Young hearts beat free tonight.

Robin woke on the second day being very uncomfortably cuddled by the much larger Heidi. They had gone to bed the previous night in an empty room and had been so exhausted that they were asleep by the time their head hit the pillow. The enormous blonde woman must have come to bed later, and at some point in the middle of the night mistaken them for a stuffed animal.

They slowly, carefully, extricated themself from the vice-like embrace, then crept as quietly as possible over to the closet to try to find clothing in the dark. At that point they realized that they hadn’t showered recently. It was a tough decision, but the shower won out over coffee.

The water pressure at The Chalet was perfect. Hell, everything was perfect. The way the women had jumped to their defense yesterday was actually sort of incredible. This was the adventure that they’d wanted.

The problem was they were too damned shy to enjoy it.

They’d always been something of an introvert. Even as a child they’d been a bit of a shrinking violet, and though they’d done well in school, friendships had been few and far between. That had only gotten worse in high school when they’d realized just how different they were from their peers.

Their parents had been very understanding of their self aware coming out at fifteen. They’d even been praised by them for that awareness. Of course it helped that their parents were a defrocked nun who had left the faith over a disagreement about homosexuality with a bishop and her partner, a women’s studies historian and author. Mom and Mom had been pretty proud actually.

But that didn’t help with bullies. If anything it made it worse to be the freak kid of a pair of lesbos. As the child of academics they hadn’t been much inclined toward sports with the exception of swimming and cross country running, two team sports that weren’t really team sports. Unfortunately they still had locker rooms, which had on several occasions led to some sadistic **** by teammates.

And home had often been just as bad. Being the least masculine member of the household presented its own problems, as a pair of women who had little understanding of masculine puberty were in no way equipped to help with the resultant hormonal changes. Or awareness of the distinct lack thereof. Robin had never had to shave, and lacked body hair. While they had grown quite a bit, their voice had never deepened and they had fairly small testicles. They were neither a grower nor a shower. While a medical review of ‘failure to launch’ might have lead to a diagnosis of hypogonadism followed by testosterone injections, Moms had fallen prey to to the peril that intellectuals often do: the belief that knowledge of a large number of things equals a knowledge of everything. They subscribed to the ideas of holistic medicine, and so Robin’s first physical was at 14 before entering high school. The physician had suggested a visit to an endocrinologist, and the endocrinologist had suggested hormone therapy.

When Moms were faced with this they, in their progressive wisdom, asked Robin’s opinion. Robin had declined, but had also done research, determining that late onset puberty wasn’t all that uncommon; if it continued into their twenties, they might seek medical attention, but for now it would just be… inconvenient. They were relatively happy with who they were, happy that they didn’t need to shave, happy with their body. They had no desire to go through the agonizing physical changes that would accompany puberty, and felt quite secure in the certainty of the fluidity of both their gender and sexuality.

Like most children they had experimented sexually, discovering what felt good in the privacy of their bedroom. Like most teenagers they had also experimented. Despite their timidity they did not lack suitors of either of the traditional genders, and they sampled the buffet presented to them with all the gusto of an experience addicted Millennial. They discovered that they preferred the attention of the traditionally masculine, although genitalia were unimportant in this distinction; an athletic and dominant woman could be just as attractive as a gruff bear of a man. They also discovered that although they lacked in primary and secondary physical sexual characteristics that the traditional erogenous zones were extremely sensitive. Their tiny prick had just as many nerve endings as one of more traditional dimensions with the added bonus of those nerve endings being much more concentrated, leading them to think of it not as small but ‘Fun Sized’. Additionally they had been delighted to discover the joys of prostate stimulation.

Thoughts of what led them to this particular juncture were both terrifying and arousing in that particular way that adrenal reactions result in an endorphin dump that causes so many survivors of danger to be turned on afterwards. This, under this glorious shower, was the first time they’d been alone, truly alone, since their arrival at the Chalet, and they felt a definite need to release some tension.

Their thoughts drifted to the numerous arousing sights they had seen since arriving, bringing themself closer to the edge as they stroked their Fun Sized friend; Cassie’s impressive bust and commanding presence, Alicia’s authoritative tone, KJ’s hard body, but it was thoughts of Bob with his big hands, powerful build, kind eyes, and gruff voice that dominated their thoughts as they brought themself to orgasm.

KJ had absolutely no idea what to do about Alicia. Since the lecture on the first night, the older woman had been kind, almost gentle to her. Still she knew that there was some resentment hiding below the genteel exterior, and that sharp tongue could come for her at any moment. Alicia was clearly going to be a dominant **** in the competition, and having to contend with her dislike would make things difficult. KJ had to bring her around to her side. To this end, the de-aged athlete had devised a plan.

Which is why at five-thirty AM she was climbing the stairs while balancing a tray upon which rested a small pot of coffee, a carafe of fresh orange juice, toast, several pieces of fruit, and a small selection of danishes, as well as glass and flatware as needed. For once her checked work history was in her favor; she had learned how to carry a tray properly when she was in her twenties and waitressing.

She had just reached the third floor landing and had opened the door when she heard it. The sound chilled her bones and she just barely managed to hold onto the tray. Coming from below her on the staircase (at least she thought it was below her, stairwells tend to echo).

“MROWWWW!” The sound was unearthly. Like the cry of a tomcat on the hunt for a willing lady friend, but somehow far more menacing. It was deeper than the cry of any feline should be, and something in the tone resonated with her ancestral memories of being hunted, of a time when humans were very much not the top of the food chain.

Fight or flight kicked in and flight won by a landslide. She kicked the door the rest of the way open and slipped through as quickly as she could. She found herself moving down the hallway with relative ease, as long unused muscles recalled their softball heyday. Kathy Jo skidded around the corner into the next hallway and sprinted rapidly to the sanctuary of the room she shared with Alicia.

It was only after she slammed the door behind her, waking a rather irritable Alicia, that she realized that she hadn’t dropped the tray.

(Title: ‘Young Turks’ by Rod Stewart)