A Twist of Kim - 1. A Twist of Kim

‘There you go.’ I placed two pints of lager on the counter, and the customer paid for it. With no one else queueing up, I took to wiping down the counter.

My eyes fell on one of the people seated at the bar. I had served them a cocktail about twenty minutes ago. They had hot pink hair in an undercut, and wore a short green skirt and white halter top. Sleeve tattoos snaked up lean, brown arms, and a man had just decided to strike up a conversation with them.

‘What are you?’ the man asked.

‘I beg your pardon?’ the one with pink hair replied, quirking an eyebrow. They spoke in a melodious tenor.

‘What are you?’ the man repeated.

‘Clearly, I am a houseplant.’ They rolled their eyes. ‘Human. I’m a human.’

‘I mean, are you male or female?’

The person shrugged. ‘Six of one, half a dozen of the other.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

A heavy sigh. ‘I am non-binary. Gender fluid? Sometimes I’m a man, sometimes I’m a woman, and most of the time I’m somewhere in between.’

The man looked confused. ‘Okay. Well. But, which are you, physically?’

‘Really? You haven’t even bought me a drink, and you’re asking me what’s in my pants? Do you normally go around asking perfect strangers what genitalia they have?’

The man spluttered. ‘Well, most of the time you can tell by looking, can’t you?’

‘Can you, though? That guy over there, how can you be sure he has a penis? And that woman. You sure you know what’s in her knickers?’ Another sigh. ‘Fine, if you’re so desperate to know: I’m on testosterone, I’ve had top surgery, and yes, I have a cock. It’s about two inches long when erect and right next to my vagina. Anything else you want to know?’

The man turned and walked off without another word.

‘Didn’t fucking think so . . .’ The person drained their glass.

‘Nicely handled,’ I said.

‘Meh. Think so?’

‘Well, you’re under no obligation to educate fuckwits like him. Most of my trans and enby friends probably wouldn’t have. Too risky. Takes guts, that.’ I dried my hand on a towel and reached across the bar. ‘Conrad. He/him.’

They shook the offered hand. ‘Kim. They/them.’

‘Pleasure to meet you, Kim. Can I get you a drink? On the house? You did us a favour in educating that guy, after all.’

‘Sure, why not,’ said Kim, smiling. ‘I’ll have another daiquiri, then, please.’

‘Coming right up.’

I glanced at Kim while I mixed sugar, rum, lime juice, and simple syrup in the shaker. They were pretty cute, really. I’ve always liked funky hair colours like that. My last boyfriend had turquoise hair, and it had been all kinds of hot. I stirred the mixture vigorously before adding ice.

‘You waiting for someone?’ I asked while shaking.

Kim shrugged. ‘Not really. Got a friend who might turn up, but she didn’t make any promises.’

I poured the drink into a chilled cocktail glass. ‘Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.’

‘I don't usually come to places like this. Too many people like that guy . . . Been here a couple of times, though.’

‘Huh. I must not have been working.’ I set down the drink on the counter in front of them.

‘Cheers.’ Kim took a sip. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, I guess you stand out a bit . . . Love the hair, by the way.’

Kim quirked an eyebrow. ‘Are you flirting with me, Conrad?’

I felt my face turn hot and looked away. ‘Nah.’ I totally was, though. ‘I mean, I’ll stop if you feel uncomfortable.’

‘Not uncomfortable . . . Just wondering if you’d still be flirting with me if you hadn’t just overheard what genitals I have.’

I gave a short laugh. ‘Like I care about that. I’m . . . primarily homoromantic, but I’m pansexual.’

Kim nodded. ‘Good to know.’

‘I’m sorry, I’ll stop.’

‘No, it’s okay. Thinking I should finish my drink and get out of here, though. Dealing with that guy was exhausting.’

‘Of course,’ I said quickly.

‘I may come back some other night,’ they said with a smile.

Another customer turned up at the bar, and I excused myself and turned to them to take their order. Lager again. I worked in a gay bar, couldn’t people order more interesting things?

I served my customer and turned back to where Kim had been sitting, but they were gone.

Oh, well done, Conrad. Scare away the first interesting person you’ve had in here in months.

#

It was weeks before I saw Kim again. I kept hoping they’d stop by, but they never did, until one Friday night there they were, sitting at the bar and smiling at me when I spotted them. They had changed their hair. It was blue now.

‘Hey, Conrad,’ they said, and I was gratified that they remembered my name

‘Hey, Kim.’ I grinned. ‘What can I get for you today?’

‘I don’t suppose you have any grapefruit juice?’

I made a face. ‘Sorry, no.’

‘Ah, too bad. Would have liked a Hemingway daiquiri. But every time I ask for one I’m told they haven’t got any grapefruit.’ Kim gave a wan smile. ‘Oh well. Regular old daiquiri it is.’

‘Coming right up.’ I began mixing their drink. ‘I mean, I could make you some other kind. Strawberry is popular.’

‘Ugh, too sweet. That’s why I like the Hemingway. Dry and bitter, like the man himself.’

I laughed. ‘You know why it’s called Hemingway?’

Kim rolled their eyes. ‘Because Hemingway invented it. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘Douze points,’ I said with a nod.

They laughed. ‘Eurovision’s six months away.’

‘In here, every day is Eurovision.’ I paused as the next song came on and it was the previous year’s winner. ‘Case in point.’ I placed the daiquiri in front of Kim.

‘Cheers.’ They took a sip and reached for their wallet. I was tempted to tell them it was on the house again, but that would have seemed overly flirty and maybe a little bit creepy, so I let them pay for the drink. ‘You’ve got customers,’ said Kim.

‘Oh!’ I turned away to take the orders of my new patrons. Two pints of shitty lager, one Cosmopolitan. A marginal improvement, but such a cliché.

When they were gone I returned my attention to Kim. ‘You by yourself again?’

Kim shrugged. ‘Didn’t make any concrete plans to meet anyone. Just felt like getting out of the house. I’m working too hard.’

‘You work from home?’

Kim nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m a translator.’

I raised both eyebrows, impressed. ‘Really? What language?’

‘German, French, Portuguese.’

‘Wow. And here I only speak English. And not even that well.’

Kim shrugged. ‘I get by passably in Spanish, Italian, and Dutch, too, but not well enough to translate. I do some subtitling for film and television, translate articles, the occasional novel. I get to work from home and keep my own hours, but it can be stressful when I have deadlines, and the pay is . . . sporadic. If I get a big job, I’m good, but when I’m just getting small fry for a while money’s tight. Still, it’s a decent living.’

‘Well, I’m impressed. Seven languages . . . wow.’

They laughed. ‘It’s really not that big of a deal.’

I rinsed a couple of glasses while we talked. ‘So, which one’s your favourite? Language, I mean.’

Kim appeared to consider for a few seconds. ‘Hm, Portuguese, I think. It’s such a beautiful language. Rolls off the tongue. Soft sounds. Kind of sexy, you know?’

‘Okay, let’s hear some, then,’ I said.

They rolled off a phrase. ‘Eu gosto de homens que se interessam pelo meu trabalho.’ They were right. It was a beautifully soft language.

‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

My question was rewarded with a half smile. ‘It means, I like men who take an interest in my work.’

Licking my lips, I looked away and felt myself blush. ‘That’s . . . good to know.’ I considered for a moment. ‘Sorry, just gonna make a quick call.’ I picked up the phone and dialled the bar upstairs. ‘André? Can you spare Jimmy for ten minutes? I have an errand I need to run. Okay, thanks.’

Kim quirked an eyebrow. ‘What’s up?’

‘I need to go do a thing real quick. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Kim, just as Jimmy showed up.

I left the bar and crossed the street to the twenty-four hour Tesco on the corner. It didn’t take long to find what I needed, and I returned after five minutes rather than ten. To my great relief, Kim was still there. They were just finishing off their drink.

I slammed a grapefruit down on the bar. ‘You wanted a Hemingway, right?’

Kim gaped at me. ‘Er, yeah. Did . . . did you just go out and buy a grapefruit so you could make me a Hemingway daiquiri?’

I smiled. ‘Have you seen what the folks here normally drink? I haven’t made a Hemingway in like three years. So, er, let me know if it’s shit.’

Kim laughed. ‘I think this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.’

I didn’t reply to that, instead setting to cutting open the grapefruit. I mixed the drink in silence. I honestly felt kind of embarrassed. What a thing to do, and for someone I had only talked to twice. But Kim was special, I could tell. And if I wanted to get anywhere, I felt like I had to do something to show my interest properly.

As I had told Kim, I hadn’t mixed a Hemingway daiquiri in a long time, but mixing a drink is like riding a bicycle. You never really forget, and my hands knew exactly what to do. I carved a thin slice of the grapefruit’s peel with a vegetable peeler and, after twisting it and holding it over a lighter for a few seconds, balanced it atop the glass, before handing the whole thing to Kim. I watched in anticipation while they took a sip.

‘This,’ they declared, ‘is a really good Hemingway daiquiri.’

I felt myself grin. ‘Good. Since I just basically used you as my lab rat it’s on the house.’

‘You’re not gonna turn a profit if you just give away free drinks to every person who comes in with a funky hair colour, you know.’

‘I don’t. You’re special.’

Kim smiled. ‘When’s your next night off?’

‘Oh. Er, Tuesday.’

‘Go out with me, Conrad?’

Yes! It worked! I returned the smile. ‘I’d love to.’

#

‘So my friend is like, “Okay, you prefer cock, that’s fine.” And the guy goes, “No, no. I don’t care that you have a vagina. I top anyway, a hole’s a hole. It’s just the nipples. You trans guys have such massive fucking nipples.”’

I laughed out loud. ‘What the fuck? The nipples?’

‘Yup.’ Kim grinned. They were dressed in skinny jeans and a t-shirt that clung to their torso in all the right places, showing off their sleeve tattoos nicely. ‘Definitely the most bizarre refusal he’d had, my friend. He was pretty stunned.’

We’d been out for a meal; Indian food, nothing fancy. Now we were sitting in a bar. Not my bar, thankfully, just an all right looking place near the restaurant. They served decent cocktails, though I secretly found myself thinking I could make them better myself.

Taking a sip of my Old-Fashioned, I shook my head. ‘I can only imagine. I’m used to people having hang-ups about genitalia, but nipples?’

‘Yeah, I don’t even know.’ Kim was drinking a Sidecar. They clearly liked citrusy drinks. ‘And boy, the worst of the genitals crowd? Cisgender lesbians. Straight guys, they can get past a dick on a woman. Like my friend’s would-be suitor so eloquently put it, a hole’s a hole. And most gay guys just say they’re not interested in vagina and go on their merry way. But the lesbians? They get really nasty.’

‘Yeah, but not all—’

‘Hashtag not all sapphics?’

I laughed again. I had laughed a lot that evening. ‘I just mean that they’re loud, but there are plenty who aren’t like that.’

‘True. And, honestly, having a preference is fine. If you don’t like vagina, don’t have sex with people with vaginas. But when it’s the first question they ask, and then they get really rude and angry because you set your gender to something other than what you were assigned at birth on Tinder . . . “I won’t have sex with you if you have so and so bits.” Bitch, what makes you think I even want to have sex with you? It’s just so exhausting.’

I nodded, sympathetic. Then I hesitated for a moment before asking, ‘So. Do you have a preference?’

Kim seemed to consider, fingering the stem of their cocktail glass. ‘I do quite like cock,’ they admitted at last. ‘Toys, strap-ons, they’re all well and good, but it’s just not the same.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

‘Prefer cock too, hm?’

I smiled. ‘I’m really not fussed either way. Just mean that toys are never the same as the real thing. It’s true that I’ve had more boyfriends than I’ve had girlfriends, but that includes non-op trans-guys, so . . . Genitalia? No big deal. My last boyfriend was trans. He had, erm . . . turquoise hair.’ I blushed a little bit.

‘Ah, so you do have a type.’ They smirked. ‘But the fact that I’ve transitioned is a plus?’

I studied Kim’s face for a few moments. It was hard to get a read, with their sardonic smile almost permanently etched onto their face, but underneath I sensed a certain degree of anxiety. ‘You know,’ I said after some thirty seconds, ‘when I say that I don’t care about gender or sex, I mean it. I find you interesting. I couldn’t care less if you have tits or not, whether your voice is high or low, whether or not you have body hair. I like you. And that conversation I overheard the day we met told me nothing of interest other than that you’re cool and sassy and my kind of crazy.’ I reached for their hand on top of the bar and they let me take it. ‘Now stop overthinking, stop trying to find a reason I wouldn’t be into you, and just enjoy the fact that I am.’

Kim nodded, and their face visibly relaxed, sardonic smile turning more genuine. ‘That guy really was a cunt.’

I laughed. ‘He really was. You handled him well, though. Like I said then, it was risky.’

‘It’s always risky. And they don’t always walk away.’ Their words told me all I needed to know, and I gave that hand a squeeze. ‘Still, what’s life without a little risk? Someone has to educate those arseholes. Can’t leave it all up to you white cis guys.’

I shook my head. ‘I’ll happily pick up the slack when trans folks are too tired to continue, but I would never presume to speak on behalf of anyone. I’ll use my privilege any way I can, but . . .’ I grimaced. ‘Can’t say I don’t sometimes feel guilty.’

Kim cocked their head to one side. ‘Why, because you’re a white cis-dude? That’s just stupid, Conrad. Sure, you have certain privileges. You’re white and you’re cis, and if you wanted to you could marry a girl and live your life as a straight man. It’s great that you want to use that to be an ally, but honestly, some of these people on our side are complete nutters. We need to fight societal structures, not alienate individual allies. This shouldn’t be about individual identities anyway. That’s not where the problem lies. And intersectionality is great, but it’s not a competition. I am a trans, non-binary, bipolar person of colour with a vagina. I was even a sex worker at one point. Put me in a wheelchair and I win the fucking oppression olympics.’ They drained their drink. ‘It’s all made up, invented by us. We need to deconstruct all of these social hierarchies.’

‘I had no idea you were such a revolutionary,’ I said, draining my drink as well.

Kim grinned. ‘Nah. Just an angry post-modernist.’ They bit their lip. ‘Thanks for listening to me rant.’

‘My pleasure. Always happy to get other people’s perspective.’

‘Is it okay if I kiss you, Conrad?’

I leaned in closer. ‘Yeah. But I’m gonna kiss you first.’ And I did. Kim tasted of citrus and brandy, and they eagerly kissed me back with soft, parted lips. When I deepened the kiss, Kim welcomed my tongue into their mouth with a soft sigh.

‘What’s this, then?’ I heard a voice say, and then someone tapped my shoulder. I reluctantly broke the kiss and turned to look at the person who had interrupted us. He was a tall man in his forties, with short cropped black hair and beady blue eyes. Next to him stood another man of similar stature, this one blonde.

‘Pardon?’ I said.

‘I said, what’s this, then?’ the man repeated. ‘We got a couple of queers in here?’

‘Yes,’ I said without blinking. ‘Two queers. In a cocktail bar. How novel.’

‘Well, keep it to yourselves!’ said the other man gruffly. ‘No one wants to see that shit.’

‘Why? You jealous?’ said Kim with a smirk. ‘Just piss off, all right?’

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do, kid,’ said the first man.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do,’ Kim retorted.

I stood from the bar stool, instinctively placing myself between the men and Kim. ‘Just back off, all right? There’s no reason we can’t all just live and let live.’

‘Long as you two stop being all over each other, we won’t have a problem,’ the first man said. ‘’S up to you.’

Kim snorted. ‘I don’t fucking think so!’ They stood up. ‘I will kiss whomever I bloody well please, and if it offends your delicate sensibilities, feel free to look away!’

‘What’s going on?’ The bartender, a large woman in her mid-thirties, had approached us. ‘I don’t want trouble in here.’

‘Couple of homophobes, that’s what’s going on,’ Kim grumbled. ‘Interrupting our fucking date . . .’

‘Yeah, well, if they wanna dry-hump each other in public they should go to one of them gay bars or whatever,’ said the second man.

‘Dry—? We were just kissing, for fuck’s sake!’ Kim was getting worked up. I reached back and took their hand.

‘You two, back off,’ said the bartender to the two men, before turning to us. ‘And you, tone it down. Don’t want you bothering my patrons.’

‘Bothering your patrons?’ Kim gave an incredulous laugh. ‘By kissing? Give me a fucking break!’

‘You take that tone, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,’ said the bartender. ‘Got nothing against you, but can’t be having any trouble in here.’

Kim looked like they were about to retort again, but I squeezed their hand and said, ‘Kim. Leave it. We can go somewhere else, okay? It’s not worth it.’ Kim’s hand slackened a bit in my grip and I heard them take a deep breath.

‘Fine.’ They picked up their leather jacket off the back of the barstool. ‘Your Sidecar was shit, by the way. Conrad makes a much better one.’ They let go of my hand and set off towards the exit. I held back my smile. I’d never made Kim a Sidecar, but that was neither here nor there.

‘My date’s right, you know,’ I told the bartender. ‘You want some pointers you can come over to the gay bar off the square any night this week.’ Then I followed Kim out. They had lit a cigarette and were leaning back against a wall. ‘Didn’t know you smoked.’

‘Only when I’m fucking pissed off,’ they replied, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke through their nose. They offered me the cigarette, but I declined.

‘Never really liked the taste.’

‘Sorry,’ said Kim. ‘I’ll have ruined myself for further kissing.’

At that I turned to them and, stepping in close so we were flush chest to chest, kissed them deeply and thoroughly. ‘Not a chance,’ I murmured against Kim’s lips. ‘It’ll take a lot more than that to put me off.’ I kissed them again. Then I pulled back, looking into their honey brown eyes. ‘You need to stop putting yourself down. What is it that makes you think I don’t want you?’

Kim looked away and shrugged. ‘Experience?’

‘Bollocks. You’re objectively hot, Kim. Seriously. If I have to kiss you all night to prove it, I will.’

Kim laughed. ‘You’re so cheesy! I like it.’

‘Good.’ I placed another kiss on their lips, soft and chaste this time. ‘What do you want to do now?’

They sighed. ‘Go home, probably. You could . . . you could join me. Or I could join you.’ They looked away again, seemingly embarrassed.

‘Hard to get a read on you, you know,’ I said. ‘One minute you’re all swagger and confidence. The next you’re super insecure. And now you’re asking me back to your place?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. It’s cute. You’re interesting.’ I kissed them on the forehead. ‘I like figuring people out. And I’d love to go home with you. For whatever. I mean, it doesn’t have to be sex,’ I added hurriedly. ‘Could just be a cup of tea or something, it’s fine either way.’

‘No,’ said Kim, glancing up at me, ‘it’ll definitely be sex. Provided you want to.’

I licked my lips. ‘And after the sex?’

‘Whatever you like. More sex. More kissing. More dates, if you want.’

‘I want,’ I said. ‘All of that.’ I blushed.

‘Okay.’ Kim looked more comfortable again, now that we had a plan. ‘Good. Let’s go, then.’

I took their hand again. ‘Lead the way, gorgeous.’

Kim gave me a crooked smile. ‘I’m gonna rock your world, Conrad.’

I uttered a soft laugh. ‘You already have.’