BLACK
(part 5)

by Funtails


Alan walked up to the front door of Max's house with no idea of what he would say or even what he wanted.

Gary Carter answered the door, a grim expression on his face. "So, it's happened," he stated.

"Mister Carter, I need to talk to Max."

"I know, but I need to talk to you first. Come in."

They sat on the sofa in Gary's study. On a mantel in the corner was a framed picture of a toddler girl in a violet hat, her hair in pigtails.

"Is that...?"

"Yes," said Gary. "Maxine. She was such a beautiful girl.

"You have to understand," Gary explained, "I already had three sons in high school. Fatherhood was at its end for me. I was resigned to never having a daughter and then Maxine..."

Gary sighed. "But she was never happy. Not even after she persisted in becoming Max. Even as a boy Max still never felt comfortable. And Max wasn't into girls, romantically. Even in kindergarten Max had crushes on boys. That confused the whole issue more. Was Max really a boy trapped in a girl's body or just a boyish girl or what? I suppose I didn't help, always trying to steer Maxine back to being as girly as possible."

"No, you didn't help at all there," said Mrs. Carter coming through the door. Then she changed topic. "He's calmed down a bit."

"Did he say anything about what happened?" Alan asked.

"Only typical adolescent stuff." She sat next to Alan. "His life is totally over apparently."

"I'm sorry about all this."

"Look, Alan," said Mrs. Carter softly, "we have a pretty good idea what's been going on between you and Max. You don't need to explain. This was bound to happen and Max knew that. He even planned to tell you today after you two, you know...well, after.

"He told you about that?!"

"Yes. He needed my advice."

Alan stared at his feet in disbelief.

Mrs. Carter said, "He felt like if he explained it his way to you he'd make you understand—"

"But I do understand!"

"I'm glad to hear that. But Max is quite aware of how phobic society can be about trans people. He's afraid that the abrupt way you found out means you'll lash out at him for deceiving you."

"No. I love Max. He's...well, whatever he is, He's Max, you know?"

"Yeah," said Gary, "I know."

Mrs. Carter patted Alan's knee. "You can go talk to him now."

The door to Max's room was open, the boy on his bed staring at the ceiling.

"Max?"

The boy rolled towards the window. "Don't look at me!"

"Max, don't do that to yourself, baby. You're beautiful. Nothing else—"

"Don't say that. Don't call me that. I don't want to be fucking beautiful! I don't want to be pretty. I don't want to be weak!"

"Don't be simplistic, Max. What you are is art and art is beautiful."

"Art is for girls," said Max.

"Oh, is that why you liked me? My girlish artistic interests?"

"No, you're different. You're confident and handsome and you act the way you want to and live the way you want to. You're the kind of man I wish I could be."

"'Man' doesn't mean 'strong', Max. It doesn't mean 'confident'. It doesn't mean 'handsome'. Just like 'weak' and 'beautiful' and 'artistic' doesn't mean 'girl'."

"You don't understand. Why don't you go try that line out in the sixth grade, see how well they buy that shit?"

"No, Max." Alan let his anger show through. "You don't understand. You feel masculine, but your body tells everyone you're feminine, so your response is to play the game, be the most aggressive, masculine boy you can, using all their standards." Alan softened his voice. "But that's just trapping yourself, Max. You don't have to play the game at all."

"Yeah, well people don't exactly give you much choice, do they?"

"I'm people, Max. And you don't have to play with me."

Max watched the window. Alan watched Max. Minutes passed.

"You really don't care?" Max asked. "Not even that I lied to you?"

"I'm still a little stunned, but I understand why it was hard for you to tell me. This is a lot harder than confessing to chopping down a cherry tree."

"That's a myth you know."

"What is?" asked Alan.

"That whole cherry tree legend about George Washington. My social studies teacher told us it was all made up. Never happened. He said he respected our intellect too much to feed us 'deceitful parables'."

"I guess whoever came up with it felt that they needed a lie to make kids respect Washington more."

"Yeah, but it's probably better to let people know the truth once they grow up a bit."

#

The new tree house in Alan's back yard was a boy's fantasy come true—made from scratch, secure, but not over-neat. Small, but full of surprises, like a climbing rope, trapdoor, stove, dartboard and storage chest. Alan and Max had worked three weeks after the close of school to get it all done. The other boys had sensed that this was 'their' project, and mostly left them to it.

Alan and Max faced each other inside, sitting cross-legged on a thick red rug. It was the first dark hour of evening and two electric candles flickered near the walls. The lovers' anticipation had been building since dinner as they played board games, listened to music, even briefly attempted a lame, kneeling, slow dance.

Up here, with the window screens closed and the skylight open to the stars, it seemed like Alan and his boy were in a separate world. Max smiled as the boy unbuttoned his shirt, giving Alan a cheesy grin. He slipped the shirt down his shoulders and let it drop off his arms. If Max felt self-conscious about the nascent bumps on his chest, he didn't show it.

Alan reached over and took Max's face in his hands like he was holding an ancient Greek vase. This was to be their first time making love since the calamity of Alan's birthday. Slowly, looking into the boy's dark eyes, Alan leaned in and then kissed him, softly pressing against Max's glossy lips. The taste of Max drew him on and Alan pressed harder, fighting to touch more of the boy, to share himself with Max. Their tongues flicked against each other.

Alan rose to his knees, bringing Max with him as they continued to kiss. He started unbuttoning his dress shirt with one hand, using the other to keep Max's protesting fingers away from the all too delicate buttons. He allowed the boy to pull the shirt off him, then unbuttoned his pants and hurriedly kicked them away with his underwear.

It was time for Max's pants to go. But that was a political operation and Alan hesitated. Max looked up at him with uncertain eyes. Alan kissed the boy on the middle of his forehead. "It's okay, Max. No more secrets, right?"

"None of that matters, Max." Alan pulled the boy into a tight embrace, stroking his short, dark hair and nuzzling his neck.

"It doesn't matter what attachments you do or don't have, at the end of it all, you're just a boy. A boy I love. A boy named Lucius."

"Lu-what?" Max broke their hug.

Alan held Max at the shoulders as he would a urinating puppy. He looked quickly around the tree house like a lost man. With mock seriousness he said, "You're not Lucius! Who are you and why have you brought me to this dungeon?"

"God, your jokes are so lame," laughed Max before jumping right onto Alan and knocking him back onto the floor. The boy kissed Alan hard, arms around his neck. Alan stroked Max's hip and kissed back.

"Honestly," said Max, lifting up for a breath, "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Reason number one: I have an amazing cock. Reason number two: Given reason number one, there is no need for additional reasons."

"Eh. Your cock's okay. Ish."

"Don't make me withhold my bounty."

"In that case, you're right. You have the most perfect cock in the world."

The boy reached between them for the cock in question. It was hard and pressed into Max's delicate abdomen.

"One day," said Max as he squeezed it," I'm gonna have one just as nice as this."

"Yes. Yes you will. And I'm gonna wear it out." There had been a lot of other developments in Max's life while the tree house had been going up. With the girlish bits of him about to go through puberty, it was time to call in the doctors, the counselors and the lawyers to get timetables and legalities out of the way. Final surgery was a ways off, but hormone therapy would be needed to keep Max's physical development in check. Most important, he now had the support of his parents and his boyfriend. Even the school was making things easy.

But that was immaterial to Alan. This Max, the one who had conquered his frustrations and learned to relax, who had finally allowed his natural gentleness to drive his personality, this Max was all that Alan wanted. And he had him.

Alan rolled Max onto his back. He bit playfully at the boy's ears, receiving a finger in the ribs as retaliation. They kissed slowly under the dark, open sky, enjoying the presence of each other as much as the touch and feel. Alan's cock brushed Max's vaginal opening and he pulled back as casually as he could, dipping his lips to nibble on Max's nipples. A few weeks before, it had occurred to Alan that having vaginal sex with Max might be a good way to break the boy's insecurity. It would, he had figured, make him accept all the parts of himself as being himself. But a night of sleep had convinced him that this was a misguided idea. Sex was not therapy and Alan's only duty was loving Max as the boy wanted to be loved.

And that meant butt sex.

Naturally, there was Astroglide in the tree house. Tube in hand, Alan started by kissing his way down Max's taut belly, avoiding the slit between the legs and licking at the crack of Max's ass. Alan held a firm cheek in each hand and lifted it up, giving himself a better angle to slide his tongue into the pucker. The boy moaned at this touch. Alan poked his tongue at the opening until it was spit slick. Then he dropped the boy down and put a twirling finger against it. He uncapped the lube with one hand and got the finger tip slippery. Just the feelings of his finger were erotic to Alan. The idea that his finger was touching the boy in this intimate place, the feel of the hot hole as he slid in and around it gave him sensual thrill.

It was impossible for Alan to miss that Max's vagina was shiny with the boy's wet arousal, but the man said nothing.

Instead, he resumed kissing Max, two fingers opening the way for his cock.

"Ready?" he asked, spreading the boy's legs.

"Yeah."

"I love you, Max."

The boy gave him a look of longing and absolute trust, then said, "I love you, Lucius."

Alan laughed then gave Max one last lingering kiss before guiding his cockhead to the boy's back door. With an insistent push, Alan was in. Max's butt welcomed him like a city welcoming a returning king, the walls of Max's insides like a crowd pressed to the royal carriage of his cock.

"Uhhhhggnnggg," moaned Max.

"You like that?" Alan asked.

"Ohhhh, yeah. Feels sooo good."

With the boy seeming comfortable with Alan's rod up his round ass, Alan started sliding back and forth. Max was tight and slick. Alan used a steady pace, holding Max's shoulders to keep him in place as he thrust in again and again.

Each push brought a sighing 'ooomph' from the boy. Alan ran one hand through Max's hair and stroked his forehead as he kept his hips pumping. He knew in his mind that Max was his boy now, that nothing could change that, but he still felt like only touching the boy could make it feel real. In a surge of need, Alan enveloped Max in his arms, holding the boy tighter as he climbed closer to orgasm. He went faster and faster into Max's welcoming chute. Max's moans rose and the boy held Alan just as tight as the man held Max.

Alan's arms, neck and spine stiffened and jerked as he came. His cock seemed to grow larger as it shot semen into the boy's warm ass. The slapping sounds fell slowly away as the man lost steam, his softening cock still feeling pleasure from the grip of the boy's insides. When the shaft was too limber to keep going, Alan lifted it out. The man finally let his weight fall, forehead dropping to the cushioning rug. Max breathed warm and deep beside his ear.

They said nothing, just enjoyed the press of bodies, skin closer than ever. Alan's dazed mind recovered itself slowly and he felt the boy against him more than ever. He wished he could have this closeness always.

He could have fallen asleep right there. Maybe Max too, but eventually the boy said, "I gotta pee."

Alan rolled away. Above, a few brave suburban stars were twinkling. The leafy scent of the two trees nearby drifted down to him. When Max kneeled and pulled up his briefs, Alan could see his vagina. It occurred to him that his tongue or even his fingers could give the boy an orgasm. Max had not come during their sex. But immediately Alan knew not to go there. The issue was too complex and delicate to go blundering about.

"Aren't you going to put on clothes?" he asked Max as the boy slid down the ladder.

"Nah," the reply drifted up. "It's dark. No one's going to see me."

Alan smiled at the playfulness that was emerging from Max as he seemed more free to be himself. He pictured the old Max—his overlarge, black jacket and his bubbling rage at an unfair world—and Alan was glad he had seen this thing through to the end, to the Max who was now an enchantment in his life. The man breathed in the summer air and squirmed against the furry rug under his back. Eventually a pang of hunger made him realize that he'd been there a long time. Putting on his own briefs, as well as trunks and a T-shirt from his overnight bag, Alan headed for his kitchen, the cool grass soft against his feet. He got peanut butter from the fridge and looked around for the bagels so he could make his favorite nighttime snack.

"Max?" he called upstairs.

No reply.

By the time the bagels were toasted, he was a little worried. Had the boy gotten sick? He smeared some peanut butter onto the bagel with a few quick swipes and started upstairs as he took a bite.

In the bathroom, he found Max curled in the tub sobbing. On the floor were his briefs, a bright red blotch on the front. More red blood spotted the white porcelain. Max's hands were holding his crotch as if he could keep the blood from coming.

"Max!"

The boy whimpered unintelligibly. Alan jumped into the tub, pulling Max to him. The boy struggled, trying to keep his hands between his legs.

"No," he said. "I've got to stop it. I've got to stop it."

"Max, it's okay. We knew this was going to happen eventually."

But Max seemed not to hear him. "Alan," he said. "Alan, please, help me stop it. I don't want to turn into a girl."

Alan pulled Max against him by the wrists. The man was sitting in the tub, his back against the far end. Max was lying naked against his side, the boy's blood-stained fingers gripping Alan's T-shirt. Alan let go the boy's arms to hug him. With one hand, he pulled Max's head closer and kissed the top of it.

The boy's sobbing eased and his grip on Alan's shirt loosened. "I just want to be a real boy, Alan," he said as he cried.

"You're my boy. You'll always be my boy. That's all that matters."

Tears dripped against Alan's chest. Blood dripped on his thigh. Alan held Max tight. The man's frustration and panic seeped slowly away, replaced by certainty and purpose: All he could do was love Max. He did not know if that would be enough, but he would not stop and did not want to. He held the boy until the tears stopped and the boy fell asleep. Then he held him past that, until the sun fought its way into the sky on a new day.


THE END



Comments welcome. Even if you're reading this in an archive years from now, I'd love to hear what you think.

-Funtails@hotmail.com,