. And yet, there was a central axis to my life that remained… my love for Sam… transformed, even stronger.

. . . . .

I dreamed that Sam was on me, sitting astride my hips like he did on those mornings when he snuck into Jason’s room when Jason was gone, and like he’d done on the Ypsilon Mountain. In my dream, I looked down and there were two cocks pointing up between us.

Waking, I thought about real life and there not being two cocks; real life was only one cock and two males. And then I wondered… if I made love to Sam, and slipped my cock into him, would I be slipping my cock into a boy? Would I find myself eye to eye with a boy?... I would!

I’m not sure any other guy, gay or straight would have been suddenly aroused like I was. But I was. I never wanted to put my cock into a girl, but the thought of Sam and me wrapping each other up in our arms and me settling my hips between Sammy’s legs, and actually being inside him, eye to eye with him, knowing that we were both boys… my cock got harder than ever before in my life.

. . . . .

“What costume will you wear to the dance tonight?” I asked as we walked hand-in-hand to school.

Sam shrugged. “What else. I’ll go as a boy.”

“Mind if I go as a boy as well?” I asked. “We could freak them all out; two boys going to the dance together.”

Sam didn’t smile, and I wondered if he was thinking that two boys were going to the dance together.

I took him to a hairdresser after school and waited until they could take us. “A hair cut that could be a boy’s as well as a girl’s,” I told them. They trimmed up Sam’s hair, and I suppressed a gasp afterward because he looked so much like the boy in my dreams at night.

The cut was attractive and even Dottie approved.

. . . . .

We skipped the game that night. I dressed in a pull over sweater and button down shirt. It wasn’t much of a costume, but I could claim that I was going as Joe College. I carried my sport coat, a shirt, tie, and even boxers over to Sam’s house where Dottie and I dressed Sam in them, and I thought he really was the most beautiful boy ever.

Loren was into The Phantom of the Opera, big time, and that was the theme she gave the Halloween dance. They had masquerade masks at the door; the kind that fit over the eyes. When Sam put his on -- especially with his haircut, and the plains of his cheeks -- he really did look like a slender, really cool guy.

“Oh, great,” Sam murmured as he adjusted his mask. He glanced at me. “You know the story? The Phantom of the Opera?” he asked. “A monster under a mask.”

I squeezed his shoulder angrily. “In this story,” I said sternly, “Beauty wears the mask.”

We walked in hand-in-hand, and people stared. A rumble went through the gym as everyone assumed two guys had come to the dance together.

The music paused between songs, and I heard the surprised whispers. “It’s Samantha.”

“What the hell?” yelled Harold Snyder, a loudmouth jock. “Did they come as a pair of queers?”

Loren Peach and two of their friends pulled Samantha aside, and I heard Loren tell her, “Sammy, honey… you make a beautiful boy.”

A boy in a girl suit pretending to be a girl in a boy costume, I thought to myself with a twisted smile. Or would that be a gay boy in a girl suit…

People watched as I led Sam out to dance. His eyes were down, but I took both his hands and squeezed, and he looked up at me. I gave him a smile, and he smiled back… for anyone who didn’t know us, we looked just like who we were, two guys who loved each other.

And then the prelude to Phantom began playing.

I slipped my hand behind Sam’s waist and pulled him to me as I began to move to the music. He laid a hand on my shoulder and moved with me, and smiled sadly into my eyes.

The music, strident mixed with sweet, loud organ mixed with pure soprano voice, surrounded Sam and me, and made the world go away. I held him to me, and all the pleasure I ever had in holding Sam’s slender body to mine was multiplied now by the knowledge that I was holding a boy to me.

We brushed cheeks; we brushed bodies. His scent filled my nostrils and his hands rested lightly on my shoulders. We moved together at our loins. I grew hard and let Sam feel it, holding him close to me by the waist.

And then the music ended, and we were back in our high school gym, surrounded by a hundred other couples.

Bolton was big that year, and they played three of his songs in a row. Sam and I moved apart to dance. I tried to dance dirty for him, and at first it was sort of funny, but then Sam stepped closer and began a little dirty dancing himself. Our movements became truly sexy… and then sexier. He backed to me and I held his waist as we moved our hips together, and one of the women faculty advisors came over and told us to break it up.

I noticed people noticing us, almost like they were seeing us for the first time.

Two more songs from Phantom played, including “Masquerade”, and once again, the music isolated us, and I saw only Sam, swaying happily, bumping hips with me, smiling.

A Janet Jackson tune began, and I took Sam to get the refreshment table. Loren approached us with a huge grin. “It’s about time you two fell in love,” she said, hugging first Sam, and then me. She grabbed Sam by the hand. “We’re going to the girls’ room and you’re going to tell me all about it.”

Sam glanced back helplessly as Loren tugged him away, and I fought a smirk thinking that if Loren only knew that she was dragging a boy into the girls’ restroom…” And then I wondered what Sam would tell Loren.

“What’s with you and Sam?” Richard Rodriguez asked, clapping my shoulder from behind. “First she butchers her hair, and next, you two are ready to do the dirty on the gym floor in front of everyone.”

I shrugged. “We’ve fallen in love,” I said. And then I noticed that Loren had put out extra Phantom CDs… more moneymaking for the sophomore class.

We danced again when Sam came back. And when Blaze of Glory played I pulled him close. We clung to each other and danced with our eyes closed. I kissed Sam’s cheek. I kissed his neck.

I danced us to a quiet corner. And the music played on. We held each other close, even on faster dances. People glanced our way, but no one bothered us.

“All this time,” I murmured. “You were just like me -- a boy inside. Just a lonely boy.”

“Are you a lonely boy, Timmy?” Sam asked quietly.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Lonely no more, Sam; I found my buddy.”

“You’re buddy?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

I had grown hard again and let Sam feel it. “I’ve dreamt about you the last two nights,” I said. “I’ve been in a fever for you all day.” I clutched Sam tightly to me. “Oh, damn, I need you, Sammy!” I said.

“Why?” Sam asked in a whisper, rubbing his cheek on mine. “Why now, Timmy? I haven’t changed.”

I pressed my mouth to his ear. “Because by finding out who you really are, Sam… I’m finding out who I really am.”

There were so many things I wanted to say to him; so many thought’s I had. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, Sammy. I know it now. It’s like in the last few days, everything in my life… everything in our lives, has come together. I was made for you, Sam. I know it now. And Sam… you think you’re a freak, but you aren’t Sam… Sam, you were made for me.”

“Timmy,” Sam rebuked, quietly, “Remember? I don’t have the… big essentials.”

“It’s not so much that, Sammy,” I said, and then placed my hand flat on his sternum. “It’s in here that we were made for each other. I needed you to have a boy’s heart, and you do.” I smiled. “It’s not parts, but hearts that matter, Sam.”

I pulled him to me and nuzzled into Sam’s hair, just behind his ear. The faculty sponsor from earlier saw us and frowned at me again, so I backed off… just a little. “Sam,” I said gently, “you do have balls, but then, we always knew that.”

Sam didn’t laugh.

“Aw, Sammy,” I whispered. “You’re a boy like me, OK? You were cheated out of your big essential, but you were supposed to have one.”

“I don’t have one,” Sam murmured. “I don’t have a dick, Timmy. Don’t pretend I do. All I have is a hole that goes nowhere.”

“I know you don’t have a dick,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m not pretending that you do. But Sam… I have a dick, and...” I searched for words. “If you were missing a kidney, I’d give you one of mine. If you were missing a lung, I’d give you a lung of mine. Sam, I can’t give you my cock, but we can share it.”

I knew I wasn’t making sense. “Look, Sam,” I whispered. “My cock can be ours together, seriously. I won’t ever share it with anyone else again. It can belong to both of us. In my heart… I’ll be like you; a boy without a cock of his own… just the one we share. And Sammy,” I pressed my mouth to his ear. “That hole you have that goes nowhere… I know what it’s for. It’s for sharing our cock… you take one end, I take the other.”

Sam laughed, lightly, but kept his firm mound pressed to my hardness. “Lovable asshole,” he murmured.

I press my hardness more firmly between his legs. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Sam.”

Sam’s body melted to mine, pressing back against my hardness. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” Sam murmured.

“And I need you so badly,” I whispered. “Can we leave now?”

Sam nodded.

I stopped us at the refreshment table and bought a Phantom CD. “For later,” I said, keeping Sam in front of me as we walked through the crowd; hiding my erection.

“Where will we go?” Sam asked when we were outside.

There seemed to be only one place to go, and it seemed right to go there. “The place you always planned for us” I said. “Your buddy is going to sleep over.”

Sam nodded, and then with a hand behind my head, pulled me into a kiss, and again, we pressed together, low. “Are you simply playing mind games with yourself, Timmy? And with me?”

I held Sam by his waist; holding him close. “No, Sammy,” I softly said. “I’m just finely seeing things clearly.”

. . . . .

Dottie was sitting on the couch in their living room, watching TV when we walked in holding hands, and she looked questioningly at me as we headed for the stairs up to Sam’s room.

“Sam is having another boy sleep over… Mom,” I said.

Dottie started at my calling her “Mom.” My eyes met hers, and I let her know what I meant.

Dottie looked lost for a moment, a range of emotions racing each other across her face, until a sad smile settled on her lips and her eyes filled with tears. She nodded. And I lead Sam up the stairs.

Inside his room, we kissed… tenderly… there were years worth of love behind what was about to happen. “You going to light any candles?” I asked; my hands low on Sam’s back.

Sam nodded, searching my eyes. “I had something I was going to wear,” he said. “Something for you to find me in when you came through the window.”

“Put it on,” I said.

Sam shook his head. “Not tonight, I’m thinking.” He pulled my head forward, putting his mouth to my ear. “I’m wearing your boxers.”

“Oh, shit,” I murmured, responding to his body moving against mine. “Light the candles quickly or you won’t get a chance.”

Sam stepped back. “You could come in from the bathroom instead of the window.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I needed to go anyway, so I stepped toward Sam’s bathroom door. “I might come through the window in just boxers myself,” I suggested.

Sam smiled. “But not until I say.”

. . . . .

“OK,” he said softly from the bedroom side of the door.

Turning out the bathroom light, I opened the door. The room was lit by a dozen candles scattered around on Sam’s windowsills, dresser, desk… instrumental music played softly. Sam stood by his bed in only boxers. I smiled.

Sam’s hands were down at his sides; the boxers low on his hips. His creamy skin was all golden in the candlelight. Sam had always been lean, though his leanness had taken on a pleasant softness as we reached our teens. I could see the shallow seams of the muscles in his abdomen as they tensed with each breath, and his firm looking breasts gently rose and fell. Our eyes met, and the blue of his looked strangely darker in the candlelight.

Stepping up to him, I gathered him into my arms and felt the thrill of his bare chest on mine. My pulse quickened. “Hello lonely boy,” I said, gazing into his eyes.

Sam shook his head, just slightly, and ran his fingers into the hair behind my ears. “Not lonely anymore,” he whispered, gazing into my eyes. “My buddy found me.” He pulled my lips to his.

Our mouths opened to each other and I held Sam tightly to me, his chest to mine. We ground our middles together and my cock made it out from the fly of my boxers. “Your first time,” I said quietly, “should be with a boy who loves you.”

Sam smiled. “And with a boy I love.”

Our hips still moving, the end of my cock slipped inside Sam’s fly. He grinned, moving his hips to take more of it inside. “Our cock.”

My cock slipped down between his legs as we moved. I tensed my pelvic muscles and the top of my shaft lifted up against Sam’s mound. He sighed; his lips on my cheek. He moved his hips up and back, sliding me back and forth under him. “What does it feel like to have one of those?” he asked, nibbling my neck.

“Hell,” I murmured. “I don’t know… when it’s hard, it feels awfully damned good… especially when it’s against someone.” I moved my hips back and forth, sliding my cock back and forth under Sam’s mound. “How does it feel, having what you have?” I asked, kissing Sam’s neck.

“Empty,” Sam murmured, his hands running over my shoulders and arms. “Real empty… needing you inside.”

“You take one end, I take the other?” I asked.

I backed Sam to the bed, laying him back on it. Fist I pulled off his boxers, and then mine, freeing my cock to spring up. I moved over him, laying my erection down onto Sammy’s firm mound, and I smothered his face and mouth with kisses. Sam’s fingers clutched at my back.

“Now?” I asked.

He nodded.

I lifted my hips and the two of us guided me to the right spot. I was damp with precum. Sam was damp as well. I pressed in slowly. Sam didn’t have much of a hymen, and I slipped through quickly.

“Oh, damn, Sam,” I murmured, pressing in to sensations far more incredible than I had imagined. “Oh, damn!”

Sam moaned softly and arched under me. “Oh, damn,” he echoed with a gasp.

I pressed all the way in until we were tight; the two of us arching back from our middles in a years-delayed ecstasy at joining.

And then I lay down on him and he wrapped his arms over my shoulders. I slipped my hands under the back of his shoulders to grab on like I used to do with Jason, and Sam’s hands drifted down to grab onto my butt, just the way Jason and I used to do. But there were differences. I pressed my cheek to his. “Oh damn, Sammy,” I murmured, “we’re going to do just fine with these parts.”

He squeezed me, and I felt his muscles down at our joining tighten up around me. It almost felt like he grasped me with his insides. I pressed in, and his legs spread to the side, thrashing slightly. His hands clawed at my butt and then my back, and Sam was alive under me. I ground deeper and his legs thrashed more, his insides clenched, and I gasped.

Our bellies pressed. My chest flattened his. We pumped at our pelvises, forcing me deeply inside him, stretching me deliciously long inside him. Sam whimpered his mouth at my ear. I wondered -- was possible that he was feeling the same sensations inside as I was feeling with my cock? I wondered if, when we pressed together hard, down at our joining, he felt the same deep sensations as I did?

“Oh, Sam,” I murmured thickly. “Oh, damn.”

Sliding his fingers into my hair on either side of my head, Sam lifted my head, pulling my mouth to his. Our open mouths met, hungrily. Sam wrapped his legs around my hips and his arms over my back.

We pumped; both of us -- Sam digging in his heels behind my legs, pulling his pelvis up to meet my thrusts. Our mouths worked. Sam’s hands ran into the back of my hair.

We thrust; the pleasure at each firm impact an indescribable mixture of sensation and intimacy… Sam and me, writhing together, grinding together, joined together.

I tried to last; I wanted to last all night. Our skin grew hot. Perspiration beaded up on our torsos. And then Sam arched back, his fingers digging into the muscles of my back. His legs thrashed to the sides, small gasps escaping his lips. I pushed up on my hands and drove hard and fast, excited by Sam’s orgasm, coming deep inside him.

We writhed and ground, our hips circling, and then we slowed. I let my head drop, and a bead of sweat ran down my nose. I lowered my self down and Sam relaxed under me, his belly, like mine, slick with perspiration.

Wrapping my arms under the back of Sam’s shoulders, I ground gently with my hips; keeping my cock hard. I smiled and wiped the drop of sweat off my nose onto his. Sam smiled sweetly.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, and didn’t even know it,” I said. I kissed his damp nose. “Sammy,” I whispered, “we may not have gotten two full sets of parts, but we got a hell of a consolation prize!”

Sam smiled, almost sadly. “Loveable asshole,’ he whispered and ran his fingers once more into the hair on either side of my head. His eyes traveled lovingly over my brow. They lingered fondly on my nose, my cheekbones. His eyes rose to mine, full of such obvious affection that I felt my own heart stir. His eyes brimmed with tears. Suddenly his mouth twisted, and the tears whelmed out.

“Aw, Sam,” I whispered. “Are you OK?”

He nodded and let me see it in his eyes… all the hurt and love and happiness… and need for me… and naked gratitude that I was there.

“Oh, Sam,” I said softly, kissing the tears from the corners of his eyes. Then with his tears on my lips, I kissed his lips. There were tears on my cheeks too, and I rested my damp cheek against his. I wrapped my arms tightly under him, hugging him to me. Our shared cock was still inside him, and I pressed in, pressing our two bodies into one.

“We aren’t just sharing our cock,” I murmured, “We’re sharing our hearts as well, Sammy.”

Sam hugged me tightly and gave me a squeeze with his insides.

I gasped and lifted my head to grin at Sam. He grinned back. We were happy, really happy. I pumped with my hips and Sam’s eyes rolled up. I drove in again.

. . . . .

He ran his fingertip over my eyebrows and down my nose, as I lay with my leg cocked across his loins and my arm looped under Sammy’s breasts. My… our flaccid cock, rested on his hip and my face was beside his on the pillow.

The Phantom CD was playing and the only light came from candles.

“I know what I’m going to call it,” I said.

“Call what?” Sam asked, tracing his fingertip over my lips.”

“That hole that goes nowhere,” I said. “The one you have for grabbing your end of our cock. I’m going to call it your ‘squeezer.’”

Sam chuckled, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.

“Well I can’t call it a… it sounds so weird… a vagina. I’m not going to.” I closed my eyes, relaxing. “It’s your squeezer, plain and simple.”

I felt his fingertip over my brow and then over my cheekbones, my ears, and the side of my neck. And then I was asleep.

. . . . .

It was before dawn. Three candles were still burning. Sam’s mouth closed over my cock and I woke up, my hips already moving. “Umm,” I murmured.

Sam slid up my body, rubbing himself on me, taking my face in both hands. “We’re sharing, right?” he asked.

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Then it’s my turn,” he said with a grin, and pushing up, he sat with the upturned, underside of my shaft wedged in the crevice of his mound, just like we’d done in Jason’s room and on the mountain. Sam grabbed my shoulders and started to drive with his hips until I began to moan. And then, without even taking his hands from my shoulders, he shifted his hips and suddenly I was slipping inside him, and Sam was backing down onto me. And when he settled completely onto me, he resumed pumping his hips.

Sam pumped forcefully, solidly; his eyes watching mine. My mouth dropped open, a small gasp escaped from my throat, and I clutched Sam’s sides. He did the driving, watching my face intently, watching my pleasure rise, my face grow flushed, my breath quicken.

Sam was a boy, and he needed to be a boy right off in our new relationship. We both knew that at some level. He was a boy when he came into Jason’s room and sat astride my hips, pumping for both of us. He was a boy when he did the same on Ypsilon Mountain. And he was a boy as he moved on me before dawn that morning.

I’ve heard of women getting aggressive in sex, but my impression has always been that it was usually to take their own pleasure. I don’t know; I never made love to a female. What I do know was that Sam took charge to give me pleasure; to give us both pleasure. And part of our pleasure was for me to surrender and let him drive.

My legs thrashed, my breath grew ragged, and I let the approach of my climax show in the tightening of my eyes. And then I arched under him, shooting, gasping.

Sam’s pumping reached a frenzy, and I stifled a cry as I pulsed and pulsed and went super sensitive; and still Sam pumped, throwing his head back with soft cries.

I arched higher, my whole body going rigid as Sam continued to pump and my sensitive crown short-circuited every nerve in my body. Sam seemed to be coming, and I wanted to let him finish. Another cry escaped my throat, and I clutched Sam’s sides, slowing him.

“Sam,” I gasped. “Sam…”

He slowed, his eyes dropping back to my face, his breath shallow like mine.

He stopped.

“The end of my cock, Sam… the crown,” I whispered through gritted teeth. “It gets real sensitive once I come.”

Sam nodded slightly. “Was it OK, though?” he asked in a whisper.

“Whoa, dude,” I said, and then smiled because I said ‘dude.’ Sam smiled, too.

Taking my hands from his waist, I ran them up and down his arms. “Damn, Sammy, when you take a turn, you really take a turn.”

Sam smiled, and bending down while still keeping me inside him, he kissed over my face, and then rubbed his cheek on mine.

“Shit, Sam… we’re going to have a hell of a good time learning how to do all this,” I said.

Sam chuckled. Lying down onto me, while keeping me inside, he nuzzled in behind my ear. “I love you, Timmy,” he whispered.

“Ah, Sam,” I whispered in return. “You always have. You were made for me just like I was made for you, remember?”

He nodded his head alongside mine. “Yes, I remember.”

. . . . .

We stayed in Sam’s room that entire first weekend, playing Phantom of the Opera and ‘sharing’ until our parts felt like they’d wear out. Dottie discreetly left trays of food outside the door, tapping lightly when she did. And then when we came downstairs hand-in-hand, late Sunday afternoon, Dottie happily fixed us supper as if everything was right in the world. She told us later that she knew, even then, that Sam and I would always be together.

Be sure to read Chapter 5, the epilogue; it really completes the story.

Emails are always appreciated at btomandback@hotmail.com