grl2grl (7 page)

“Aimee, hold up.” A person fell into step beside me. “That was a good question.”

My head swiveled. Peyton Faulk? I stopped dead. Peyton Faulk was talking to me? We used to be best friends. We carpooled together
to school and soccer and gymnastics and scouts. To swimming lessons, dance lessons until…

Until my parents divorced. Until we moved to inner-city housing. Until Peyton stopped talking to me.

You find out who your true friends are. In times of need.

“Errasco’s answer was lame. She blew you off.” Peyton stuck out her tongue. She had a silver stud that made her look slutty.

“What’d you expect?” I said. “What else could she say?” Don’t ask me why I was defending Mrs. Errasco. I didn’t need Peyton
Faulk defending me.

Peyton said, “I expected her to take your question seriously, at least.”

“Yeah, well. It’s a big joke. Like me.”

I jogged off again and arrived at my locker. As I reached up to spin the dial, Peyton hovered behind me, breathing down my
neck. I yanked open the door and backed into her. “What?” I sniped. “Do
you
have an answer? Life sucks. Nothing’s fair. Nothing’s equal. Your sanctimonious morals don’t apply to us.” Us — like there
was anyone else to defend. I was the only out lesbian at school.

Peyton’s face flushed. “That’s not…” She swallowed hard. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. It isn’t easy for us either. This
whole stupid abstinence movement. ‘Wait training.’ I mean, God. It’s unnatural. Biologically. Emotionally. Even spiritually.”

“Oh boo hoo, Peyton. You have it so rough.” I ground a knuckle into my eye socket. Then thought, Damn. I just smeared my makeup.

Peyton’s lips pinched. Her eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t
such a bitch, people might actually care about what you thought.” She squeaked a pivot and stomped off.

My face stung, like she’d slapped me.

I hate you, Peyton Faulk. I hate people who get to me.

Peyton. It bugged me all day. Her talking to me, opening a dialogue. My pact with God to be a good person. How much dignity
do we have to sacrifice to get to heaven?

I hunted Peyton down after school. She was sitting on the retaining wall, joking around with Chad Bennett. I’d seen them hanging
out together. She could do better.

Okay, this was going on my Saint Aimee scroll. I summoned courage and swallowed pride.

“So. You guys. What’s up?”

Peyton and Chad froze, like freeze-frame. Chad said, “Who’s asking?”

Peyton elbowed him in the ribs. He oofed.

“Not much,” she replied. “What’s up with you?”

Enough chitchat. “I’m glad you’re both here,” I said. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. About being a bitch today in Errasco’s
class.”

Chad eyed me up and down. “What about the rest of the time?”

“Shut up.” Peyton fisted his chest. “I’m sorry too,” she said to me. “I just wanted to have a conversation with you is all.”

Until she’d ambushed me it hadn’t even registered that she was in my health class. She was invisible to me. Okay, not entirely.
But she inhabited a different dimension. I adjusted
the stack of books in my arm and asked, “A conversation about what?”

Peyton’s eyes fixed on mine. “Cramps. I get ’em bad with my period and I wanted to know if you had any Midol.”

“Ugh.” Chad shuddered. “Mature subject matter. Parental guidance suggested.” He leapt off the wall and mumbled, “Catch you
later, Pey.” He took a wide berth around me and swaggered off.

She grinned. “Now that we’re rid of him…”

There was an awkward silence between us. History. Like how do you break down a barrier that’d been built over time? Reinforced
with resentment and anger?

Peyton set her purse on the other side of her and patted the spot Chad had vacated.

She couldn’t order me around.

She opened her mouth and curled the tip of her tongue against her teeth. Her stud glistened. She arched her eyebrows. I exhaled
surrender. Setting my tower of books on the ledge, I hoisted myself up. Without grunting, I’m proud to say.

“It isn’t natural,” Peyton said. “We can’t ignore our biological urges. We’re meant to procreate and carry on the species.”

Procreate? “Is Darwin required reading now?”

She just looked at me.

The whole procreation thing made me a little queasy. Just thinking about what guys and girls did together… Not the girls
so much.

Peyton laughed suddenly. “You should see your face.”

I shook my head, a smile twisting my lips.

“I want to have sex,” she said.

My jaw unhinged.

She shoved me. “Not with you.”

“Thank God.”

She laughed.

A cluster of people passed. Peyton’s people. Upper crust. They stopped to chat, make arrangements, synchronize their pods.
Finally they noticed me polluting their space and dispersed. I waited until they were out of earshot, near the quad, before
asking, “Who do you want to have sex with? Not Chad Bennett, I hope.”

Peyton rolled the end of her tongue again. “He’s not so bad. He has a good heart.”

“Where is it? In his crotch?”

She let out a little huff. Then grinned. “Yeah, pretty much.” Peyton gripped the corner of the ledge and rocked forward. “I’m
just saying it’s normal and natural for us to do it. To want to. We’re programmed for sex. It’s instinct, and hormones, and
drive.”

“We’re fucking sex machines,” I deadpanned.

“Exactly.” She looked at me. “You know it’s true.”

Heat rose up my neck. “Do you really want to do it with Chad?” I asked.

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t tell him.”

“Are you kidding me? Peyton, I thought, raise your standards. “Chad!” I hollered toward the quad. “Get a condom —”

Peyton’s hand flew at my mouth. I intercepted it with a stiff wrist. The force was unexpected and Peyton slipped off the wall,
stumbling on her landing. I jumped down to catch her. Or cushion her fall. We ended up in each other’s arms.

I let go fast. One of her flip-flops bounced to the wall and I retrieved it. Crouching, I helped her back into it. Flashback.
We’re kids playing Cinderella. It’s our favorite role play. Peyton’s the princess. I’m the prince. We get married in her playhouse.

It took a moment before Peyton realized I was clutching her ankle. She kicked back harder than necessary.

I staggered to stand. “Like I’d ever want you,” I snarled. I recovered my books and stalked off.

“Aimee.” She raced up in front of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Her chin dropped. “Stupid.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.
I just don’t know how to act with you.”

A minute passed. We stood there, avoiding each other’s eyes. Wow, people grow apart. People you think you’ll always be friends
with. The princess turns into a frog. The prince falls on her ass.

“Is it the same for you?” Peyton asked. Her voice sounded funny. Was she scared of me? She should be. I was a dangerous dyke.

What’d she mean, the same for me? When I didn’t answer
right away, she added, “When you meet a girl. Do you want to, like —“

“Fuck her?”

Peyton’s eyes widened.

“I like to know her name first,” I said.

She smacked my shoulder. “Seriously.”

Seriously? “Yeah,” I answered. “I guess it’s the same. I don’t know.”

“But only girls?”

“And chipmunks.”

She whapped me again.

“I don’t want to do Chad Bennett, if that’s what you’re asking. Or any guy.”

“Have you had sex?”

My jaw dropped.

“Sorry.” She grimaced. “It’s none of my business.”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.” Don’t ask me why I told her that.

“Me neither,” she said.

“Seriously?”

She frowned. Her face paled. “Why? What have you heard?”

I scoffed. “Like anyone talks to me.”

A clot of cheerleaders bounced by and went, “Hey, Pey.”

“Hey.” She waited until they passed. Biting her lip, she said, “I’ve come close. I haven’t had intercourse.” She blinked.
“Do you have intercourse?”

“Only with chipmunks.”

She balled a fist in my face.

I didn’t know what to say. What’s the equivalent? When does a lesbian lose her virginity? “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’ll
let you know when I figure it out.”

She smiled. She still had that one deep dimple.

Peyton said, “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” She reached into her purse and fished out her keys. “Mom actually let me have
the car today.”

“How is your mom?” I asked. Last I heard her parents had split too. I’d wanted to call her so bad. Reconnect.

I should’ve taken the step. I cared. You know? I knew how it felt.

“She’s okay,” Peyton answered. “She works too hard. She has a boyfriend now.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “Doug.”

“Duuug,” I imitated her.

She stuck out her tongue stud. “They don’t practice abstinence. I can hear them through the wall.”

“Ew. Gross.”

“Totally.”

The thought of my mom ever doing it…

“I could drop you off at home,” Peyton said. “Say hi to your mom.”

“Sure. Okay. She’d like that.”

We walked to the parking lot together. Out of nowhere, Peyton said, “I’ve missed you, Aimes. I’m glad we talked today. Why
did we stop talking?”

“You tell me,” I said. “You dumped me.”

“No, I didn’t!” She whirled. “You moved.”

“We still went to the same school. You’re the one who moved — away from me.”

She hesitated. “You were different. You were… . You didn’t need me anymore.”

“Yes, I did! I needed you more than ever!” I was almost shouting. My parents got divorced. I was coming out. I needed her.

She pressed her tongue against her teeth. “I wanted to call you so many times.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. Why didn’t
you
?”

My eyes pooled with tears. She blinked real fast.

“Stupid,” she muttered.

Yeah. Stupid. Abstinence is emptiness. Unnatural separation. It doesn’t make sense.

Unexpectedly, Peyton hugged me. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged me.

Peyton unlocked the car doors and we both got in. “Hey, Pey?” I buckled up.

She cranked over the ignition. “Yeah?”

I said, “If you’re choosing between abstinence and Chad Bennett? Choose abstinence.”

I
was four when my cousin, Kevin, said, “You want to see my penis?” and I said, “Yeah,” and he let me touch it. It felt squishy
at first, then hard in my hand. I wanted one. Every day after that, I wanted one. My own penis. Mine.

The day I got it was the happiest day of my life. I could stop stuffing socks in my briefs. With my penis I could pack. Bind
and pack. Thank you, cousin Kevin. Best bud in the world. Like a bro to me. Thank you for performing a degrading act of humiliation
to buy me a penis.

I’d been binding, wrapping myself since I was twelve. Since my boobs showed through my T-shirts. Sports bras worked for a
while, then my boobs got too big and I started wrapping. The best wrap was Ace Bandage. It bound real tight. I could really
smash my boobs flat in stretchy wrap. Even in a sleeveless shirt, you could barely tell I was a
ze
. A s/he.

My packer was a strap-on. Guys sometimes named their penises, like Willie or Jack or Dick. Real creative. Me, I had more respect
for mine. It wasn’t an object; it wasn’t detached or separate from me. My packer was a part of me. It made me. The shaft was
big in size, six inches. Four bucks an inch. $23.99. You could get soft packers online, cock socks and compression vests.
But I didn’t have a credit card. You had to be twenty-one to buy at Fascinations and you had to show ID. I asked, begged,
pleaded with Kevin to buy me a packer. Please, Kevin? Please? He refused to set foot in a place like that, a sex shop. I told
him I’d clean his apartment for a year. I told him I’d scoop his cat box. I’d iron his boxers. I’d scour his john. Please,
Kevin. PLEASE.

The day he agreed I came as close to crying as I ever had.

Kevin insisted on cash so incriminating evidence wouldn’t show up on his Visa. When he hustled back to the truck and flung
the paper bag at me, he said, between clenched teeth, “Don’t ever ask me to do something like that again, Eva.”

“Vince, not Eva,” I reminded him. “I promise. Thanks.” I wouldn’t. I’d treasure my P. I’d guard it with my life. “Thanks,
Kevin.”

I could either tuck it into the harness that wound around my hips and joined at the pubic bone, or I could tape the shaft
behind, between my legs. The harness straps were white elastic. Not black leather, like porn or anything. It was built for
utility.

I liked the thickness of it — of me — in the mirror, standing
forward, to the side, astride a chair. But for school, for public use, I’d duct tape it underneath. That way no one would
know I was packing and I could feel the security of it between my legs at all times.

Oh man. Thanks, Kevin. My P was sweet.

Mom dumped me on Grams and Gramps when I was a baby. That was fine. Mom was nineteen and a junkie. Who needed that? She showed
up to reclaim me years later, but it was too late, you know? She’d cleaned up; got a new life, a new husband. She had a son
now too. I have news for you, Mom. You got two sons. A bio boy and a trans boi.