Be Myself! - 25. Parental Advice

As soon as I knocked on his door, Oli yanked me inside and we rushed to his room. His parents and Sam were home, and he seemed a bit agitated. We sat on his bed, but even as we talked, Oli kept glancing at the door.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, making his agitation even more obvious with his tone of voice. “I told my parents you want to talk to them about stuff you can’t dream of talking to your parents about and they’re happy to hear you and answer any questions you have,” he spoke in a rushed tone, making it very difficult to follow. “But, Oscar, I… I haven’t told them anything yet. About me, I mean.”

“You haven’t told them you’re a guy?” Oli nodded, suddenly becoming much smaller as he hunched his shoulders and looked down towards his knees. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I could barely admit it to myself, and it was so difficult to tell you. I think I’m scared. What if they don’t like it? What if mum thinks I should still be a girl and prove that girls can like guy things? They could get angry and say I’m only trying to be a boy because it’s the easy way out of sexism…”

“Is that what it is?” I asked him. This time he shook his head, but took a while to speak.

“No, it’s not. It’s all those things Luce was saying yesterday. It’s something deep inside me that says I’m not a girl, that hates the thought that I could be one, and doesn’t care about possible unfortunate implications for my mother’s feminism.”

“Can’t you tell her that and see what happens?” Over the last couple of months I had gotten the impression that Ms Savage listened to and understood everything her children told her. Oli and Sam trusted her with just about everything, from homework to sex tips. At first I was shocked by the strength of their relationship, but now it was really odd to hear Oli saying he did not want to tell her something. It only proved how much Oli feared their rejection.

“I don’t know. Not yet, at least. Not now. I think I need to feel more secure first. I’ll talk more to Luce, ask how she came out to her family or something. Maybe she can help.” Oli finally looked at me. “Anyway, this all means that when you talk to them now, you can’t say anything about me. Do whatever you have to, but don’t let my parents notice something is different, ok?”

“Err… ok, I guess? Does it mean I’ll have to refer to you as a girl?” Oli nodded and looked away, ashamed of having to give such an answer. I felt sorry for him, but soon I was overcome by a more urgent sense of dread; I had spent so much effort correcting my brain and forcing it to get used to thinking of Oli as a guy that I feared it would snap if I had to go back to the old way again, and then switch once more when the talk was over. Did this kind of thing happen to all transgender people and their friends? How did they manage to survive such mental gymnastics? “Ok, I’ll do my best.” Maybe there was a way that I could have this conversation while not having to use pronouns at all. If I thought carefully about my wording, I could avoid mentioning anything to do with Oli’s gender, and thus avoid the confusing pronoun switcheroo.

(...)

“So, Oscar, Olivia told us there is something you want to ask us,” Ms Savage said when we entered their bedroom-slash-office. There were two desks by the wall that were littered with papers and strange objects, and the adults sat around them with unexpected gracefulness. I noticed that my girlfriend, no, boyfriend, cringed slightly at the mention of his female name. I felt sorry for him, but I had to focus on answering the question in a way that would not hurt Oli even further.

“Hum, yeah…” I took some time phrasing things in my head. Hopefully they thought I was just being shy. “I have realised some things, and Oli said you could help me understand them better.”

“I’ll let you talk alone,” Oli announced, squeezing my arm and hurriedly leaving the room. He probably did not want to hear his parents misgendering him even more. Oli’s new reality was putting at risk the great relationship he had with his parents, and I felt really sorry for him.

“What is it, Oscar?” Ms Savage asked me. She motioned for me to take a seat on their bed, and the couple dragged their work chairs so they could sit in front of me.

“I’m confused because even though I like girls, and I, er… like Oli…” My mouth shut of its own accord. My face heated up in embarrassment. It was very awkward to admit to Oli’s parents that I found their son (which they still considered a daughter) attractive and I liked to have sex with him. They probably knew what we had been getting up to over the last couple of months (I was practically living with them after all), but as long as it was never spoken about it was fine. Now, though, I was practically being forced to admit I had fucked Oli and liked it. His parents were now openly and officially aware of how much their son (or their daughter, as it was when it started) enjoyed my cock (and, for some reason, thinking of Oli as their daughter made it much worse in my mind than when I thought about Oli as their son, as if the girlyness made it wrong to like penises the way Oli did). Amidst all the embarrassment, it took some effort to stay focused on the topic at hand. “I sometimes like to do things with one of our guy friends. Oli said it makes me bisexual, but I… I don’t know what to think about it. I’ve always learned that bisexuals are promiscuous people who have sex all the time and spread HIV. I don’t think I like my prospects.” I spoke about sex in front of Oli’s parents again. The more I talked about it, the more my face felt like a burning kettle. By the time this was over, I would not be surprised if there was vapour coming out of my ears.

“Well, by now it should be clear to you that you can simply discard anything your parents taught you,” Ms Savage noted, smiling confidently. “Your father in particular.” I nodded, even though I knew the theory was much easier than the practice. “Some bisexual people are promiscuous, just like some gay people and some straight people are. Actually, we should discuss that idea of ‘promiscuity’ at some point. It’s not necessarily something bad like you’re implying.”

“The idea that bisexual people have sex all the time probably came about because we don’t discriminate by gender, and thus could potentially go to bed with everyone on the planet, not just half of the population like everybody else,” Mr Viñas addressed my second point. He spoke in a professorial tone, differently from his wife, who seemed much more inflamed in her speech. “But just like straight men don’t feel attracted by all women on the planet, and gay men don’t like all men they see in front of them, bisexuals don’t automatically like everyone just because they happen to have a body. And some people like to have sex all the time, others don’t. This happens to all sexual orientations, as I believe your friend Jean proves.”

“Ah… yes…” So they knew what Jean was like. I wanted to hide under the bed and stay there until Oli’s parent forgot all about this conversation.

“And lastly, as you hopefully know by now, anyone having sex without a condom could potentially be spreading HIV. It’s not something exclusive of bisexuals or gay people,” Ms Savage concluded, eyeing me as if trying to check if Oli and I had been using adequate protection. At that point I did feel like something steamy was coming out of my ears. “Though, of course if you and Oli are both HIV and other STIs-free, the only reason you would need a condom is to prevent unwanted pregnancies…”

“Miranda, you’re embarrassing him,” Mr Viñas interrupted, to my immediate relief. “We’re not here to talk specifics about our children’s sex lives.”

“Sure, you’re right. I’m sorry, Oscar. What else do you want to talk about?” Ms Savage asked in a friendly tone. What I really wanted was to finish the talk there and then, before I further embarrassed myself, but they were being so nice giving me some of their time that I thought I should make an effort to ask everything I wanted.

“What is it like to be bisexual, then?”

“It’s like being anything else, but when we talk about relationships we don’t automatically assume a person has to be of a certain gender to be of interest,” Ms Savage answered. Her husband nodded. “It’s not necessarily that we will have more partners, but we will consider more people at first glance.”

“I like to think that bisexuals are more accepting by definition,” Mr Viñas added. Not just because of the gender stuff, but because bisexuals in general suffer much more prejudice than homosexuals. We get those myths that you talked about not only from straight people, but from gays, and lesbians too. Our LG comrades are sometimes the first to tell us that we’re undecided or afraid to come out as gay and too attached to our straight privilege.”

Ms Savage snorted. “We get so much biphobia from all sides that we empathise more with other minorities, though that’s obviously generalising. I’ve seen plenty of racism, transphobia and ableism from bisexual people too.” Oli’s parents rolled their eyes, like they were remembering the same specific incident. I might have been inclined to ask more details if I did not notice that they used the word ‘transphobia’. Did it mean they knew who transgender people were, and were supportive of them? Could they be supportive of Oli after all? I wanted to ask them, but I had promised my boyfriend I would not say a word on the matter.

“Is there anything else you want to ask, Oscar?” Mr Viñas asked, probably noticing I was thinking about their words. Hopefully he did not know exactly which word.

“I guess not for now. Thank you for talking to me.” I smiled at them, though my heart was racing to tell Oli exactly what I had just heard.

“It’s not a problem.” Ms Savage answered, also smiling. “We’re glad Olivia has you as a partner. Not because you’re apparently bisexual like us, but because… well, because of how she is.” At that moment my doubts went from ‘would they be ok with Oli being transgender?’ to ‘do they already know?’ They were still treating Oli as a girl, but there was something in their eyes that made it seem like they were not just referring to the way she… rather, he dressed and acted. I got a weird feeling of excitement, joy, and restlessness, but I did my best to keep it under control in front of them.

“Thank you, Ms Savage. I really like Oli.”

“I can see that. And I guess we better let you go back to her now. Have fun!” Ms Savage came forward with her hand in the air, like she wanted to touch my face, but changed her mind halfway through. I made no comment about it, but I felt grateful that she stopped where she did. Ever since my last confrontation with my father, I had began to flinch at this kind of physical contact, even from Oli. I did not want to give her any more clues about what was happening between my parents and I (she already hated them so much I was sure she would not hesitate to go to the police). Though I guess the fact that she stopped like that could be an indication she already suspected something.

Either way, I decided not to dwell on that too much. I left the room as soon as I could and went straight to Oli’s bedroom to tell him the news. I stopped in front of his door for a few seconds to try getting my brain back in ‘Oli-is-a-guy’ mode. I had already managed to misgender him twice in my head; I could not afford to do it out loud too.

“So, how was it?” Oli let me in, putting a hand on my shoulder to guide me to his bed. Thankfully he did not seem to notice how my body tensed for a second upon contact. “Are you going to be a proud bisexual now?” We sat on the bed in the same places as before.

“I guess. Your parents were very… open about it.” Not that I would tell Oli about my embarrassment. He would probably laugh it off and say he had already told them much more about our relationship. And I definitely did not want to hear about that.

“Yes, they are. Did they tell you about the poly stuff too?” Oli asked, grinning somewhat impishly. Or maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks with my anxiety.

“Poly stuff?” I asked, confused. Oli’s grin widened.

“Well, let’s just say there’s a reason I don’t really mind you fucking Jean on occasion. My parents are polyamourous, meaning they accept that people are allowed to love or feel attracted to more than one person at once. They used to have other relationships in the past, though it’s been about five years since they broke up with the last one.”

My first reaction to this was a version of ‘I can’t believe this’ and ‘what is this all about’ coloured by numerous swear words. My mind’s lack of manners was surprising even for myself. Then, my jaw dropped almost to distension point and I looked at Oli with obvious confusion, trying to process what I had just heard. My boyfriend laughed.

“Sorry, Oscar, your face is too funny!” Oli crackled, thought he soon recovered his composure. “My parents used to have other boyfriends and girlfriends when I was little. Some of them are still family friends. So I grew up thinking it’s normal for my boyfriend to want to have sex with other people. Isn’t it nice?”

“I… I guess?” It definitely explained why Oli had not exploded in jealousy towards Jean yet, but just as I had been puzzled by his previously-unexplained behaviour, I was now surprised that such people existed and had a label for themselves. “Does it mean we’re poly too?”

“Kind of. We should probably make some more clear rules about what we can and can’t do, but as long as I’m ok with you and Jean, it’s kind of like that.” Oli raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if I was going to say anything else. Once he realised I was not going to, he took control of the conversation again. “Anything else they talked about?”

“Oh, yes!” My previous excitement returned when I remembered the things I wanted to tell Oli. “I think your parents kind of know about you being trans.”

“What?” It was Oli’s turned to be shocked. “Where did you get that from?”

“Well, first they said that bisexual people can also be transphobic, and then your mum told me she was glad I was your partner, because of the way you are.”

“The way I am?” Oli backed off, unconsciously falling on a defensive stance. “What does that mean?”

“She phrased it like ‘because of how you are’. I don’t think she was talking just about the way you dress.”

“I don’t know, Oscar. I don’t think it can be that easy.” Oli crossed his arms, almost hugging himself. “Even if they know all that trans stuff, I can’t really be sure how they’ll react when it turns out their own child is one. I’m still scared. When I was thinking about it last week I saw so many stories of trans people abandoned by their families, even those who seemed very liberal and open-minded at first.”

“But what if…”

“What if I’m wrong? Yeah, I could be, but I don’t really feel like finding out right now.” Oli’s tone made it clear he did not want to talk about this anymore. I let this part of the matter drop, but we were soon discussing something else related to Oli’s transition.

“You want to try it right now?” I asked him, somewhere between scared and surprised. Oli had jumped on me and forced my upper body to lie on the bed with him on top of me. About a minute before that he had asked if I would be able to have sex while thinking of him as a guy. I thought for a bit and decided that I would only be able to know for real once we tried it. And then he jumped on me.

“Sure, why not? It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Oli shrugged. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, but changed his mind and decided to leave it on for the time being, concentrating on my shirt instead.

“Yeah, but…” He kissed me, interrupting an argument I had not completely formulated yet. Oli was right, we had had these sexual encounters in his room, in clear daylight, when everyone was home plenty of times before. I always felt terribly embarrassed afterwards, but those had been enjoyable times.

“I’ll keep my shirt on. Try to fuck my ass like you fuck Jean’s,” Oli proposed, sensually licking his lip in anticipation. As if my body needed any kind of extra incentive, he straddled my hips and pushed my trousers down to my ankles.

“Do you even know how it works? I don’t think it’s going to be that easy…”

“Why not? You do it with Jean all the time. You don’t even use lube!” Oli’s trousers and underwear were off too. He took hold of my cock and positioned his ass on top of it. For a few tense seconds I thought he was going to try get it in like Jean did, but he just rubbed himself against it and smiled.

“Doesn’t mean we have to do it the same way!” I cried, hoping he would not do anything dangerous. “Remember how it was like to get it inside your other hole? This is probably going to be even worse.”

“I still think it’s worth a try!” Thankfully Oli got off me and grabbed a condom and some lube from his nightstand. He applied everything to me, put some lube on his arsehole, and got himself in position again.

“If it hurts, we stop,” I told him with as much determination as I could muster. I was not about to let my boyfriend get hurt again because of me.

“Sure thing. Here goes… Ouch!” Oli awkwardly jumped off me the moment my penis made contact with his ass. “Ok, fine,” he told himself, not really paying attention to me. “Are you up for some foreplay?” He turned towards me, his intense gaze telling me I did not have a choice in the matter.

We tried the kind of foreplay that I usually did to Oli’s other hole, using my fingers to get him to loosen up. It was going fine until I managed to get a second finger mostly in. Then I felt something that shall not be described, but that effectively ruined our attempt at anal sex and made Oli apologise to me constantly for the next half hour.

We did not speak of anal sex again for a while, but the unfortunate episode did make me wonder how this kind of mess never happened when Jean and I did it. Was it some kind of anatomical difference that cleared the way in a body like Jean’s, but failed to do so in Oli’s kind of body? Or was it something about Jean or Oli in particular that created this situation?

Later that day, once we had more or less recovered from the experience, Oli and I talked seriously about our sex lives. Oli no longer felt comfortable in involving his front hole, as he called it, in sexual activities. I respected his decision, and so we decided to keep the sex mostly to my body, though we promised to try have me touch his newly-renamed ‘mini-dick’ without him looking and see how he reacted to it. All the little things he hated about his girly body had finally being explained, and thus he was hit by a strong wave of body dysphoria, or, as he put it, a nauseating feeling that the body he had was not his, and thus disgusted him deeply. He hated everything, and he did not want to see any of it. He would rather forget it existed, or that it had its current shape.