Feeling Seen, Pt. 01

Quentin sits idly in a folding chair on the floor of the basketball arena. He is one of thousands, a black dot in a sea of black dots, neatly organized in row after row. The mortarboard is uncomfortable, awkwardly stretching to accommodate wavy blond hair that prefers to flow down below his chin.

The gown presents the opposite problem, a billowing garment that begs the impossible question of what to wear beneath it. His friends joked about wearing nothing at all. He struggles to forget the idea. Proper clothing for such an occasion - a suit and tie - would leave him flush and sweaty by the time it was finally his turn to walk. Instead, he opts for the thinnest pair of khakis and the lightest collared shirt in his closet.

His fashion sense does him no favors. His lithe frame always looked best in tighter fitting attire. Now, however, each article absorbs the heat from the gown, warmed under the bright lights of the arena, and passes it through to his skin. He feels his clothes beginning to stick to him. The discomfort makes his pulse quicken, which only makes things worse.

Four years of college had flown by, yet these four hours of pomp and circumstance drag on for lifetimes, the dull monotony of the announcer practically daring graduates and families alike to fall asleep.

His program is the last to be called. Any sense of anticipation he felt this morning drifted away hours ago. At this point, he simply wants it to be over. He and his peers finally line up near the makeshift stage. This is worse than sitting. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to relieve the aching in his feet, caused by rarely worn dress shoes. They needed breaking in, but today was the wrong choice. Mercifully, his moment comes.

"Quentin Skylar James. Pre-Law," the emcee drones. He steps onto the stage and begins the long walk toward the dean. He takes the opportunity to look out at the crowd. Few people pay him any attention, but the eyes that do address him cause his heart to flutter. He has never been one to seek attention, but there is a certain thrill in being the star of the show, however brief or inconsequential it is.

The moment passes with no fanfare. A brief handshake with the dean, who hands him his diploma with a well-practiced smile and nod, and his spotlight is over.

He exits the far side of the stage, and makes his way back to his folding chair. He looks for his family in the stands and manages to spot them. His parents beam with pride, while his sister silently applauds with a soft smile. He appreciates that she came, flying cross-country to celebrate the occasion, returning the favor for Quinten having sat through the same ceremony for her last year. He gives them a broad smile and a thumbs up. Part of him feels apologetic that they made the trip just for the 30 seconds he spent walking across the stage.

The rest of the afternoon passes nondescriptly. Quinten takes some time to go back to his apartment alone, ditching his graduation gown to change into a fresh set of clothes. He lingers for a moment while completely undressed, enjoying the fresh air and freedom after a long day cooped up inside the gown and under the bright lights of the arena. He indulges in the moment of solitude and privacy, getting into his bed with nothing on, sinking into the cool touch of the soft sheets. It gives him a sense of peace that he can't quite explain, tinged with a hint of scandal, even though he's alone in his studio apartment. He briefly closes his eyes, only to be awoken by a phone call from his family, wondering what's taking him so long.

His family treats him to a nice dinner just off campus. He shares a couple of his cruder college memories, and they laugh. They talk about his summer, the last free one of his life before starting law school in the fall. He hopes to enjoy the break, perhaps travel a bit. At some point, he'll need to go apartment hunting in the city he'll be moving to. It will be a big moment, the furthest he's been from his family for any extended time. They try not to dwell on that thought for too long, but there's no denying it casts a shadow over the rest of the meal. Eventually, his parents and sister depart, setting out on the hour drive back to his hometown.

He returns to his apartment, exhausted. It's still fairly early in the evening, but he's ready to call it a night. He disrobes, and lays on the couch for a while in nothing but a pair of loose, flowy athletic shorts, scrolling through his phone mindlessly until he falls asleep. An hour later, his phone buzzes on his bare chest, jolting him out of his nap. Several of his friends are organizing a place to meet for drinks to celebrate their graduation. He's quite comfortable as is, but he knows there won't be many more chances to see everyone before they head their separate ways. He reluctantly throws on some decent clothes and heads out.

The bar isn't far from the restaurant, and he finds the group scrunched into a corner booth near the back. He orders a martini, for which his friends rib him lightheartedly. They call him posh, a play on his habit of ordering cocktails while they drink beers. It's also a reference to his Spice Girls fandom, a deep secret for which he was outed several years ago. He rolls his eyes instinctively, but laughs alongside them.

Those who don't know him well often assume he's gay. Insensitive as it is, it makes sense. He has always had a feminine sensibility, most of his closest friends are female, and he invests heavily in his appearance. Clothing, skincare, manicures. He checks all the stereotypical boxes.

And yet, he's exclusively slept with women throughout college. Only a handful, but still. Never a steady relationship, just the occasional tryst. He has even shared a night with a few of his friends at this very table. They're all very close, and he happily slips into the "one of the girls" mold, but he has been equally happy to bed them when the mood strikes. They trust him implicitly, and he's a generous lover, more than willing to service them with whatever part of his body they want.

His size has never been an issue. A few years in the dorm bathrooms showed him that he has nothing to be self conscious about. He has always had enough to satisfy the girls he has been with, though his friends love to talk about the mind bending sex they've had with the particularly well-hung men on campus. The topic comes up around the table tonight, his friends reminiscing over their conquests, lamenting the end of that era of their lives. A pang of jealousy eats at his stomach, though he's not sure what it's directed at.

After several drinks, he excuses himself to use the restroom. He is typically graceful, floating on light feet from years of sports. But he stumbles across the bar, the alcohol dulling his faculties. It isn't elegant, but he eventually reaches his destination.

The bar toes a line among the local nightlife scene. Depending on who you ask, it's the nicest of the gross bars, or the worst of the fancy ones. For Quinten and his friends, it works perfectly - decent drinks at decent prices. The catch is that it isn't the most stylish or cleanest facility. But, for a broke college student - or a recent grad - it's an acceptable trade-off.

He leans on the bathroom door to open it and makes his way to the urinal. As he looks down to unzip his pants, he notices feet in the stall closest to him, a couple of empty urinal stations separating them. A pair of large, expensive looking dress shoes, and a smaller pair of black stilettos. They're facing one another, and the heels of the stilettos are raised slightly in the air. The shins are bent forward, angled toward the other person.

Quinten's first instinct is to run. Even though it's a public restroom, it feels wrong - dirty, even - to be the uninvited third party. And yet, something about the scene compels him to stay. He stares at the high heels, balancing precariously on the toes of the shoes. The toes are dainty and pale, contrasted by the dark red shade of polish on the toenails. Of what little Quinten can see of the slender legs rising above the heels, he notices faint freckles dotting alabaster skin.

The bathroom plays the same music as the rest of the bar at a decent volume, but he can't help but hear the wet smacking and slurping noises coming from the stall. He finds himself holding his breath, straining to listen more closely. The woman seems unconcerned with maintaining any secrecy, clearly more than happy to engage in what sounds like particularly aggressive and sloppy work. Quinn pictures the scene in the stall, unsure of which role he's casting himself in.

Quinten is transfixed by the woman's boldness. It was one thing to follow a man into the men's restroom at a crowded bar. To then give loud, shameless head in a stall... he can't help but be impressed. Not to mention incredibly turned on.

The scene doesn't stop there. The woman changes position slightly, moving to squat in the corner of the stall. The man takes a half step towards her. The sounds inside the stall change. Sucking turns into a rhythmic gagging, and Quinten sees the woman's weight shift on her legs in the same rhythm. The wall of the stall begins to shake as well. The man grunts, and Quinten can just barely make out a hint of motion in his legs that suggests he's thrusting his cock into the woman's mouth.

Quinten feels guilty about continuing to watch, but the scene quickly changes again, and he follows along with rapt attention. The man backs away, while the woman stands up. With surprising grace, they reposition themselves, the woman now facing the stall door with the man standing behind her. Quinten wonders if they're preparing to leave, and he begins to panic at the possibility of being caught. Instead, he hears a soft, drawn-out moan in a feminine voice. His heart thumps hard enough that he can feel it throughout his body, including behind his quickly tightening boxers.

In the quiet interlude, he wonders if the couple know he's there. He hasn't done anything to hide - he's been frozen in place at the urinal since he first saw them - but he hopes the seven or eight feet between them is enough to keep them unaware. One thing is clear, though. If they have noticed him, they clearly don't care.

A gentle pulse begins to knock at the stall door. He hears the same feminine voice whispering.

"Oh fuck, baby," her ragged words are broken up as each thrust rattles her body. "Yes, fuck, me, oh, fuck, yes."

Quinten realizes he's masturbating, matching the rhythm coming from the stall. A rhythm that's quickly picking up steam. He knows he's in far too deep to try to escape the scene now.

"Yeah, you like that?" the man says, pounding harder still. Skin claps unabashedly - the pair are far too enthralled to bother with secrecy at this point. Quinten swoons at the bravery of it.

"Yes, yes, YES!" the woman cries, clearly reaching orgasm. He tips over the edge alongside her. "Give me your cum, baby. I know you're close," she pants. The man's powerful thrusts threaten to break the lock of the stall door.

The woman's words are the final straw. Quinten inadvertently obeys the demands she's giving the man, cumming into the urinal. The power of his own orgasm causes him to see stars, as rope after rope hits the porcelain in front of him. The woman moans incoherently, and Quinten hears himself joining her in a duet.

The man inside the stall speaks for the first time. "Oh fuck," he grunts as his rhythm slows, reducing to a handful of single thrusts. Quinten can practically feel the man's cum filling up the woman's wanting pussy. He looks down to see the woman's legs quivering, not unlike his own, as he empties the last of himself into the urinal.

Eventually, all three come to a stop. Quinten hears the woman whimpering as her orgasm fades slowly, while the man breathes heavily. As silence sets in, reality washes over him. He feels gross, perverted. The sexual thrill he was enjoying not thirty seconds ago is immediately replaced with guilt and shame. What has he just done? What kind of degenerate masturbates while spying on a couple having sex? He's never considered himself to be some sort of deviant, but the act of voyeurism he has just committed feels like a violation of decency. A panic attack knocks on the door of his psyche as his mind begins to perform the calculus of how to escape the bathroom unseen.

He has the advantage of positioning, in that he's closer to the bathroom door than the stall where the couple are beginning to sort themselves out. The linoleum tile is unlikely to do him any favors though, and leftover water on the floor - which he desperately hopes is from the janitor's mopping - will almost certainly give him away should he make even one wrong step.

With a deep, silent breath, Quinten puts his drained cock back in his pants and gingerly steps back from the urinal. He quietly slides toward the wall closest to the door, careful to notice any puddles before putting a foot down. Out of principle, guilt nudges him for not washing his hands, but the fear of being caught far outweighs his fear of germs at the moment.

He finally reaches the door, having avoided any slip ups or missteps. He pulls the door open and slips out. As the door closes behind him, he catches it, easing it into the frame to minimize any noise. Quinten stands in the dark, dingy hallway, triumphant. Guilt still has a stranglehold on his conscience, but the success of his escape buoys him.

As he turns to head back to his table, the need to pee - the thing that led him into the bathroom in the first place - washes over him with force. As much as he'd prefer to wait for the couple to exit the bathroom before he re-enters, the sensation overpowers him. Quinten figures that, so long as he truly did go unnoticed by the couple, there's no harm in going back in now. He hesitates for a moment, then pushes on the door to step back into the bathroom.

Head down, Quinten makes his way to a urinal, purposefully choosing a different one than the one he had been standing at previously. He relieves himself, flushes, and goes to wash his hands. The sink is directly in front of the stall, where he still sees all four legs. He also notices an arm - presumably the man's - reaching down to wipe something wet off the bathroom tile.

As he rinses, he glances up at the mirror. Over his shoulder, he can see the crack between the door and frame of the stall. Despite the limited vantage point, he thinks he catches the brief sight of a pale tit, as the woman quickly pulls the top of her dress over it. He looks back down, grabbing a paper towel off the countertop to dry his hands. He hears the stall door open behind him, and turns to leave.

"So, you like to watch, huh?" a deep voice asks.

Quinten's blood runs cold as the man addresses him. His body freezes, despite his brain urging his legs to continue walking. The tone of the question carries a dry sense of amusement. A beat of silence passes.

"Come on, kid," the man says. "Don't pretend you weren't just in here jacking off."

A wave of nauseating embarrassment crashes into Quinten, which he only just manages to choke down. His cheeks catch fire as his pulse reverberates in his ears. He's admittedly curious to see the couple in their entirety, but not like this. Not as the exposed pervert who stood and stared - and, well, did that - at two strangers fucking in a bathroom. Reluctantly, he turns to face the couple.

He's immediately floored by the collection of physical beauty in front of him.

The man towers over him, well over six foot, at least a head taller than Quinten's modest 5'7". A self-assured smirk sits firmly on his full lips. Deep brown eyes match his well-kempt hair, styled up to give him a few extra inches he certainly doesn't need. His tanned complexion is complemented by a well-fitted dark grey dress shirt and black jeans. Despite the long sleeves, Quentin can tell the man has a muscular, athletic build.

The woman leans against the man as she adjusts her shoes, looking mildly annoyed. Quinten can't tell whether her ire is directed at him, her shoes, or the idea of loitering in a dirty men's restroom. All fair gripes.

Regardless of her temperament, Quinten is struck by her unique beauty. Dark red hair hangs in loose curls, stopping an inch or two beneath her shoulders. She's pale and freckled, her cheeks, nose and shoulders all adorned with the light brown dots of pigment. Her eyes, glaring as they are, shine a jade green he has never seen before. He finds himself entirely transfixed, paralyzed, enraptured by her. He had felt unnaturally drawn to her when he first noticed the couple in the stall, and that feeling only grows now as he drinks her in her entirety. It's an odd feeling - not quite arousal, but something at least as powerful.

"You want to say anything for yourself?" the man asks. The smooth, rich tone pulls him away from his gawking.

"I, uh, I didn't notice..." he stutters.

The man laughs and raises a thick eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think so," he says, crossing his arms. "Try again."

Quinn wants to curl up and die. He stares down at his feet, hoping a sinkhole might open up and swallow him whole.

"Oh leave him alone," the woman says in a lyrical, lilting voice, having finally sorted her shoes out and now standing up straight. "We're the ones fucking in a dirty bar bathroom."

The man continues to face Quinten, but his posture softens. "Fair point."

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" the woman asks, addressing Quinten with a tinge of concern in her voice. He hesitates at first, before slowly raising his head to look her in the eye, inadvertently tracing her figure as he does so. She's the picture of femininity. The slim, creamy legs he had gotten a preview of run upward toward the hem of her bright red minidress, which ends scandalously close to the bottom of her hips. The dress hugs her tightly, gripping her wafer-thin figure until it relents right above her chest. The neckline is straight across, minimizing cleavage in a way that looks at odds with the more provocative bottom of the dress.

She reaches out to touch his arm. Her slender fingers send sparks through his body.

"Y... yeah. I'm okay. I'm just... I'm sorry." The words are sincere, if not terribly eloquent. "I shouldn't have, well, yeah."

She chuckles. "Everyone has their kinks. Why do you think we're in here?"

Her nonchalance startles him. He glances at the man, who has dropped the tough guy act - a very convincing one, in Quinten's opinion - and now matches her lightheartedness.

"Yeah," the man chimes in, sounding friendlier than he had a moment earlier. "When you get off by having sex where people might see you, you kind of have to expect this kind of thing to happen." He shares a conspiratorial grin with the woman. "But we don't usually get such... enthusiastic viewers."

Quinten blushes again. "That's not... I don't usually..." Meaningful sentences still escape him. They couple give him teasing looks, and he falls short of finding words to finish the sentence.

As the couple move to leave the bathroom, the woman turns back to face him.

"Maybe we'll see you around, kid," she gives him a soft but suspicious smile, then glances down at his groin. "Don't be afraid to... say hi." She and the man laugh.

The man gives Quinten a wink. "We do love an audience."

He puts his arm around her, and the two walk out of the bathroom together. No sneaking, no hiding. Quinten watches the woman as she strides confidently back into the bar. Everything about her - from her body to her clothing to her very essence - burns itself into his mind.

He stumbles back to the booth to find his friends. They eye him quizzically, some amused, some concerned. They probably all assume he went to puke. Better they think that than know the truth. He sits in the booth for the rest of the night glassy eyed. He tries to laugh and keep up with the conversations as they spiral into drunken nothingness, but his mind is glued to what happened in the bathroom. The sex, the orgasm, the beautiful and confounding couple. None of it makes sense. None of it is him. He's a confident enough guy, not some pervy voyeur. Masturbating in a bar bathroom is degenerate behavior; he's heading to law school in a few months. His head spins for the rest of their evening at the bar - his pants working hard to hold him in place as a manic energy continues to rush through him.

As his friend group begins to go their separate ways for the night, Quinten finds himself sitting on a park bench on campus with Tash, his closest friend throughout college. It's late, at least midnight. These moments aren't rare between the two of them. They're opportunities for the kinds of deep conversations that go until sunrise, tongues loosened by a night of drinking.

In the same way Quinten stands out as the only male in the friend group, Tash stands out for her tomboyishness. She leans confidently into a level of androgyny Quinten has always admired, and often envied. They stand roughly the same height, and share the same trim, fit build. As he's gotten to know her, Tash has opted for loose, gender-neutral clothes and sports bras, minimizing her femininity for both comfort and aesthetic. In truth, they've slowly trended toward the other's stereotypical gender sensibilities, down to her jet black pixie cut, in contrast to Quinten's flowing blond hair.

For as much as they love their friend group, Quinten and Tash have always been the two oddities for onlookers. A handful of beautiful young women, and a couple of relatively gender-ambiguous tagalongs. They've grown to revel in their uniqueness, and confide in each other more than anyone else in their lives.

Quinten wonders whether to share tonight's experience with her.

"Man, it's crazy, right?" Tash says. Quinten feels guilty that he hasn't been more tuned in. His head bobs in mindless agreement, but she isn't fooled.

"Have you heard a word I've been saying?" she asks. She's not mad; Quinten has seen that before, and tries hard to avoid it. There's concern in her eyes as he pulls himself out of the stupor he keeps drifting into.

"Sorry, Tash. Weird night," he says wearily. It's more of a lead into the topic than he intended.

"What do you mean, weird?" she asks, studying his face.

"I uh," he weighs the danger of wading into these waters. "I saw something happen at the bar."

Tash raises an eyebrow. "As in?"

Quinten takes a deep breath before continuing. "It was when I went to the bathroom. There were some people in there. In the stall. Together."

Now both of her eyebrows are raised. "No way, were they..."

Quinten's face contorts in a way that answers her question.

"Holy shit," Tash exclaims, trying to keep her voice down. "Did you actually see them?"

The guilt and shame wash over him again.

"Kinda," Quentin treads carefully. "I could only see their feet. I could definitely hear them though." He tries to laugh it off but Tash doesn't buy it.

"Was it, like, hot?" Tash asks.

Quinten's heart is pounding again. Talking through the details gives him a rush he's been craving since he left the bathroom. His skin burns as he shrugs a shoulder, tilting his head in an embarrassed affirmation..

Tash's wonder morphs into a devious smile. "Interesting. That seems like the kind of thing you'd be into," she teases.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Quinten retorts. The words sound more indignant than he intended. He winces when Tash flinches at his response.

She pauses a beat, looking upward, clearly searching for the right words.

She looks him in the eye, lowering her voice to speak with a more thoughtful tone. "It's just... you're pretty tough to figure out. You don't date. You don't even really talk about that kind of thing, even when everyone else is. You tend to get kind of... I don't know... distant?"

She's right. His proclivities have rarely been a topic of conversation among his friends. Not for a lack of caring on their part - he just doesn't seek out that kind of attention. Being the one guy in the group makes it a bit tougher as well. As far as he knows, none of them are aware of each other's experiences with him. On the rare occasions his dating life does come up, he finds himself fielding knowing glances from several of the girls at once. He's learned to remain as vague as possible to avoid confrontation.

He considers Tash's original point. Obviously he had... enjoyed secretly watching and listening to the couple in the stall, but the thrill hadn't come from being the unseen third party. It was from putting himself in their shoes, having their brashness and self assuredness. It occurs to him that he's never mentioned sleeping with anyone to her. To be fair, Tash has a habit of playing her cards close to her chest as well. Quinten knows she's sexually active - and pretty open-minded, based on what little he's heard - but she's never been one to kiss and tell. It's the one bridge they never cross in their many deep conversations.

"Labeling me as a voyeur still feels like a bit of a jump," Quinten says.

"But you admit you get off watching people have sex?" she asks.

"Well, I mean, I did, but not because I just like to watch," He's getting flustered. Tash reads him like a book.

"Wait, did you, like, actually get off in there?" she asks in a whisper, wide eyed.

Quinten wonders if she can see how deeply he's blushing in the dark. He's past the point of no return. No reason to start lying now.

He sighs deeply, which is all the confirmation Tash needs.

"No fucking way!" she yelps, immediately putting her hand over her mouth. "You jacked off while they were doing it?"

Shame begins to burn through what little composure he still has. He can't look Tash in the face.

"Holy shit, Quinn." She's the only person who calls him that, despite four years of his protests. "That's just... holy shit." Tash's voice trails off, and they sit in silence for a moment.

Quinten puts his head in his hands. He's mortified, both at what he did in the bar and at the fact that he's apparently admitting to a perversion he didn't even know he had a couple of hours ago.

Tears well in his folded arms for a short while. Eventually, an arm drapes over him. He looks up to see Tash looking down at him with concern.

"What's wrong?" she asks with genuine curiosity.

"I'm not... Am I some sort of freak?" he questions through bleary eyes. He's unsure if he wants an answer.

She's quiet for longer than he'd like. "Well, no," she finally replies, clearly tiptoeing to find the right words. "Maybe it's a kink, and there are a thousand of those under the sun. If you aren't interested in having sex yourself, it makes sense that you'd still get off on watching others." The words are measured, logical. Thoughtful, if misguided.

"Tash," Quinten says, tears subsiding, "I'm not asexual,"

"Oh," she replies, suddenly sounding a bit flustered. "But you're a virgin, right?"

"No."

"Seriously? And you never told me?" she asks with incredulity. "With who?"

Quinten takes a long pause.

"Bri," he mumbles, looking down at his feet again. "Jodie, Liz..."

"You're fucking kidding me," Tash says. He doesn't have to look to know she's staring at him, mouth agape.

"... Sam, Cassie," he ticks the final names off of his mental list, his conscience already eating at him for exposing the secrets.

Now it's Tash's turn to sit silently for a moment. It feels like hours.

"Jodie and Cassie are pretty good in bed, aren't they?" she finally says casually.

Quinten's head snaps to look at Tash, who is only barely able to hold in a grin.

"Bri was a bit of a bore," she continues with a feigned nonchalance. "What were Liz and Sam like?"

Quinten is speechless. Tash tries to stay in character a moment longer, looking at her nails with faux disinterest. The facade cracks, and she giggles. It's a girlier sound that he's ever heard from her before.

"They were, uh..." Quinten stammers. "You've slept with some of them too?"

Tash sighs, "Yeah, after a couple of nights at the bars. It was never serious or anything, just the kind of college experimenting you see in shitty movies."

She looks skyward wistfully. "Man... Cassie really knows how to eat pussy for a straight girl."

Her crudeness shocks him, and he snorts a laugh. Tension starts to melt from his shoulders.

She turns to him with excitement. "So you've banged some of them too, then?" The term makes him squirm, but he nods. "Do tell," she encourages him with a dramatic flair.

"Maybe we should go to your place if you want to talk about this," Quinten suggests.

"Are you just trying to get me into bed?" Tash asks with feigned indignity, followed by a teasing wink. Quinten rolls his eyes, but his pulse quickens anyways.

With a light laugh, Tash sticks her elbow out, inviting Quinten to link arms. He rises to meet her, and they begin to make their way down the sidewalk, a few blocks from Tash's apartment.

"But seriously, what were they like?" Tash presses.

"I mean, they were all good. We didn't do anything wild, I guess." Quinten has never spoken about his sex life out loud, and he fumbles through it. "Jodie was fun, she uh... she gives incredible head." His own words sound so gross, so fratty, they almost make him sick. "Ugh, do we really have to talk about this?"

Tash shakes her head voraciously.

"You're a perv... okay, fine." Quinten decides to sprint through a recap - trying to rip off the band-aid. "Jodie does this thing with her tongue. I don't even know what it is, but it definitely... worked."

Tash stares at him, enraptured. So he continues.

"Cassie was probably the best one. She swallows, which is pretty hot. Really loves doggystyle too."

Still no words from Tash, but her eyes beg him to keep going. Quinten sighs and obliges.

"Liz was kind of a weird thing. She'd just broken up with Jackson, and kind of begged me to do it with her. It was okay, but it felt a bit forced, like she was doing it to get back at him."

Tash's face gets a bit more serious, but she dips her head slightly to push him onward.

"Sam was pretty interesting. She's into some bondage type of stuff. Handcuffed and blindfolded me at first. Then really wanted me to be rough. I did my best, but come on, look at me." He gestures at his narrow frame.

Tash smiles wickedly at that one.

"Bri, ah," Quinten struggles to find the right words. "She was my first time. I obviously had no idea what I was doing. She made me feel comfortable, talked me through it. Oh, and she squirted, so that was interesting."

Tash coughs in shock. They stop walking briefly, and Quinten looks at her, still trying to judge her reaction.

She finally recovers. "Wow, Quinn. You really get around, you slut! Who knew?"

Quinten blushes again, but not entirely out of shame for once. Finally through his list, he turns the tables, asking Tash questions of his own.

"So when you guys sleep together, what do you... like... actually do?" It's a fairly indelicate question, but he's never actually seen lesbian sex.

"Well, depends on the girl," Tash says, turning her head away as if she can see an answer in the distance. "Like I said, Cassie made me cum just from eating me out, which I'd never had happen. Big fan of that." Quinten laughs, leaning into Tash, enjoying the warmth and brazen openness of his best friend.

"Bri was kind of awkward. She told me like fifteen times that she'd never been with a girl before. It's like, 'Damn, just relax. I'll finger you and eat you out like any guy would.' Only difference is I know how the machinery works down there firsthand."

Quinten can't help but match Tash's devious grin. They're breaking new ground in the content of their conversation, but the shared energy remains the same.

"Jodie, though," Tash continues, her tone suddenly shifting. "She was something else. That one felt real. No one else ever really made me feel sexy or wanted in bed. She kind of took care of me. With everyone else, it felt like they were coming to me, asking me to show them a good time. Which, cool, I'm more than happy to do that if they really want it. But with Jodie, it felt like we were rowing the boat together, if that makes any sense."

Quinten nods silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hint of a tear at the edge of Tash's eye. She doesn't cry nearly as easily as he does, so the sight startles him.

"She said it was her first time with a girl, but she wasn't weird about it like Bri. She asked what I liked and tried it out. I kind of walked her through the basics - fingering, eating out, scissoring - and she picked it all up like a natural. By the end of the night, she even tried to fuck me with a strap-on I'd only ever used on other girls... and a couple guys. That was a bit of a mess, but we both laughed it off"

Quinten's eyes go wide at the thought of the tall, full-figured blonde fucking Tash. His blood pumps faster still.

"More than anything else though, she just made me feel special. She called me sexy, kissed me a ton, slept in my arms. It was just... nice."

They walk in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder.

"So," Tash finally says, "now that I know you actually fuck, have you been with guys?"

"No," he responds simply.

"Do you... want to?"

That's a question Quinten has been grappling with for years. He's spent dozens of sleepless nights piecing together an answer to what should be a fairly straightforward yes or no.

The mental image of him fucking a man - or vice versa - doesn't strike him strongly either way. The idea isn't repugnant, but he also wouldn't call it a fantasy. He finds himself attracted to plenty of men, typically the same ones his friends fawn over. Some guys have bought him drinks, and he experiments with flirting, but he has always politely declined invitations to go home with anyone. It's never felt right.

"I... I don't know. It's complicated," he admits. He can hear the frustration in his words, and hurries to keep talking, not wanting Tash to feel like she's done something wrong by asking.

"It's like... If I look at myself in the mirror, I don't dream about that guy having sex with another guy." He speaks in stream of consciousness, hoping he can arrive at an answer that has evaded him in private. The words sound awkward in his head, and Tash's face mirrors his own confusion. So he continues, searching blindly for the right words.

"In the bathroom tonight, the couple caught me," he admits. Tash's eyes go wide, but she doesn't interject.

"Both of them were ridiculously hot. Like, I don't know, pornstar hot," he recalls, mentally retracing the perfect physiques and stunning features of the man and woman.

"The girl in particular, I've never seen someone like her. She was...," he trails off, losing his train of thought as he pictures the freckles and red hair, the tight red dress holding her tits in place.

"Hello?" Tash says, elbowing him lightly in the rib. Quinten snaps back to reality.

"She... she had this pair of stilettos on. I could see them under the stall, facing him for a bit when she was sucking his dick, then turned around while he fucked her."

He takes a deep breath, seeing the off ramp for his thoughts.

"I wanted to be her. I wanted to be in her high heels, getting fucked in the bar bathroom."

The words hang in the air. As crude as the statement sounds, part of him is proud for landing on words that felt accurate. Even an hour ago, he never could have had this conversation, even with Tash. But now, it feels like a clogged drain has been unplugged. Ideas that had teased him at the edges of his consciousness now stand starkly defined in his mind.

He looks at Tash, who chews on the inside of her cheek as she considers the riddle.

"So, do you think you're trans? Or do you want to transition?" He can see her cringe slightly, knowing her words aren't as elegant as they should be.

"I... I don't think so. I still like who I am. I just also want to be... her."

They've reached the door of her apartment complex. It feels like a weird place to end the conversation.

"I think I kind of get that," Tash says slowly. "I mean it's sort of the opposite, but I know the feeling of wanting to be someone else, but not wanting to go all the way."

She's right. If anyone knows about gender-fluidity, it's Tash. Over their four years of college, she has slowly drifted toward presenting as a male more often than not, but she doesn't minds leaning into her natural femininity when it serves a purpose. Such is the case today. Her simple, loose black dress was a logical choice to combat the oppressive heat of the graduation robes. An errant thought crosses Quinten's mind that he should have considered something similar.

There's an awkward moment as they stand at the entrance to Tash's building. She breaks the silence.

"I think you should come upstairs, maybe spend the night?" she offers.

It isn't a weird request on its own. Quinten has slept over at her place plenty of times after nights out. This feels different though. They've revealed more of themselves to one another than Quinten had ever imagined possible. It's been freeing, but there's no denying their relationship has changed forever.

But he doesn't want to be alone right now. So he steps forward with her, still arm in arm. Tash smiles gently, and opens the door to the building, pulling Quinten inside.

The apartment is small, a single-bedroom on the top floor of the building. He knows the main room well, the neutral tone of the college apartment aesthetic, punctuated by a diverse set of posters of Tash's favorite bands and artists. It's an eclectic mix, Lady Gaga alongside the Clash, BTS next to Led Zeppelin. The chaotic combinations suit Tash to a tee.

A well-worn couch lies against the far wall. It's been an impromptu bed for Quinten on countless occasions. Not the comfiest sleeping spot, but spending the night at Tash's usually meant they'd either had a great time at the bars, or were deep into some philosophical conversation that had veered in too many directions for too many hours.

Tash puts her keys and phone on the kitchen countertop and turns to face Quinten. "I'm not very tired yet, are you?" she asks. Quinten finds the question odd, but the adrenaline of these profound confessions is still coursing through his veins.

"Nah, I'm pretty wide awake," he replies.

Tash grins at him. "Do you want to try something kind of weird?"

Quinten raises his eyebrows. He wonders what kind of trap he's been lured into.

"You... said you wanted to be the girl in the bathroom, right?" she asks tentatively.

He nods slowly, hesitantly, starting to guess where she's going.

"Have you ever actually... tried it? Crossdressed?" Her follow-up question is a bit quicker, with more excitement in her voice.

"I, uhh... no?" Quinten stammers. It's certainly crossed his mind before, but he's never actually invested in women's clothes or makeup. A wayward spark of excitement tickles the hairs on his neck.

"I mean, this seems as good a time as ever, doesn't it?" Tash suggests playfully. "You just told me you want to be a hot chick who gets fucked in bathroom stalls. I think I can help you with that. We're probably about the same size."

Her words are crude, but they're all true. A flame begins to stoke inside of him.

"Holy shit you're red," she giggles. "Come on, I've spent years figuring out how to make myself look less like a girl, how hard can it be to do the opposite for you?"

Quinten stands frozen in place. Too many emotions fight against each other. Excitement clashes with doubt. Curiosity wrestles with shame. Desire grapples with self-consciousness. His very identity feels fragile right now. One night has put his entire sense of self under a microscope, reexamining every facet of who he thinks himself to be. And now his best friend in the world stands before him, gesturing him toward her bedroom, toward something unknown, a part of himself that simply hasn't existed before, or at least has never seen the light of day. But he trusts her. Silly and crass as she can be, Tash has only ever made him feel safe, loved, and seen. Like never before, he needs those things.

Quinten closes his eyes and exhales deeply. He opens his eyes, and takes Tash's outstretched hand.

"Oh my god, this is going to be so much fun," Tash exclaims, her face lighting up the room. Nervous as he is, Quinten thinks she might be right.

Tash leads him into the bedroom, flipping the lights on as they enter. Quinten has only set foot in here once, when he walked through the apartment with Tash right after she had signed her lease. It's nice, nothing fancy. A plush queen bed dominates the room. Blackout curtains frame a wide window that faces the campus. A small dresser sits in the corner, its finish neatly matching the two bedside tables.

Tash opens the door to her closet. It's impressive for a student apartment, a full walk-in that opens to the bathroom on its far end. Quinten has never noticed this before, but it seems an odd design choice. Tash starts to leaf through hangers, her eyes darting from each piece to Quinten and back again. She tosses several articles on the ground, Quinten presumes that to be a sign she deems them worthy options. He bends over to examine the various pieces of clothing she is haphazardly laying out for him. Goosebumps flare across his skin.

For someone who likes to lean into her masculinity, Tash has some exceptionally feminine clothing. A navy miniskirt, bright pink leggings, and a pair of black leather jeans make up one pile. Another stack includes a black crop-top hoodie, a silver-sequined halter top, and a patterned polo, thick blue and white broken stripes criss-crossing the shirt up to its stark white collar.

A third pile features several pairs of shoes. Some tan ballet flats, a white ankle-high boot... and a pair of black stilettos not unlike the ones the woman wore in the bathroom. Quinten glances up at Tash, who smiles wryly at him.

"Yeah, I thought you might be interested in those," she says teasingly. Quinten has no response other than to blush.

Lastly, she lays out two dresses. One is a floor length gown Quinten recalls her wearing to a formal a year or two ago. It's a blue-green iridescent number, with some fake crystal patterns on the bodice. He remembers having complimented her on it at the time.

The second dress surprises him. He's certainly never seen Tash wear it. A black, lace minidress, designed with a corset top and a flared bottom, resembling some sort of gothic tutu. He tries to imagine what she might look like in it, and comes up with nothing.

"That one was a gift from Tyler," she says, rolling her eyes.

Quinten is shocked out of his focus. "And you kept it?" he asks with amusement. Tash shoots him a flat look, and he laughs.

The Tash - still Natasha at the time - Quinten met almost four years ago was a far cry from the person standing in the closet with him now. She was a preppy girl, a high school cheerleader. Brunette hair had hung down to her shoulder blades, and it was rare to see her without a facefull of makeup. Tyler had been the perfect stereotypical equivalent: a tall, handsome baseball player, moving into the dorms on the back of a prom king coronation the spring before, something he mentioned with stunning regularity.

Quinten had wrestled with his own thoughts about Tyler while they lived together. He was hot, there was no question there. Perhaps a bit dull and vain, but a generally decent guy. It was the first time Quinten had thought hard about his sexuality. In his mind, there was a hint of scandal at the idea of the two of them living together, though the idea was completely unfounded. They were cordial, if not particularly close. What became apparent early on, however, was that Tyler would need the dormroom to himself... a lot. Between Tyler's looks and the general fervor of raging hormones in the building, a night rarely went by when Quinten didn't come home to a sock on the doorknob. He had done his best to be observant and respectful of his roommate's privacy, but accidents still happened.

There was a night when Quinten had come back to the dorms after one of his first off-campus parties. There was, as usual, a sock conspicuously hanging from the doorknob, but this time Quinten was just drunk enough to get mad about it. In his inebriated state, he unlocked the door and walked in, ready to cause a scene for no good reason.

He saw the dark silhouette of a girl bouncing up and down on the lofted bunk opposite of Quinten's. He froze, unable to move or make a sound. The girl was moaning, her voice only barely louder than the quiet squeaking of the bed springs.

"Yes, baby. Oh fuck that feels good," she whispered, unconvincingly in Quinten's opinion. Tyler didn't make a noise, and the pacing sounded awkward, lacking a steady rhythm. Still paralyzed, he watched silently as the girl continued to ride his roommate's cock. As his eyes adjusted, he could see long brown hair draped down her back, her head tipped up and eyes closed.

They kept going for another minute or so, before the door to the room swung open violently. Quinten had apparently forgotten to lock the door behind him when he entered.

"Tyler, what the fuck?" a girl's voice screamed from the doorway. Quinten jumped in shock as the lights flipped on. The girl in the bed stopped, but didn't turn to face them.

Tyler craned his neck to look around the girl's naked torso, eyes wide with shock.

"Oh, uh, Nat. Shit. This isn't... fuck." Tyler moved to address her more fully, his dick still buried in the other girl's pussy. He didn't get far. It was every dumb college movie Quinten had ever seen, playing out in front of him in real time.

"Fuck you, Tyler, you asshole!" the girl beside him yelled, not even acknowledging him. She started to cry and ran out of the room. Quinten was completely lost. Without thinking, he found himself following her for no particular reason.

She had made it all the way outside of the dorm building by the time Quinten caught up with her, weeping quietly on a park bench. He sat down beside her, unsure on how to try and console this girl he had never met. All he could do was sit quietly. Eventually, she settled down, drying her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of wet mascara behind.

"I... I'm sorry about that," he said, cringing at his own awkward words.

The girl sighed, still looking down at the ground. "It's, uh... thanks." Somehow, her disjointed statement was the perfect reply to his own.

"I swear, I wasn't, like, trying to watch or anything. I walked in right before you did," Quinten tried to explain himself. The girl looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm Quinten," he offered, trying to reset the conversation. "You're... Nat?" He thought that was what Tyler had said.

"Do not call me that," the girl replied sharply, causing him to wince. She sighed again, composing herself. "Sorry, that was his nickname," she said, vaguely gesturing up at the dorm building. "It's Natasha, or... honestly, anything other than Nat."

Quinten took a shot at lightening the mood. "How about Tash?" he said.

She gave him a puzzled look in return, but then reconsidered. "Okay, Tash it is," she said with a small smile. "As long as I can call you Quinn."

Quinten balked. He had always hated the name. It felt a bit too feminine, a battle he'd been fighting for years even without a name to match. But he figured it wasn't worth debating with a girl who had just walked in on her boyfriend cheating on her.

Still, he sighed to mark his protest. "Sure, Quinn works." He could already see a touch of wicked pride in Tash's face, knowing she had struck a friendly blow.

They sat on the bench and talked until the sun started to rise.

"It's a funny reminder. Insane to think there was a time I might have actually worn something like that," she remarks. "But it might look great on you!" she adds with a cheesy grin. Quinten rolls his eyes.

"Alright, missy. What do you want to start with? What speaks to your womanly soul?" Tash asks with a flourish. Quinten can tell she's loving every second of this. For all of the thoughts swirling in his head, her playfulness relaxes him.

His mind runs through the potential combinations. He has always had a decent eye for his own fashion, but this is a completely different endeavor. Hesitantly, he reaches for two articles: the navy skirt and the crop top hoodie.

Tash frowns. "Yeah, no," she says, snatching the hoodie away from him. "If you're going for the skirt, you need this one." She tosses him the polo. While he doesn't enjoy being corrected, he's grateful for the help in this particular circumstance. He eyes the two pieces. It'll be a very preppy look - likely something Tash would have worn her freshman year and never touched again- but it's the closest to the business casual outfit he's been wearing all day. The least risky.

"Would you like some privacy?" Tash offers. Quinten nods. "Okay, you can just close the bathroom door. Oh, take these with you too!" She picks up the ballet flats and hands them to Quinten. He's feeling slightly overwhelmed all of a sudden, but he takes the shoes nonetheless and closes the bathroom door behind him.

Quinten looks at himself in the mirror. He's grateful he shaved in the afternoon before going out for dinner. Setting the outfit down on the closed toilet seat, he runs his hands under the faucet, splashing some cold water on his face and running his hand through his wavy blond hair. With enough work, he can imagine being able to style it similar to Jodie's.

With a deep breath, he begins to disrobe. He eyes his figure as he slips off his pants and shirt, trying to see his body through a feminine lens. His legs look good, if a little hairy. His ass is a bit on the flat side - years of avoiding squats in the gym - but it's tight at least. Abs have always been a source of pride for him; he's kept a flat stomach and a faint six-pack since high school, mostly from swimming. Looking at it now, though, he worries that the definition might be a bit too masculine for his liking. His biggest concern is his upper body. He's not some barrel-chested strongman, but he fears how broad his shoulders might look in Tash's clothes.

He's now down to his boxer briefs. He considers removing these as well, but he figures he can roll them up enough to not peek out under the skirt. Plus, they'll keep him tucked in, the thought of which makes him twitch in anticipation.

There's no more preamble, no going back now. With a shaky hand, he reaches for the skirt. It's incredibly soft, almost satin-like - the type of neatly pleated material one might see on a country club tennis court. He brushes his fingers across the pleats, enjoying the texture. The material is stretchy and doesn't have a zipper, so he sets it beneath him and steps into it. The elastic protests at his hips, but he has no issues pulling it all the way up. It sits snug, but comfortably. The length surprises him; the hem dances against his skin much higher than he thought it might. He can easily see several inches of his underwear poking out beneath it. He purposely avoids looking at himself in the mirror for now. He wants to save his first impression for the complete package.

He grabs the shirt next. It's not all that different than the polos he owns, the only differences being the tighter cut, shorter sleeves, and deeper button up collar, which extends almost to the bottom of his pecs. As he slips it on, a piece of him is disappointed that it feels so familiar. The sensation of the rough fabric tight against his sides is new, though, and he relishes in it.

He hears rustling on the other side of the door.

"Relax, Tash. I'm almost done," he says as he reaches for the flats.

"Sorry, I'm just so excited to see you! You're going to look so cute!"

His skin flushes for the hundredth time tonight. He hasn't even looked at himself yet, but he does feel kind of... pretty.

The noises on the other side of the door stop, and he finishes pulling the shoes over his feet. It's the tightest fit of any article so far, but he makes it work.

With the whole outfit on, he takes a long pause before looking at the mirror. The moment feels massive. This is more than just dress-up for the fun of it. He wants this. He wants to look good. He closes his eyes and stands up straight. Before he looks at himself, he tries to pop his hip to one side, hoping it might make him look just a touch more feminine.

He opens his eyes, and lightning strikes him.

Someone looks back at him, someone he partly recognizes. Hair, eyes, legs, arms - they're all the same ones that had been in the mirror a few minutes ago. But now, it's as if everything has just... softened. This new person casts shadows of Quinten, but the shapes have all changed. What were once rigid lines are now gentle arcs. There's a sense of lightness, like someone turned down the gravity in the apartment. The colors in the shirt and skirt are a tinge brighter than they were just a moment ago, the same oceanic blue of the irises staring back through the mirror.

Quinten's heart races in disbelief at the blonde, preppy 20-something smiling softly, shyly, back at him. A surprising sense of euphoria overcomes him. It changes him in the blink of an eye.

His eyes immediately dart to his shoulders, and his greatest fears are assuaged. They're a little on the broad side, but it's not distracting. He's built like a particularly athletic girl, which he's more than okay with.

He beams with pride. Of course, his face and hair are unchanged, but he knows those will be the easiest things to adapt. He looks forward to it.

The last thing is to roll up his boxers. As he reaches down, he realizes for the first time just how turned on he is. His dick is rock hard, pinned against his pubic bone by the tight underwear. He accidently drags a finger over the shaft and nearly cums right then and there.

As he begins to roll the fabric up, he hears a knock on the door.

"Yes?" he says.

"Sorry, I forgot to give you these," she replies, her voice muffled.

Quinten turns around to see Tash's arm sticking out from behind the door. In her hand is a thong. His heart skips a beat.

"Are you kidding?" he asks. He can't decide if he hopes she is or not.

"All or nothing," she says in a singsong voice, shaking the lacy pink underwear to draw his attention, as if he isn't already fixated on them. Before he can respond, Tash tosses the panties at him with shocking accuracy. He catches them and runs his fingers over the fabric.

Neon pink elastic runs across the entirety of the garment, framing darker pink lace that makes up the covering portions on the front and back. It's not quite a g-string, but it certainly doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Quinten's biggest concern is how the dainty article can hold all of him in place, a task that's becoming more onerous with each thumping heartbeat.

Still, his interest is piqued enough that he can't refuse the opportunity. He quickly removes his own underwear, flicking them away hastily with the toe of the flats, and pulls on the thong. It's tight, but like the skirt, the elastic gives him just enough leeway to pull the waistband over his hips. He takes a moment to wrestle with the limited fabric, trying to figure out what feels comfortable against the sensitive areas. The ultimate answer is nothing feels perfect, but he eventually manages to get the lacey front of the thong to pin his aching cock up against his body. It's not that much different than what his boxers were doing, just with a much higher degree of difficulty.

He examines the effect in the mirror. It looks awkward, the underwear bulging unnaturally to fit a package it's not used to concealing. A surge of something runs over him - something he wants. Seeing the one sign of his manhood held in check by something delicate and feminine is validating. It feels right.

Dropping the skirt back down, Quinten does a final check in the mirror. He takes one more second to tousle his hair a bit, trying to give it a little bit of extra volume to frame his face. His heart beats out of his chest as he turns to open the closet door.

"You ready?" he asks hesitantly.

"I've literally never been more ready for anything in my life," Tash's voice calls out.

One more deep breath, and Quinten steps through the door.

Tash stares at him, mouth hanging open. Quinten can't quite place her reaction, but her silence lingers long enough that he starts to get nervous. Tash finally blinks.

"QUINN! OH MY GOD! YOU LOOK SO, FUCKING. CUTE!" Tash squeals in delight. He's never seen her this excited - this girly - before. Her joy makes him feel even lighter on his feet, and takes a couple of steps forward, trying to find a gait that fits the identity growing inside of him.

She jumps off the bed to meet him as he comes through the closet. She's changed as well, trading her actual dress for a long, baggy t-shirt that hangs like one. In the back of his mind, he questions what she has on underneath.

Tash bounds forward, embracing him in a deep hug, then pulling away to eye the completed ensemble. "See? I told you this was the right combo!" He rolls his eyes at her preening, but they both laugh.

She runs a hand over the pleats of the skirt. "Don't you just love how this feels?" He nods, and then wiggles his hips to make the skirt twirl a little bit, which sends Tash into a tizzy. He finds himself giggling, a feminine trill in his voice.

As she continues to toy with the fabric, a finger happens to graze Quinten's cock. He gasps slightly as she wrenches her hand back.

"Sorry! Sorry! I swear that was an accident," she apologizes.

"No, I, uh, no. It... feels good," he responds awkwardly.

Tash raises an eyebrow. She continues to grin broadly, but a shade of wickedness flashes across her face.

"How does the thong feel?" she asks excitedly. She gestures at Quinten's groin with her eyes.

"It's, uh, a little bit uncomfortable. But I kind of like it, I think?" He's pretty sure that's his honest answer.

Tash's eyes light up. She whispers, "Can... can I see it?"

In a night full of firsts for their relationship, this would be the biggest. Despite all of the late nights, the sleepovers, the deep talks, they had never been intimate with each other. Never even incidentally seen the other one naked. It wasn't for a lack of interest - at least from Quinten's perspective - sex had always been a bit of a third rail as a general topic. Now however, that rail has been grounded and thoroughly obliterated.

Quinten feels his palms get sweaty, but he slowly reaches down and pulls the skirt up. His cock strains against the pink lace. It feels like it might pop free at any second.

"Oh," Tash murmurs, her smile dropping from her face. "Wow."

Quinten's mind is a blast of static. There's too much happening to process, too many desires and fears and questions all at once. He watches his friend's face, once again trying to read her emotions.

"You're... big," she says, almost more to herself. "Really big."

Quinten is surprised. He's never considered himself to be particularly well-endowed. He never felt embarrassed around other guys in the dorm showers, but he'd never seen any of them hard.

It's a boost to his ego, but the notion carries a second thought into his head. It's not really what he wants to be. Not right now. He wants to be cute, pretty, not some kind of stud. He grapples with the dissonance as Tash continues to look at his cock, only barely held back by her own thong.

She raises a hand, then stops.

"Is it weird if i... touch it?" she asks cautiously.

Words escape Quinten entirely, but he manages a nod of encouragement.

Slowly, Tash lays a finger on the lace fabric, right at the base of the underside of Quinten's cock. He whimpers involuntarily.

She turns her eyes upward to look at him. "You sure you're good with this?" she asks.

"Y-yeah," he stutters.

"Okay, but you tell me if you want me to stop, sweetie."

The word hits him oddly. Sweetie. For some reason, it relaxes him. It bridges a gap he can't quite describe. The battle between masculine and feminine in his mind quiets. Tash sees his reaction and smiles up at him softly.

Tash begins to run her finger up the shaft of his cock, tracing the major vein all the way up until she reaches the head. Quinten feels it twitch right as she gets to the soft skin near the end. The inadvertent motion makes her jump.

"Hey, don't do that! You scared me," she eyes him suspiciously.

"Nope, that was all you," Quinten replies with a light chuckle.

Her eyes linger on his a moment longer, then her gaze returns downward.

He doesn't try to watch, but he feels Tash begin to pull at the lace of the thong with her fingers. It's a bit uncomfortable, his cock stretching awkwardly as she tries to manipulate the fabric. After a couple of seconds, however, the tension gives way, and he feels himself fall downward, like a gate closing for an oncoming train. In his surprise, he lets go of the skirt. He looks down to grab it again, and is struck by the sight.

The navy blue fabric of the skirt still hangs properly around most of his waist, except for right in front. He cock, now jutting straight outward, holds a portion of the fabric aloft, the head just sticking out beyond the disheveled navy pleats.

Beneath him, Tash giggles. "Such showmanship!" she coos. Quinten can't help but giggle along with her. He hears himself matching her pitch and timbre.

He feels her whole hand against him now. She weighs it, measures it, pushes gently on some of its thick veins, experimenting with it. Eventually, she starts to stroke it. Gently, tenderly.

Another moan escapes Quinten's lips, this one noticeably higher pitched. Feminine. Like the woman in the bathroom.

"Does that feel good, sweetie?" Tash asks quietly.

"Y-yes, it feels really good," he whispers in reply. Electricity runs through every nerve in Quinten's body.

"Such a pretty girl, with such a pretty cock." Tash purrs as she continues to work her hand up and down his shaft. The words push buttons Quinten didn't know he had. His toes curl, bending the undersized ballet flats with them.

She stands up dexterously, keeping up her rhythm as she rises to her feet. They stand face to face. Woman to woman. Still stroking Quinten's cock, Tash leans in to kiss him. He's a bit slow to react, but he's more than happy to reciprocate. Like everything else so far, it's tender. There's a nervousness he can feel through her lips. It reassures him that he's not the only one feeling flustered.

As they experiment with their kiss, Quinten lays his hands on Tash's waist. The baggy shirt-dress isn't as appealing to the touch as the skirt, but he glides his hands up and down her sides, tracing the arcs of her hips, occasionally slipping a hand a bit further back to brush against her ass. He doesn't feel another layer of fabric under the shirt.

Their tongues begin to swirl against one another. Tash takes the lead again, venturing between Quinten's lips to explore his mouth. She pulls back and bites gently at his lip and she withdraws. It draws another whimper out of him.

They go on like this for quite a while, holding the uniquely balanced embrace, each cautiously experimenting with the other's body. Quinten would happily stay like this for the rest of the night.

Eventually, Tash breaks the contact, gently releasing him and pulling out of the kiss. She doesn't try to break away from Quinten's embrace, though. She looks him in the eyes with a sense of purpose. Quinten has always found her grey-blue eyes arresting, but he finds himself swimming in them now, lost in the ethereal gleaming.

"Quinn," she asks softly, "are you happy right now?"

The question is odd, but her face suggests it's earnest.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy, Tash." It might be the most honest thing he's ever said. If anything, happy isn't strong enough. He's euphoric.

She looks relieved. "That's good. I was worried I was pushing you too much. I've been thinking about this day for a really long time."

Quinten gives her a surprised look. "What do you mean?' he asks. The night had been the ultimate whirlwind, a completely unpredictable pathway that led them to this implausible moment. Apparently, that wasn't the case for Tash.

"Well, I think about you a lot," she starts, nerves showing up in her voice. "Not in a weird way, I promise. But I worry about you. It seems like everyone found some sort of unique identity over the last few years, but you kind of floated along. You always felt a bit... lost."

Quinten considers her words. She's right that most of their friends have found a niche for themselves. Book nerd, devout born-again, gamer - each girl in their posse has grown into their own unique personality and interests. In a way, it was more important for them because they had all been relatively similar to start with. He was automatically unique from the start, by virtue of his gender alone. But his identity had never really developed beyond that.

Tash seems to sense his agreement and continues. "The funny thing to me is that, while I tried so hard to differentiate myself from the other girls, I saw you looking jealous. You wanted to be more like them. For a long time, that was the craziest thing to me. But I started to get it. You wanted a transformation, just as much as I did."

Quinten's heartbeat is a wild vibration. It's like Tash is his own subconscious, explaining him to himself. The feelings - the envy, the admiration - had always been there, fleeting but persistent. The girls had taken him in, but they didn't really see the puzzle that he was. But Tash, as the other misfit, saw it. Sees it.

"So I wanted to give you a little push. To get you to try what you seemed to want. This... this can be whatever you want it to be - a one-time thing, a kink, a lifestyle, a whole new identity if that's what it really is. I don't know, but I figured I could at least guide you a bit. I hope you're not mad."

Quinten stares at her. He shakes his head. How could he possibly be mad?

"I want you to be whatever feels right," she continues, her voice quivering, "whatever makes you happy. But right now, I'm looking at Quinn, this adorable woman in front of me. I love her, and I can't wait to get to know her better."

Quinn is stunned. She stands there, thoroughly speechless. Tash is her best friend, she's known that for years, but the idea that Tash has been watching her all along, trying to point her in the right direction - in this direction - for a happy and fulfilling life? Quinn loses it.

She leans into Tash and sobs. Tash holds her in a tight embrace, stroking her hair gently. She feels the leftover part of Quinten - no, this unique part of herself - against the bottom edge of Tash's shirt. The head brushes against her exposed thigh. A shiver slices through her tears.

It's all so surreal. She had felt playfully cute at first, but now Quinn feels changed. It's only clothing, it only took her a couple minutes to change outfits, but she knows a new life - Quinn's life - starts now. She has no idea what that means or what it will look like. But she knows in her soul that it's right. And that she needs Tash there with her.

"Th... thank you," Quinn finally squeaks out through her tears. "I... I..." She doesn't even know what she's trying to say, there are too many thoughts to communicate. "Thank you."

Tash chuckles softly, lovingly. "Of course, sweetie. I'm glad you like it." She kisses Quinn gently on the forehead. "Do you want to lie down?"

Quinn can't bring herself to pull away from the embrace, so she nods into Tash's neck. Tash holds her around the waste and takes a couple of steps backward, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She leans back and pulls Quinn down on top of her. The sudden fall stops Quinn's crying, instead dragging another giggle out of her.

They touch foreheads, looking deep into one another's soul, each seeing a different version of their own story, and the beginning of a new chapter of their shared one. Tash's hand rests precariously close to Quinn's nearly-exposed ass. Quinn takes the initiative this time, trapping Tash in a deep kiss, to which she doesn't object. It's less tentative than the first one - they both nip at lips and explore each other's mouths with a confident hunger. There's no power dynamic - a perfect symmetry between them, bent and atypical as it is. Quinn feels Tash's hands finally slide down to her ass, which she wiggles slightly to show her welcoming the advance. Tash makes the extra effort to lift the light skirt, establishing skin-to-skin contact that gives Quinn goosebumps.

Quinn decides to make a move of her own. She reaches down with one hand, searching for the bottom of Tash's baggy t-shirt. She finds it, and begins to slide her hand up Tash's smooth thigh, dragging her finger tips lightly as she goes. As she reaches the apex between her legs, she lets her hand glide teasingly close to Tash's pussy. She feels the vibration of a moan through the kiss. Fingernails dig into Quinn's ass as Tash's grip tightens.

Tracing its way up Tash's flat stomach, Quinn's hand finally arrives at it's destination. She's surprised by the size of Tash's tits when she reaches them, her fingers navigating the significant hill of soft skin until she reaches an already-erect nipple. To her shock, Quinn feels a hard object up against the nipple, two small, solid pieces on each side. They both open their eyes simultaneously, Quinn lifting her head to give her friend a questioning look.

"Oh yeah, I guess I never mentioned that to you," Tash says, her voice a soft purr as Quinn's fingers dance over the barbell piercing experimentally, "A couple of us got drunk a year or so ago and got them on a dare. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that kept them."

Quinn jumps at the opportunity. "Can I see them?" she asks, trying to contain her eagerness.

"Of course sweetie. You thinking about getting yours done?" Tash replies with a teasing grin. Quinn doesn't respond right away, prompting Tash to raise her eyebrows.

"I, uh... wasn't planning on it," Quinn says, slightly flustered by her own pause. That said, none of this was planned at all, at least on Quinn's part, so who knows, she thinks to herself.

Tash giggles, "Plenty of time to get around to it later if you want."

Quinn pulls her arm out from under Tash's shirt and stands up. She extends a hand to help Tash up as well. They stand almost chest-to-chest. As Quinn reaches down to grab the bottom of Tash's de facto dress, Tash leans in and nibbles at her ear, then whispers into it.

"Actually, you first," she murmurs. The sensation almost makes Quinn's knees buckle.

Dutifully, Quinn takes a step back and reaches for the bottom of the polo and begins to tug it upward.

"I can help with that," Tash says softly, reaching for the shirt herself, gently brushing Quinn's hands away. In one smooth move, Tash peels the tight collared shirt up and over Quinn's head. She manages to do so while dragging her finger tips up Quinn's arched sides, causing her to shiver from the tickle. Tash giggles lightly as she watches her friend squirm.

As the shirt comes off, Quinn is left with a surprising pang of sadness. She felt so good in the outfit, the first time clothing had brought her a sense of joy. It was a shame to remove it. Tash reaches for the waistband of the skirt, and Quinn places a hand over hers.

"Can I... can I keep that on, please?" she asks meekly.

Tash gives her a puzzled look, then smiles with understanding. "Of course, sweetie. You're still the same beautiful woman though, with or without the clothes."

Quinn believes her, but the feeling of losing the shirt makes her hesitant to give the look up entirely. Not quite yet, at least.

Grateful to keep the skirt, Quinn reaches once again for Tash's shirt. This time, Tash doesn't stop her.

Quinn finds her hands trembling a bit as she begins to raise the shirt. For all of the touching so far, she's still never seen Tash naked before. There's an excited anticipation, certainly, but a hint of guilt makes itself known as well. This night has been about Quinn so far, led by Tash guiding her into existence with deft precision. She owes Tash everything, yet it feels like Quinn is asking for something by disrobing her.

A second thought eats at Quinn as well. Tash has worked so hard to develop her tomboyish image since they've been friends. By revealing her femininity, Quinn wonders if she's forcing Tash to be someone she's not, when Tash has spent all night doing the exact opposite for Quinn. With the shirt almost pulled up to Tash's pussy, Quinn balks. She looks up at her friend's face, trying to gauge her willingness.

She's met with a tender smile. "It's okay Quinn," Tash reassures her, laughing softly. "If I didn't want you to see, I would've at least put panties on underneath."

It's a good point. Quinn blushes at her own hesitancy. For the second time, Tash reaches down, politely moving Quinn's hands away, grabbing the shirt with her own. Quin takes a step back.

With a fluidity that inspires envy in Quinn, Tash slowly pulls the shirt up and over her head. Quinn's eye is immediately drawn to her pussy and the bottom of the shirt exposes it. She's kept it mostly shaved, save for a little, tightly-trimmed patch right above the top of the tight lips. It shines with wetness in the light of the bedroom.

As the shirt rises, Quinn's gaze follows it upward. The shirt catches briefly on the underside of Tash's tits, pulling them upward as she continues to lift the shirt higher. Eventually, the tension breaks, and two perky tits fall down, bouncing lightly before settling. The sight takes Quinn's breath away. She had always assumed Tash to be fairly flat chested, though she had no real reason to assume it was the case. Even on the odd occasion she dressed femininely, her clothing always minimized her bust. She has clearly mastered the art, because the tits in front of Quinn hang proudly and prominently. They aren't massive, but easily more than a handful each. They sit high and tight, their lively shape accented by the black barbell piercings through each deep pink nipple. Quinn had been surprised by what she felt under the shirt when they were laying on the bed, but even that preview hadn't prepared her for this.

Her first thought is a jealous one.

Tash pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it aside unceremoniously. Now standing fully exposed, she gives a shy smile, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Quinn feels herself gawking, transfixed by Tash's otherworldly figure. Her slender build is punctuated by wide hips and her sizable chest, every rounded edge balanced in perfect proportion. Her creamy skin radiates a pure light, complemented by her black pixie cut, the black barbell piercings, and the black hair above her pussy. The monochromatic interplay and contrast speaks to Quinn in a way no other person's body has.

After a moment, she notices Tash's awkwardness, and quickly tries to break the silence.

"Oh my god, Tash," Quinn whispers. It's not exactly a conversation starter, and Tash's posture doesn't suggest the words have done much to relax her. Quinn tries again.

"You're more beautiful than I could've ever imagined," she manages. Tash blushes, but still looks just as self-conscious.

Quinn cringes internally at her inability to put her friend at ease. She decides to try showing her appreciation in a different way. She steps forward, placing one hand on Tash's hip. The other gently cups her cheek. Quinn stands close, trying to make her feel less exposed. She looks Tash in the eyes rather than checking out her entire body. Tash closes her eyes, and Quinn feels her body decompress. She presses her cheek into Quinn's open hand, and lets her body fall into hers.

"Th... thank you," Tash eventually says, eyes still closed. Her voice trembles with emotion. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't think I'd be that nervous. I'm usually not like that."

Quinn wants to ask more, but it doesn't feel like the right time to press for information. After everything Tash has done to make her feel comfortable and beautiful, the least Quinn can do for her is hold her in a way that makes her feel a bit less exposed. Tash slides in closer, their naked bodies pressing into each other, save for the soft fabric of the skirt, though Quinn still feels a portion of her cock against the cool skin of Tash's thigh. Tash notices it too, and leans into it. The squeezing between the two of them causes Quinn's pulse to spike.

Tash opens her eyes briefly, looking deep into Quinn's with a tender smile. She leans in to kiss Quinn again, this time gently, their lips doing all of the work, dancing against each other. The earlier kisses were deeper, more passionate. These are knowing, encouraging. Loving.

Tash pulls away first, rosy cheeked and grinning sweetly.

"You'd probably like to get that thong off, wouldn't you?" she asks. Quinn hesitates - she's still unsure of removing any more of her outfit. But Tash looks at her with wanting, hungry eyes.

"S... sure," Quinn manages. Her breath is shallow, anticipation choking the air from her lungs.

Tash seems to read her mind. "You can have them back later if you'd like, sweetie. I promise," she says. Quinn feels the now-familiar rub of the elastic around her hips, knowing it will likely feel better to be freed of the garment for now. Still, she fears the removal of part of her identity.

Without a word, she nods.

Before Quinn can reach down to begin wiggling the underwear down her legs, Tash lowers herself to her knees. Quinn feels her pulse beating in her ears.

Tash tries to be delicate as she maneuvers the fabric of the thong around Quinn's hips, but her slightly wider frame makes it a struggle. It's uncomfortable but Quinn appreciates Tash's gentle touch too much to say anything.

After a few more seconds of wrestling with the skimpy garment, Tash finally manages to free it. As she pulls the thong down to the floor, she isn't shy about running a few fingers down the shaft of Quinn's cock as she goes. Quinn lets out a whimpering moan. She sees Tash looking up at her with a knowing smile.

Tash guides Quinn to step out of the thong, helping her remove the tight ballet flats in the process. Quinn now stands before her best friend, nothing but a short skirt left between the two. Her cock hangs dangerously close to Tash's soft lips.

For the second time that night, Tash reaches out to toy with Quinn's dick. She runs her fingers up and down each side of it, lifts it to feel its weight, and examines it from all angles. Eventually, she picks it up and shuffles on her knees closer to Quinn. Tash makes sure to make eye contact and she playfully lays Quinn's cock on her own face. The base sits on her chin, while the shaft runs over her mouth and up her nose. The pink head of the cock sits right in the middle of her forehead.

Quinn watches from above, utterly enthralled by the view. She holds the skirt fabric against her body to get the full effect. Laid out like this with Tash's grinning face for reference, Quinn has to admit that she is, in fact, pretty big. Its size is helped by the fact that it's achingly hard.

"Do I look cute with your girl cock on my face, Quinny?" Tash asks with feigned innocence. The vibration of her voice feels good against the underside of her dick, and she whimpers in approval.

"That's good, I like how it feels. So heavy and warm," she continues, leaning hard into a siren-like coo. She begins to use her hand to lift Quinn's cock up, then drops it onto her face again, turning her head to feel its girth against her cheek this time. She repeats the process over and over, using it to slap her own face playfully, grinning up at Quinn the whole time. Quinn finds herself moaning more with each impact.

Tash finally lays Quinn's cock in its original position down the middle of her face.

"Is it okay if I taste your cock?" she asks in an impossibly sensual tone. Quinn feels her legs getting shaky, but nods. "Thank you, sweetie. Tell me if anything doesn't feel good. You're so big but I'll do my best."

Suddenly, in one fluid motion, Tash sticks her tongue out, and runs it up the entirety of Quinn's cock. Quinn sees stars from the sensation.

"Oh... oh... ohhhh,," she moans in a high pitched voice, the noise catching in her throat as Tash's tongue lights up thousands of neurons simultaneously.

As Tash makes it all the way to the tip, she takes the opportunity to scoot herself back. She wraps a hand around the shaft as she pulls her head out from underneath, and guides the thick head of Quinn's cock into her mouth.

Quinn watches in enraptured silence. The pure sensation is electric, but the view makes it an out of body experience. She feels Tash swirl her tongue around the head in her mouth, then begins to suck on the head itself, taking it in to its thickest point before pulling back and releasing it.

She's already threatening to push Quinn over the edge.

Tash pulls away from the cock entirely to look up at Quinn, giving her puppy dog eyes. "How do you like your cock sucked, sweetie? I can do it whatever way feels best for you," she coos. Her voice straddles the line between doting servant and confident guide. It's all too much for Quinn to process, but she manages to get one word out.

"Wet," she murmurs, afraid that even talking too loudly might push her past the point of no return prematurely.

Tash strokes Quinn's cock with one hand, and says with a devious grin, "Okay, I can do wet." Without missing a beat, Tash pulls the cock down so she's looking straight at the top of the shaft, and spits directly onto it. Quinn gasps audibly while her best friend giggles.

Still holding Quinn's cock with one hand, Tash brings her other hand up as well, sliding both up and down the long shaft, spreading her saliva out evenly. Quinn watches in awe, shocked at Tash's brazenness and deft movements. Just another mind blowing surprise between the two of them tonight.

Tash begins sucking and licking the head again while she continues to stroke the rest of Quinn's cock with her hands. As she works, she varies her movements, taking opportunities to lick up and down the shaft, massaging the head with her hand as she goes. On a couple of occasions, she attempts to take more of Quinn's cock into her mouth, but she's unable to handle more than another inch or two before gagging.

Quinn closes her eyes for a while, trying to focus on the feeling rather than the visual - hot as the latter may be. There's no denying the incredible pleasure coming from Tash's mouth and hands, but Quinn finds herself nearly as enamored with the sound of the beautifully sloppy blowjob. Tash isn't shy about making as many noises as possible as she works on Quinn's cock. She slurps, spits, licks and blows little bubbles gratuitously, a symphony that fills Quinn with a kind of ecstasy she'll never be able to explain to anyone.

Tash's smacking and gagging noises bring the scene in the bathroom back to Quinn's mind, imaging the similar sounds the beautiful woman was making as she serviced the man in the stall.

Quinn opens her eyes and looks down at Tash. The entire spectacle is mesmerizing. Tash's rapt attention to the cock, her pure confidence showing in even the way she holds herself on her knees, the shapely tits and delicate body standing resolute.

Quinn realizes she's jealous again.

The thought frustrates her, but Tash's passionate work helps Quinn to put those feelings to the back of her mind for now.

This goes on for a few more minutes, bringing Quinn up to the precipice several times. She only barely manages to hang on through Tash's grand finale of fast pumping, spitting and gagging from trying to take as much of Quinn's cock down her throat as possible. Tash eventually pulls back and looks up at Quinn.

"How was that, sweetie?" she asks, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. Quinn can see a look of hope in her friend's eyes.

"That was incredible, honey," Quinn replies, trying out a pet name of her own. Tash's eyes go wide as she jumps to her feet, beaming.

"Oh Quinny! That made my night!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around Quinn and giving her a deep kiss. Quinn's heart flutters knowing she said the perfect thing to make Tash feel as loved as Tash has for her. It also occurs to her that she's getting a secondhand taste of her own cock, the closest she's come to the real thing. She can taste a hint of salt in Tash's kiss, the faintest trace of precum dancing on her taste buds. Quinn is intrigued.

Tash begins to gently push Quinn backward toward the bed. Before she falls onto the mattress, Quinn digs her foot in, causing Tash to stop.

"Can you help me take my skirt off?" she asks softly. She can hear nerves in her own words. Part of her still worries about losing her newfound femininity by abandoning the last piece of her outfit. But Quinn wants to keep a degree of parity with Tash, and wants to feel their bodies fully pressed against each other with no barriers.

Tash gives her a soft smile. "Of course, sweetie. You'll still be a very pretty girl without it, I promise," she says lovingly. Quinn returns the smile bashfully as Tash squats down to begin working on the skirt. The fabric is stretchier than the thong's, but the task is just as difficult with Quinn's cock jutting straight out.

Tash tries a couple of different strategies with no success. She's careful not to strain Quinn's cock by moving it too much. Eventually, Tash stands up again and grabs the bottom of the skirt.

"Let's go up instead," she suggests, and begins to pull the skirt fabric toward Quinn's chest, flipping the garment upside down and inside out. With no cock to get in the way, the skirt slides upward easily, the elastic easily stretching to accommodate Quinn's thin frame.

As Tash gets the skirt near the top of Quinn's torso, she gestures with her elbows. "Arms up," she says. Quinn dutifully obeys. Quinn's shoulders - her biggest point of self-consciousness of her womanly figure - pose the only real challenge in getting the skirt off this way. Tash begins to work the waistband up toward the broadest point of Quinn's build, and Quinn can feel the elastic quickly running out of slack. Quinn grunts in discomfort as the skirt pulls on the skin of her upper arms.

"Sorry, sweetie," Tash says gently. "I think I almost have it."

Tash wriggles the skirt back and forth, slowly making headway. A few seconds later, Quinn feels the skirt finally slip free of her shoulders. She sighs in relief at the knowledge that her currently unwanted masculinity hasn't ruined the moment.

With the skirt well over Quinn's head, Tash suddenly stops her pulling. She lets the pleated fabric fall down over Quinn's face, and giggles.

"This is certainly a look," she says teasingly. Quinn wants to be annoyed, but she enjoys the cool touch of the soft skirt against her. She feels Tash back away, unable to see anything, and worries about where she's going.

Quinn quickly gets her answer, as a warm, wet sensation suddenly envelops her cock. She lets out a soft gasp at the sensation, and hears more smacking of lips and blowing of tiny bubbles. Her cock twitches slightly, which leads Tash to pull back, continuing to glide her hand up and down the lubricated shaft.

She laughs wickedly, "Sorry, sweetie, just wanted to make sure you're still nice and hard and wet." Quinn can only whimper in response. She hears Tash stand back up, and the skirt mercifully comes all the way up, clearing her head and outstretched arms. Tash kisses Quinn as soon as she can see her face. She's conveniently positioned herself so Quinn's cock is pinched tightly between Tash's thighs, the top of the shaft pressed tight against her pussy. The sensation causes Quinn to kiss Tash back even harder. Tash pulls her head back touches her nose and forehead to Quinn's. Her eyes are half closed. Quinn feels their eyelashes flutter against each other.

"Quinn," she whispers, between shallow breaths. "Will you fuck me?" Her hips push back and forth, rubbing her wet pussy along Quinn's cock. "Only if you want to, though."

Quinn's breathing is ragged. Adrenaline and sexual charge courses through her like a million raging tsunamis.

"Yes, Tash," she murmurs. "I would really like to do that."

They share another kiss, and then reluctantly pull away. Quinn immediately misses the warm sensation of having her cock pinned between Tash's legs.

Tash smiles. Wordlessly, she hops up on the bed with fluid grace. She positions herself facing away from Quinn, her tits pushing into the bed sheets as she points her ass at Quinn. She wiggles it teasingly, inviting Quinn in.

It's the first time Quinn has gotten a full look at Tash's pale ass. It's fairly small, but tight and round. Quinn finds herself jealous again, noting that she'll need to get in the gym and work on building up her own ass. The idea of fitting a thick, shapely ass into the leggings Tash laid out for her tickles at the back of her mind. Quinn reaches out with both hands, cupping each of Tash's asscheeks, lightly massaging them, reveling in the feeling of their supple softness overlaying strong muscles. She knows Tash likes to be in the gym, and it's apparent where she focuses her efforts.

Quinn brings one hand to her cock, and begins to position it right in front of Tash's shining, pink pussy. She lets the head rub against the pursed lips, gradually working to part the folds of skin.

She hears Tash breathing raggedly onto the bed sheets. Quinn begins to push forward, her thick tip venturing into the warm embrace of Tash's pussy. She hears her friend's breaths get sharper, and stops pushing.

"Are you okay, honey," Quinn asks, dragging her fingers lightly up and down Tash's back.

"Y... yeah. Just be gentle," she pants. "I haven't been with anyone as big as you before."

"Of course," Quinn says, with as much sweetness and reassurance as she can layer into just two words.

Tash reaches back toward Quinn with an outstretched hand. Quinn interlocks fingers with her, and begins to push herself further into Tash. She goes as slowly as possible, gently moving in and out, adding an extra fraction of an inch with each loving stroke.

Quinn watches her thick cock impale her best friend, practically disassociating with herself. Broadly speaking, the scene isn't new to her. Quinn - or Quentin, as it were - had fucked girls doggystyle before. But there's a different energy to this. Tash's outstretched ass seems to beg for Quinn's cock, and she wants nothing more in the entire world than to give it to her.

She notices that, despite having disrobed from her first ever feminine outfit, she still feels the same energy in her she had been afraid of losing. Perhaps it's Tash repeatedly calling her sweetie, her other references to Quinn's femininity, or simply Quinn trying to imitate Tash's surprisingly girly demeanor. Whatever it is, she's able to embrace the idea of herself fucking Tash with her big, thick girl dick. Something cements itself inside her that she can't quite explain, but she feels at peace. Balanced. Seen.

Tash's pussy is tight, but it slowly relaxes to accommodate Quinn's thickness. She feels her cock being hugged on all sides as she continues to push slightly deeper with each thrust. Tash's grip on her hand tightens with each re-entry, bracing for a sensation Quinn hopes is pleasure.

Quinn manages to bury half of herself into her best friend, and stops to check on her. "Tash, honey, how are you feeling?" she coos lovingly.

Tash doesn't respond right away, which makes Quinn nervous. She hears her panting, but she can't see Tash's face to gauge her reaction.

Eventually, Tash manages to respond meekly. "I... I feel incredible. You feel incredible. P-please don't stop."

Quinn leans over to give Tash a light kiss on her back, inadvertently pushing another inch of herself into Tash.

"OH FUCK," Tash yelps. Quinn immediately stands up and pulls out, worried she hurt her friend.

"No, no!" Tash pleads, eyes wild. "Keep fucking me, don't you dare stop. I can take it, I want you to fuck me hard. I want to feel all of you!" She pulls on Quinn's hand, reeling her back in, wiggling her ass again to beg for Quinn to fill her with her girl cock. Quinn hungrily obliges. There's still about an inch and a half that hasn't made it inside Tash's pussy yet, but she hesitates to plunge her entire length into her. Instead, she begins thrusting with hard, half-length strokes, making sure Tash is comfortable before trying to dive in deeper.

"Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Tash screams as Quinn finds a quick rhythm. "I know you have more cock for me, baby. Give it to me right now. I need iiiii... ohhhh." Tash's desperate words are cut off by a guttural moan, as Quinn plunges another half inch into her. Then another. Finally, with one longer backswing, she buries herself in Tash's pussy, her flat stomach pushing into Tash's ass. She feels her cock hit something hard as it bottoms out.

"OH FUCKING CHRIST," Tash screams, even louder than before. "YES, QUINN, OH FUCK YES. DON'T STOP. I'M CUMMINGGG."

Quinn continues to fuck as hard as she possibly can, managing to touch the wall deep inside Tash's pussy over and over. Tash wails incoherently, bucking her hips wildly, muscles spasming randomly across her body. Quinn shutters in pleasure at the feeling of Tash's pussy gripping and releasing against her cock over and over. Tash's fingernails dig into the palm of Quinn's hand, though it doesn't register any pain.

Quinn feels herself building up to an orgasm of her own, her cock beginning to twitch inside Tash's pussy. Tash is still in the raptures of her own crushing orgasm, so Quinn has to speak loudly.

"Do you want my cum, baby?" Quinn asks urgently. She's well beyond the point of no return now. "I'm close, tell me what you want, honey." The pet name slips out of her mouth without a thought, now enshrined in her lexicon permanently.

Tash turns her head to look back at Quinn, her desperate eyes burning Quinn's soul with her passion.

"You can cum in me, sweetie. I want to feel the hot load from your girl cock fill me," she says, her voice hoarse. "I just need you to look at me when you do it."

Tash pushes herself forward, dislodging Quinn's cock entirely, and rolls over to face her. She holds her quivering legs high in the air, inviting Quinn to her fuck her missionary style. Quinn steps forward, holding Tash's legs in place against her shoulders as she grabs her by the waist to pull her closer to the edge of the bed. She uses the same leverage to immediately begin fucking Tash as hard as possible.

"Yes, give it to me," Tash hisses, her eyes firing daggers into Quinn's. "I want to feel all of you, Quinn. Every fucking drop. God, I love you, sweetie. So fucking much. Please, please!" The words set Quinn over the edge.

"Fuck, oh fuck!" It's Quinn's turn to yell obscenity after obscenity as she empties herself into Tash. The edges of her vision get blurry as load after load shoots out of her aching cock, flooding her best friend's womb with her hot seed. Quinn continues to stare into Tash's eyes as they roll back, a satisfied grin spread across her face.

She cums even harder than in the bar bathroom. There's no shame this time, only pure ecstasy punctuated by a passionate love for the women she continues to fill.

"Oh my god, yesss..." Tash moans, head tilted back. She grabs at Quinn's wrists, urging her to continue thrusting. Quinn keeps going as the final few streams release into Tash's pussy. Quinn keeps fucking, trying to push the cum as deep into Tash as possible. Her pace begins to slow, and she realizes how out of breath she now is. Tash is laying fully on her back, eyes closed, a soft smile on her lips. As Quinn comes to a stop, they stay like this for a time. She rests her cheek against one of Tash's feet, still draped over her shoulder. The dainty foot is cool, icing her flush skin. She gives it a small, experimental kiss. The foot almost kicks Quinn in response.

"Stop! I'm ticklish!" Tash pants, eyes still closed.

"Oh... sorry," Quinn says sheepishly, glad to have avoided a broken jaw. She slowly pulls out of Tash's pussy, dragging one last moan from her friend's lips. Not two seconds after the head of Quinn's cock exits Tash's flush lips, cum begins to leak out of her. Instinctively, Quinn cups a hand underneath her pussy to catch as much as she can before it hits the comforter. She quickly realizes one hand is unlikely to do the job entirely, and replaces her nearly full one with the other. This hand fills even faster, as the cum begins to come out in a waterfall.

"Uhh... Tash..." Quinn says. "I'm trying not to make a mess... but..."

Tash opens her eyes, and moves a hand of her own underneath her, just barely taking over as Quinn's second hand reaches its maximum capacity. She looks at the two handfuls as she collects her own.

"Holy shit, Quinn. You really did give me everything, huh?" she says with a giggle. She quickly swaps her own hands underneath her, her first hand having filled to the brim as well. "Jesus Christ. I'm lucky I didn't drown."

Quinn's head continues to spin from everything that just transpired, enough so that Tash's attempts at casualness barely register. The surreal sensation of standing naked in front of her best friend with two handfuls of her own cum, while Tash lays on the bed holding a handful and a half herself threatens to rip her brain away from her own body entirely.

A mix of feelings flood her mind as the sexual endorphins ebb away. Everything about Quinten and Tash's friendship had been obliterated in one night. The pair - once a mildly effeminate man and an exceptionally tomboyish girl, who had long refused to break the taboo of discussing each other's love lives - now faced each other as women who had just engaged in impossibly passionate sex together. Quentin still mattered, the male-presenting Tash still mattered, but here they were, two entirely different people with an entirely different relationship.

Quinn feels her eyes well with tears. Tash jumps out of bed, having collected the last of Quinn's cum in her second hand, approaching Quinn quickly, turning to guide her to the bathroom.

"Quinn, what's wrong?" she asks, looking worried. "Did... did you not like it?"

They both wash their hands of the cum in Tash's sink. Quinn watches it go down the drain as Tash sits on the toilet to let the last drops trickle out of her. She gestures to invite Quinn to sit on her lap. Quinn hesitates briefly, causing Tash to frown with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asks, looking emotional herself. "I... was this too much? Did I do something wrong?"

Quinn's heart breaks seeing Tash's worry turn into self-conscious sadness. She pushes through her own tears to get words out.

"N... no," she manages. "I..." She struggles to find the right words. "You were wonderful. That was wonderful. I just..." she trails off, beginning to sob silently.

Tash looks slightly relieved, and her face softens. She gently pulls Quinn onto her lap.

"Hey," she says, trying to get Quinn to look at her. Quinn does, eyes heavy as she cries. "Talk to me," she says, cupping Quinn's cheek with one hand.

Quinn manages to choke back her tears for a moment, picking her words carefully.

"Wh... what are we?" she asks. She knows it's a vague question, one she hopes Tash can translate.

Tash studies her quizzically, then looks upward, always her way of seeking out an answer. She opens her mouth to speak, then stops, reconsidering. She begins again, carefully.

"Well, we just had sex. Great sex, I think?" Tash asks, eyeing Quinn.

Quinn nods, harder than she expected.

"I dressed you up as a girl, which you seemed to enjoy," she continues, leaving the statement open-ended.

Another firm nod. Tash takes a deeper breath now.

"I got naked in front of you, which I hate doing, and you made me feel safe," she says, her voice starting to tremble. Quinn scoots herself a little closer to Tash's torso, pressing against her, trying to recreate the moment Tash is describing. Tash smiles softly, fighting tears of her own.

"You're beautiful. Pretty. Cute. Sexy. Just... everything that is lovely and femme," she says through the lurch breathing as she begins crying in earnest, matching Quinn. "That can mean whatever you want it to, but to me, it felt like you found yourself."

They sit in silence together as they both cry quietly, burying their heads in each other's necks. They aren't sad or happy tears, just the natural byproduct of the emotional earthquake they've found themselves in.

Quinn eventually builds up the courage to speak. "Is this who you've always been? You seem so much... different than usual, so much..." She hates the words even before she's done saying them. The Tash she had just made love with was so bubbly, so sexy, so... femme, to use her word. An odd sort of guilt washes over Quinn. Had she somehow been preventing Tash from being this person in public? Was this the real Tash? Had Quinn and their friends inadvertently kept her in a box as the token tomboy? Her overwhelming femininity had come so naturally to her tonight.

"... freer," she finally adds to her statement.

A thoughtful look comes over Tash's face, and she sits quietly for a while, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Both of their tears subside as Quinn waits patiently. Eventually, Tash turns to look at Quinn.

"Honestly, I don't know. I feel like I go back and forth all the time. I'll wake up feeling like a guy and go to bed feeling like a girl. Or vice versa. Sometimes I'll go a week without even dreaming of dressing as a woman. Other times I'm in my closet, throwing on every girly outfit I can piece together, trying to feel as pretty as possible. But I feel like I've leaned so hard into my masc side in public, just to be different and unique, that I can't be this version of myself out in the world." There's frustration in her voice, a sense of longing Quinn thinks she understands. She fears it could quickly become her reality as well.

"I can do it when I have to, like today at graduation. But even then... it feels like I'm just doing it for my family's sake," she continues. "What do you think? Do you like me more like this or when I'm more masc?" The question sounds desperate, like she's truly lost.

Quinn struggles to formulate an answer. She's spent the whole night letting Tash guide her on this journey. She finds it difficult to suddenly take over as the leading voice. One thought stands out though.

"I love both parts of you, Tash. Every part," Quinn says confidently. It's the first time she's told Tash she loves her, but it's been true for a while now. Before tonight, Quinn had always thought of it as a platonic love between two close friends. Now though, Quinn wonders if this other element has been lurking in the background the whole time. Parts of the feeling still confuse her - a lot of things do right now - but love is still the right word. Tears form again in Tash's eyes, but these are different. Joyful.

"I... I love you too, Quinn," she whispers, wiping a tear from Quinn's eye. They kiss softly. "And I love Quinten, too, for what it's worth," she adds. They hold each other tightly, inseparably.

The atmosphere in the room seems to soften. There's so much to discuss still, so many feelings and thoughts to sort out. But for now, this is enough. Quinn knows this love - no matter what type it is - sits at the core of everything they are. Quinn, Quinten, Tash, Natasha. After tonight, they feel like one merged soul.

As they hold their kiss, Tash starts to wiggle awkwardly underneath Quinn.

"Hey, uh, sweetie, could you stand up? I think my legs are asleep," Tash says, pulling away from Quinn's lips. They've been sitting here for a while now. Quinn imagines it's an odd sight, the two of them sitting together on the toilet. It would have felt wrong to stand up and move as they talked, but it certainly wasn't the best place to stay for an extended period of time.

Quinn stands up and extends a hand for Tash to grab, which she takes gladly. As she pulls her up, Tash's legs give way immediately, sending her crashing back down onto the toilet seat.

"Ow, fuck!" Tash says, laughing. "I think I'm gonna need a bit more help than that, Quinn."

Quinn cringes. "Sorry, I didn't know they were that asleep."

Tash giggles again and reaches up with both arms, like a child asking to be picked up by a parent. Quinn leans down, letting Tash wrap her arms around her neck, and pulls her upright, supporting most of her friend's weight. Quinn feels the warm pressure of her hanging cock pressed between their bodies. Tash clearly notices it too.

"God, you're big even when you're soft," she says, her teasing laced with a hint of true reverence. Quinn feels her cock stiffen ever so slightly. Once again, Tash feels it too.

"Uh uh," she shakes her head. "One round was enough for me for tonight."

Quinn grins sheepishly, "It has a mind of its own."

"Sure, so it was its own idea to pound my cervix into submission?" Tash jokes as Quinn helps her to sit on the edge of the bed. "I've never felt anything like that. A little rough at first, but holy shit did it start to feel good."

"Why didn't you say anything if it hurt?" Quinn asks, feeling bad to have caused Tash any pain as she greedily buried her cock in her.

"I'd heard some girls like it so I gave it a chance. The internet was right," she says with a tired sounding laugh. "I really could use some sleep now, though. You still want to stay, right?"

The very mention of sleep draws a deep yawn out of Quinn, which draws an even deeper one from Tash in return. Quinn feels her exhaustion beginning to weigh her body down.

"Yeah, I'd really like that," she says, laying back on the bed.

She hears Tash chuckle lightly. "Thank god. It was either you sleep here with me or I lay awake all night wishing you were here." Quinn is flooded by the warmth of Tash's words.

Quinn cranes her neck to look at Tash, whose legs seem to be working well enough to walk around the room now. She picks up the baggy t-shirt she had been wearing early, and goes to put it on.

"Honey?" Quinn says. Tash stops right as she's about to pull it over her head. "Would you mind if I wear that to bed?"

Tash smiles gently. "Of course, sweetie." She tosses the shirt across the room, landing perfectly on Quinn's naked chest. Quinn picks it up, holding it in front of her face. The faded design is from some band she's never heard of. Tash loves concerts, and never fails to bring home something from each one. There are splotches of discoloration all over - coffee stains, marker, even a bit of lipstick - and it's wrinkled as though it hasn't been washed in quite a while. Quinn thinks she can smell a bit of Tash on it, which makes her smile. She sits up, and tosses the shirt over her head, letting it fall down her torso until it rests in her lap. As Quinn pulls the neck down, she notices Tash has disappeared. She looks toward the closet and doesn't see anything. Suddenly, she hears a rustle behind her, and she turns her head. Wind rushes out her lungs in an instant.

Tash leans against the small dresser, her tits resting on the dark wooden top. She's wearing a lingerie set - a sheer black slip accompanied by similarly sheer black panties. The contrast of the black lingerie against her creamy complexion is mesmerizing. Quinn's mind boggles, and her mouth hangs open. Tash is holding a devious smirk.

"I figured at least one of us lovely ladies should be femme in bed," Tash explains, clearly relishing in Quinn's shocked expression. "We can switch it up tomorrow night." she adds with a wink.

Between exhaustion, shock, and blood flow redirecting away from her brain again, Quinn can't muster a response. Tash stands up and walks toward Quinn with exaggerated runaway steps. It may be a joke, but Quinn can't help but marvel at her magnetic beauty. She steps in front of Quinn with a flourish, grabbing her hand to lead her back to the bathroom.

"I think I have a spare toothbrush you can use," Tash says casually. "I love you sweetie, but I don't think we're ready for that step yet," she giggles. Quinn only barely hears the words, her attention set on Tash's swinging hips, the light fabric of the slip swishing back and forth around her.

They take turns quietly brushing their teeth and washing their faces in Tash's single sink. Quinn watches and tries to mimic Tash's skincare routine, hoping she can eventually manage the same flawless, porcelain complexion by using the same soaps and lotions. They're both too tired to make much conversation as they finish up and walk back into the bedroom. Quinn climbs under the sheets as Tash closes the curtains and flips off the lights. Before her eyes can adjust to the darkness, Quinn feels Tash jump into bed and immediately scoot her way into Quinn's body, lining herself up as the little spoon. Despite their similar size, they fit perfectly like this. Something about the lingerie gives Tash a softer, more delicate feel begetting of the little spoon. Quinn is jealous, but Tash's promise of reversing roles tomorrow night keeps a smile on her face. She drapes an arm over Tash, laying her arms between her friend's tits, her open hand cupping one of them gently. A tiny moan escapes Tash's lips.

As they lay quietly, Tash whispers, "Quinn, thank you so much for tonight. I loved every second of it. And not just the sex. I can't wait to spend more time with this new you." She burrows herself a bit deeper into Quinn's embrace to emphasize her words.

"Tash, I..." Quinn doesn't have the energy left to explain just how grateful she is for her friend. On a day that started out with the pageantry of a life changing event, she knew the real transformation had happened tonight, here in this modest apartment. Like thousands of her classmates, today marked the beginning of a new chapter. For Quinn, however, it marked an entirely new life, one that filled her with as much confusion and questions as it did hope and excitement.

"I love you, Tash," Quinn manages, her eyes drifting closed. There is so much else she should say, but she knows those are the right words for now.

"I love you too, Quinn," Tash murmurs, tilting her head down to kiss Quinn's hand. "Good night, sweetie."

"Good night, honey," Quinn hears herself reply as she kisses Tash gently on the neck. The last thing she feels before darkness falls over her is a smile settling on her lips.