Chapter 14

Song took a long look at his reflection, hating everything he saw. It wasn’t only his outfit for the night that bothered him, but also the white, antique, Elizabethan full length mirror with brand new glass, freshly installed, itself. It was part of a complete set of very bright, very feminine, and very expensive bedroom furniture Grace had delivered just a few days after learning of her son’s predicament. When Song feebly protested that he didn’t need all of it, in response he got what was quickly becoming his mother’s new catchphrase, “Nothing is too good for my little star.”

She sat in a chair appraising her new daughter’s selections for the evening, a privilege she’d just begun affording the boy turned girl, and one that would be just as quickly removed if the ensemble didn’t prove up to snuff. It consisted of an ornate blue camisole blouse decorated with gorgeous lace around the seams, and cute little bows on each of the pencil thin straps, paired with a shimmering rust colored skirt, short and youthful, leaving plenty of Song’s supple legs on display. The pieces were of such quality that they met Grace’s standards of what was appropriate for a Michelin starred restaurant, but what she adored about the ensemble was the black, embroidered chiffon capelet taking everything from the sexy side of classy to age appropriate sophisticated chic. It wasn’t a classic color combination, but making her name in the beauty industry, Grace understood that trends changed, and one day clothes like her own would be found in museums. “Your legs are so beautiful. Just like mine were when I was your age. You probably won’t have to worry about varicose veins either by the time you grow up, if technology keeps progressing like it is.” That comment had the feminized teen checking out smooth legs. They did look good, and felt soft thanks to the waxing and frequent use of lotion. It was a sight he liked to see, but not when they’re his own legs. That he hated quite a bit.

As far as the capelet his mother liked so much, the reality was that when he saw his breasts on full display in the mirror, Song panicked, darting back to his growing closet, and grabbing the first thing he could find to try and cover himself. After floating around for a week in a state of shock, only a little more functional than a marionette, the fog started to lift, and the delicate boy finally began to process what had been done to him. Every night getting ready for bed, he’d spend ten minutes in the mirror marveling at, and loathing how barely plumped lips could change his appearance so drastically. He almost didn’t recognize himself, but the angelic teen queen made the same befuddled expression he wore, and he despised it. If the face was that hard to swallow, Song’s new bosom was incomprehensible. He counted his lucky stars that Grace thought a more modest presentation suited his new persona, and when given the option, he chose the same.

On this night however, once his makeup and hair were finished, procrastination took hold, and the boy turned girl lost an hour to some pay-to-win war game on his phone, the last vestige of his crumbling masculinity. Once he realized his mother was coming up the stairs for his inspection, Song panicked and threw on the first two things he could find that passed as fancy. This backfired hard when after making sure everything was sitting right, the built in bra of the top put those loathsome boobs and the cleavage between them front and center, forcing him to truly confront his girlish form for the first time. He couldn’t close his eyes, like he did when he washed quickly in the shower every morning. He couldn’t wear modest pajamas like when he removed and applied his makeup. The boy was staring right at them, and with the recent touchups he and Emer got at work, they were just as big as that cursed day he was stuck in the dreadful maid’s outfit. That was bad enough, constantly catching a peak in his periphery ever time he looked down, but here he found himself adjusting them into the satiny soft cups of the feminine garment, so pressed together in that come-hither way, himself unable to pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d have had a heart attack if he was just twenty years older. Unfortunately the little coverup didn’t actually cover much and his cleavage would be perfectly presented to anyone who wanted an eyeful. The whole picture dealt a deathblow to his crumbling residual self image. With just ten more seconds to his name, Grace’s little star would have stuffed himself into a turtleneck sweater if the woman didn’t just open his bedroom door, her heart swelling with pride, reflected in her beaming smile.

That smile was just as new to Song as the sensation of bouncing breasts on his ribs, and was so welcome in an otherwise unwelcome situation. Upon seeing it, he knew that there was no way he was leaving the house in any other outfit that night. The practiced smile returned to the unwilling girl reflexively when he heard his mother say, “Those strappy black platforms will go nicely with that, sweetie, but you’re definitely going to need some nicer earrings to match. I have just the thing.” She hurried across the hall then returned with a pair of dangly gold bobbles from her own collection, and replaced the silver hoops in her child’s ears. “Just make sure you don’t lose them. Aren’t they lovely?” the proud mom beamed.

“They’re great!” Song agreed, still unable to disappoint his mother whenever she dotted over him like that.

“What do we say?” Grace asked, leaning over, and tapping one finger to her cheek.

“Thank you, Mummy.” Song answered like a posh little British child, as he’d been trained. He bent down with his arms by his side, his fingers fanned out, and gently pecking her cheek, extra careful not to leave an imprint.

“Nothing’s too good for my little star. I hope that trailer trash doesn’t show up in a shirt covered in canned bean stains or something. I don’t even know what you see in him, sweetie. You could do better.” Grace complained, trying to think of something poor people eat.

“Mom, he lives in an apartment.” Song said, defending Emmanuel in a rare display of humanity. Really he was trying to take his own stock any lower than he already felt.

“Either way, honey, he’s not good enough for you.” Grace continued, giving her progeny barely a few words to express his own thoughts, disingenuous as they were. “We should make an appointment with a matchmaker for you sometime soon. I’ll expect you to have this little crush out of your system by graduation, okay. The boy will look good in your prom photos, though. He may be poor but at least he’s handsome. Just so long as Gomer wears a tux.”

“His name is Emmanuel, Mom!” Song replied, appalled, not at the hateful things the woman was saying, but because she was talking like he had chosen to date Emmanuel, not that his parents approved of anyone he’d ever dated before. Then there was the matchmaker comment. He didn’t even realize arranged marriage was still a thing, and he still thought he was definitely too young to be worrying about engagement, let alone him marrying some boy. Just then the doorbell rang.

Song went to rush down the stairs, eager to escape one of the most painful conversations of his entire life, but was caught by the wrist before he crossed the threshold. “A lady has to make an entrance, Song. Also your father needs to have a scary talk with Gomer.”

In the parlor, a room usually reserved for cocktail parties, Rim Jii sat across from his child’s date, sizing up the boy, and attempting to be as intimidating as possible. Earlier that day, Grace had insisted he rehearse his speech a dozen times. She even tried to get him to buy a gun to polish while they talked, since that was something rednecks did all the time to get their point across, or at least that’s what she assumed. She wanted the poor boy to understand just how far they would go to protect their little girl’s virtue. Fortunately for Emmanuel, a gun in the house was a step too far for Song’s father. A compromise was reached where instead, Mr Rim sat in the armchair, polishing the sword from his dress uniform from his mandatory military service before leaving Korea. It was a thin piece of metal, not sharp in the slightest, a blade in name only serving a ceremonial purpose instead of a practical one, but Emmanuel didn’t know that. It was enough of a threat that he sat hanging on the father’s every word, as clumsy as they were.

‘Song’s Dad is actually scary.’ Emmanuel thought to himself, adding one more thing to his seemingly endless pile of nightmare fuel. Originally he’d pictured a twig of a man, not dissimilar from his date, before this whole ordeal started. While he wasn’t wrong about the man’s size, he couldn’t believe a parent would go so far to protect his little girl’s heart.

From Jii’s perspective though, it was more about protecting his child’s chastity, having no delusions about his progeny’s well guarded, ice cold ticker. ‘I don’t want my son going out with this boy…or any boy for that matter.’ he thought, shuddering at the idea of what Grace would do to him if she’d ever heard him say that out loud. “Your car has passed inspection, and you’ve paid your insurance premiums, right?” Jii asked, checking another box from the questionnaire his wife had stuffed into his brain that morning. “It’s not stolen, is it?”

“Umm…No…?” Emmanuel answered, petrified. Every response he thought up to the simple question sounded like the wrong one. “I took the bus…sir…”

Jii didn’t say anything, just placed his face in his hands, and sighed.

Almost as if on cue, Grace descended the stairs, and both men were thrilled for an escape from the strained dialogue. Song followed behind, pretty as a picture, and for the briefest of moments, to Emmanuel his date was the only other person in the room. It felt like that moment in the movies when the girl came down the stairs and the world slowed down. Emmanuel’s eyes grew large, matching the smile growing on his face, at the sight of the beautiful creature he’d be spending the evening with.

“What do you mean you took the bus?” Grace asked, hearing the tail end of the conversation.

“It means he took the bus, Mummy.” Song said, cheeks burning. “That’s not slang.” He didn’t want Brooks hearing him refer to his mom like that, but it was what she liked and it just slipped out.

Grace crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Tapping the toe of her pump on the floor, she said, “One does not take a bus to Il Bel Capriccio.” Song begged her with his eyes. There would be hell to pay with Bianca if they didn’t make it out the door. His mother huffed, but her frown softened. Not wanting to disappoint her little star, she said, “You better say, thank you.” before opening the drawer to the hutch, and pulling out the keys to Song’s BMW.

“Oh thank you, Mummy!” Song squealed, clapping his hands together girlishly. His visage lit up in a way it hadn’t in weeks, only to immediately fall when the woman handed the keys to Emmanuel instead. “Young man, the car has a LoJack so don’t even think about stealing it. You make sure she’s back by ten, and there better not be a scratch on the car or my daughter, understand?”

“Mom!” Song whined, heartbroken at his ride once again being dangled in front of his face, only to be ripped from him just a moment later.

Grace said, “Okay fine, honey. But you better show me you’ve earned the trust I’m giving you.” Song began to reach for the keys but instead, his mother turned back to Emmanuel and said, “You can have her home by eleven, but not a moment later.”

With the keys in hand, Emmanuel nodded vigorously. “Yes Ma’am. Thank you, I will and…” He then turned to the woman’s shorter husband. “Thank you sir, I will make sure to bring her home safe, sound, and happy!”

The drive to the restaurant was spent in silence with Song staring out the window forlornly. He hadn’t been allowed to drive his own car in what felt like forever, and he had definitely never been in the passenger seat. While Emmanuel, a little nervous being responsible for someone else’s vehicle, and a nice one at that, kept his eyes on the road, and his hands at ten and two. It was only at stops that he’d allow himself to glance, if only briefly, at the classical beauty accompanying him. He wondered if he should put his hand on her leg, or take her hand in his own, but rejected the idea in favor of keeping both hands on the wheel.

Song’s thoughts drifted back to that afternoon and his conversation with Bianca. The bane of his existence had him seated in his usual chair, but without the comfort of his cohorts by his side. Song had always imagined himself as tougher than most, but his supposed fearlessness generally came from the numbers he kept himself surrounded with. It wasn’t that the boy wasn’t smart, but truly he inherited his mother’s sense of superiority without the years of experience and struggle that provided her with acumen to match. He was certainly smart enough to know a veiled threat when he heard one, even one not spoken directly to him.

Bianca answered the phone, leaving Song to sit, and listen to the conversation, whether he wanted to hear or not. “Hey Steph. Yeah, I can talk…just have one of my girls here. We were about to have a little chat…No, I haven’t had the chance to take them to that new kink shop you were telling me about. I did check and they’re still open…No, I guess you didn’t move away that long ago. It just feels like it’s been forever…Oh nothing special, maybe one of those double sided dildos…I’m not sure about that…No, I don’t think smaller cages are necessary, not yet at least…Okay, girl, love you too. Good talking to you.” She hung up the receiver and turned her attention back to Song. “So where were we?”

“My date with Emmanuel.” Song softly answered, dying a little more inside as he played up his new girlish role, blushing from having to say that sentence alone.

The overt menacing from the store manager had given way to friendly banter mostly since Song started playing by her rules. The feminized boy’s mother being an enthusiastic participant didn’t hurt. It was almost hard to believe that the vile, cursing, entitled, misogynist Bianca met just those few weeks ago was one in the same as the demure, sweet, and frankly cute teenage girl sitting across the desk, her hands in her lap, and her legs crossed at the ankles with knees together protecting her modesty.

Snapping the fingers on her left hand Bia pointed her index finger in the direction of her Asian-American Doll. “Right! Thanks, Miss Song. So tell me, how’s it going between you three? Do you think Emmanuel is going to fall in love with you or Emery first?”

“Oh, me of course.” Song dutifully responded, playing his part well, but wanting to vomit at how saccharine sweet his answer was. “It’s not like Emery isn’t a delightful girl, but I know Emmanuel appreciates maturity.”

“That’s great to hear, girl.” Bianca said, playing the part of the gossipy friend. One thing she was grateful for was that she didn’t need to be as explicit as she was with Emer. This way she could ham it up a lot more, and that was definitely more fun. She leaned in, and with a conspiratorial wink whispered, “Don’t tell Emery but I’m rooting for you too.” The faux redhead stood from her desk and strolled around Song’s chair, standing as tall as she could. “Now, I know you’ve been saving yourself for the right guy, and I agree, rushing into things with your boyfriend could lead a girl to heartbreak, but you’ve got to keep your man’s attention. Maybe it’s time you gave him a little oral pleasure. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

“You think I should…” Song’s voice trailed off. He fully comprehended the true meaning of her words.

“Only if you want to.” Bianca continued, holding both hands up defensively. “I do think a good report from the BF could go a long way towards getting that cage off though, and I know you’d appreciate that. Sure, your first time with a man can be scary, even if it is someone you really care about like Emmanuel, but we’ve all been there, girl. You can do it. In no time, you’ll be an old pro.”

“Right…of course.” Song said, the same plastered smile in place, but accompanied by a thousand yard stare. Immediately the conniving delinquent, still rooted deep within Miss Song’s pretty little head, set to task, scheming a way to get the cage off without having to actually put Emmanuel’s genitals anywhere near his painted lips. By the time he found himself riding down the road with Emmanuel, in a car he was incredibly pissed not to be the one driving, that plan had not yet completely formed.

Dinner was more of the same drawn-out hell for the gorgeously dressed youth. Emmanuel was no slouch himself, applying all the skills he’d picked up at The Hanger, making sure to wear the shirt Bianca suggested. The all black outfit would definitely make it easier to hide any stains should the worst happen. They’d been texting back and forth all day, the boy wanting to make sure he didn’t do anything to embarrass his date. He wasn’t used to establishments of this caliber, but with a nice commission check for two weeks of good sales, he wanted to treat the privileged girl. It was hard for him to see Song as anything other than the blossoming young lady he appeared to be. The change was so radical and swift, to Emmanuel it was almost like the spoiled dick he’d spent the better part of a year hanging out with had been replaced by a pod person, and while he felt guilty for the guy, he definitely preferred the pod person. Aside from that day he had to spank Song at the apartment, he’d definitely never seen her smile so much before. Pod person may have been a good comparison since it had a negative connotation. The girl sitting across from him, the way she smiled at him, and laughed at his jokes, made the term feel wrong. It was more like Song, or Jae as he liked being called, had a beautiful twin sister and she seemed to be enjoying his company as much as he was enjoying hers.

On this night Song seemed more worried than anything though, not having said much. To Emmanuel, his date seemed to be checking his reflection in the window over and over again. The reality was that Song’s mind was firmly fixed on the unwanted task at the end of his proverbial plank, and whatever means could help it be avoided. Assuming the Asian-American teen was worried about being discovered, Emmanuel tried to assure him, “You look very pretty, tonight.”

The practiced instinct kicked in. that same smile returned, Song looked him in the face, gushed, “Thank you.” and then his attention would drift elsewhere.

“I’m having a great time tonight.” Emmanuel offered as he found himself peering into what he felt were warm comforting brown eyes. He couldn't help comparing Emery’s bright blue eyes that embodied joy, and the freedom of an open sky, while Song’s were brown and of the earth, making him feel like they kept his feet on the ground, like he was welcomed.

“Me too!” came the pleasant response, as Song reached out and touched his date's forearm, the color of his well-kempt nails making his hands look so feminine. The touch was the first of the night after the many hours of having to practice, what his mother called, proper etiquette. Song’s mind was already somewhere else just a few seconds later.

Some variation of this interaction happened a dozen times, and the main takeaway for the inexperienced Emmanuel was that his date was happiest when showered with compliments. This didn’t come as much of a surprise since before this whole ordeal, Song’s head swelled when the smallest positive statement was thrown his way, anything that reinforced his sense of superiority. After that realization, Emmanuel made it a point to compliment Song at every opportunity, enjoying the way the boy-turned-girl’s face lit up whenever he did so. For Song, it would have gotten annoying if his mind was anywhere near their booth, but it was elsewhere, and he’d left his body on autoreply before they’d even arrived.

At no point did an actual conversation happen, but having only one other date to compare this too, it never occurred to Emmanuel that this wasn’t really normal. Everyone in the establishment actually seemed kind of stuffy and reserved. It was the quietest place he’d ever dined by far.

The meal went by without incident, save Emmanuel overhearing the waiter complain that he never gets a good tip when the rich kids play grown-up. When Song excused himself to the restroom after noticing the lipstick imprint on the rim of his glass, Emmanuel pulled out the calculator on his flip phone, and struggled to figure out exactly what twenty percent was.

In the bathroom, Song was alone. Trying to psyche himself up in the mirror, he again noticed his lips, and the slight imperfection drove him crazy whether he wanted it to or not. A lipstick stain on a glass was a decidedly feminine thing, and when it was his own it cut like a knife. Song was decent at compartmentalization, and this experience allowed that ability to shine. A lip print triggered a need to make himself presentable, to look perfect like his mom wanted. Praise was a hard thing to get from her and he never stopped craving it now that he’d had a taste. The cap came off his lipstick, and as he repaired the damage, a few older women walked in. One complimented the color, and asked where he bought it. His drilled customer service brain switched on, and before he left, his sales skills had gained two new clients for his mother’s business.

The bill paid, Emmanuel held Song’s hand as he stood from the booth, surprised by how small it actually was, and the two headed back to the car. Thinking of what he wanted to do, he ran his thumb over the back of his date's hand. A little bit of color flushed his cheeks as he opened the passenger door for her. The two had already kissed, they even made out, but he was trying to work up enough courage to kiss her. His desires and hormones gave Emmanuel the idea of pressing the pretty girl up against the car, and kissing her. As he readied himself to put thought to action, an older woman walked by with a tiny dog on a leash. She reminded him of the couple walking by the van that day, and before he knew it the moment was gone.

Song sat down in the seat, and he closed the door behind her. The dashboard clock read eight forty-five. Emmanuel said, “I really did have a great time tonight. Thank you for coming with me. I guess I’ll take you home now.” He really did have fun, but he was kicking himself for letting a shared moment slip through his fingers.

“Umm, actually my Mom said, eleven!” Song said, not eager to return to the inevitable inquisition awaiting him. He hoped a little conversation with Emmanuel might help his cause if he could get the boy on his side. He asked, “Do you know somewhere we could just go and…hang out for a little bit?”

Song bit his inflated bottom lip nervously after asking the question. At that point Emmanuel was struggling to remember the sexy gesture was coming from the worst person he’d ever met. He’d always pitied Jae before, the boy being unable to truly connect with anyone. Everything he did seemed to be a screaming cry for attention and validation. He still felt bad for the brat but now in a way that kicked in Emmanuel’s typical teenage hero fantasy. His impulses were telling him to sweep this girl away from her overbearing parents for just a little while.

“Uhhh…my Mom doesn’t get off work till midnight…so we could go to my place…if you don’t mind, of course.” The nervous boy was certain the pretty thing wasn’t going to spend another minute in, as she called it, “the trash heap” if she could help it. He was surprised, and strangely happy when Song nodded yes, and flashed the same winning smile he was growing quite fond of. The rest of the drive back, he mentally checked off areas of the house, making sure he didn’t need to run in and clean up, or toss porn under the bed discreetly before switching the lights on.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Emmanuel asked. Song was sitting on the couch, legs crossed at the knee, with a pump dangling off the toes and the foot bouncing up and down gently. It was playfully seductive, though unintentional. The ogling boy continued, “We have water, and um…water?” Emmanuel waited for Song to seize the opportunity to find some new and inventive way to call him poor. He waited, but it never happened.

Instead the beautiful creature patted the spot on the opposite side of the little loveseat, and said, “Emmanuel, sit and talk with me for a moment, please. I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Jae didn't have a deep voice, but he always felt like there was an edge to it. Even giving a compliment, the wealthy boy still talked down to him, while Song… his thoughts interrupted as he tried not to laugh at equating Song’s voice to the sound of soft music. Anyone saying they wanted to talk he knew meant something bad, or at least, from his experience, it usually did. Her saying it made him jump to help her. “What’s up?” the boy replied, quick to do as told, and genuinely concerned.

“Okay,” Song pushed himself up straight on the cushion, proffering his breast to Emmanuel’s gaze, struggling to maintain eye contact, and not take the bait. Operating under the assumption Emmanuel was aware of Bianca’s latest orders, he explained, “I was going to give you a blowjob, but I don’t want to do that. It just seems so **** for me. I mean, I’ve never even touched another penis before. You had a good time tonight though, right? You’d tell Bianca I gave you one if she asked right. She scares me so much.” It was a rare moment of honest self assessment from the typically arrogant brat.

“Of course I had a good time.” Emmanuel replied. He placed his arm around the fidgeting girl to comfort her. Clearly she was anxious. He couldn’t blame her. She was obviously struggling inside, unable to make sense of the complicated feelings. He wondered if this inner turmoil was why Jae was so hateful in the first place. Still, deceiving Bianca was out of the question, even if it would have reassured the girl. “I can’t lie to her though, but you don’t need to worry about that. You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.” After a gentle squeeze Emmanuel went to stand and give the girl her space but was stopped by a tiny hand gripping his pant leg.

When another boy put his arm around him Song didn’t pull away. His instinctual reaction had been replaced with the impulse to lean into the touch, after all the practice sessions in Bianca’s office. The closeness felt more like looming to the feminized man, a physical act of intimidation, to Song’s mind. “Wait!” he shrieked, startling the boy. He’d grown accustomed to Bianca’s subtext, and his nature did not allow for much trust. The end result was him thinking Emmanuel was just making the same threats he’d already heard once today. “What if I gave you a handjob? That would feel good, right?”

“You really don’t have to do that.” Emmanuel said, his hand gently squeezing his nervous friend’s, trying hard to not give away how much he loved the idea of her doing just that. He wasn’t about to make the girl feel pressured into it.

“No, I really want to.” Song lied, putting a finger to the boy’s lips, and unfastening his trousers with the other hand. Once all obstacles were removed, Emmanuel’s rigid sex pointed straight up to the apartment’s popcorn ceiling. Song wrapped the little manicured fingers of his right hand around the base of the boy’s member, trying not to noticeably wince. The way he felt, he may as well have stuck his hand in a bag of pig organs, but he wasn’t about to let that crazy bitch’s errand boy see that. ‘Can’t believe he won't just tell the woman that I…shit, he is hard. Is he gay or something?’ Song thought, not considering how he appeared and behaved at all. Steeling himself, and finding his resolve, Song slowly worked his hand up and down, gently twisting it back and forth as he did so.

“Well…if you insist.” Emmanuel said, pulling his pretty date in snugly. He didn’t consider there was nowhere to put her head, but in the crook of his shoulder as he leaned back, and watched Song’s hand perform the familiar, yet so very unfamiliar task.

At home, in the privacy of his bedroom, Song could finish himself off in under two minutes flat, no pornography required. He assumed it should be the same for anybody else. Keeping up his pace, he felt the rigid fleshy object in his hand, its warmth, and how it pulsed. The usual time passed, but nothing happened. Emmanuel just sat there moaning, but not much else. Frustrated, the diminutive teen began working the phallus faster, trying to hurry to the finish line.

For his part, Emmanuel tried to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to hurt the poor girl's feelings, but the friction was starting to burn, and he was **** to grip Song around the wrist and stop the pumping motion.

“It doesn’t feel good?” Song asked, practically begging for that not to be the case.

“No it does…” Emmanuel answered, melting at the sight of those gorgeous pleading lips, and puppy dog eyes. “It’s just kind of rough, you know?”

“Oh sorry, um…” Song searched the immediate area for anything to help, and finding no lotion or anything else, he decided to try something he’d seen on youporn. Spitting into his hand, the feminized boy found it the most disgusting experience of his life. Still, he returned to his performance with gusto. That cage had been on for two weeks. That was ten thousand, eighty minutes and counting; far too long.

For Emmanuel what he just witnessed happened to be the third sexiest thing he’d ever seen. The first had been Emery’s pink lips around his member, the second, Song holding his dick in her soft hands with such **** that it was like she was trying to claim his manhood belonged to her. With the lubricated glide it almost felt as good as what he’d done with Emery the day before. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he leaned back on the couch. After removing his hand from the girl’s shoulder, Emmanuel clasped his fingers behind his head, while he half whispered, half shouted, “Oh my god, OHHH my GOD!!”

Feeling Emmanuel’s dick pulse, somehow swelling up firmer in his palm, Song stood up, and swung around to the other side of the loveseat, leaning over to get better leverage. He opened his hand, and spat one more time, finding himself wishing he’d accepted that glass of water after all. “This feels good, right?” Song asked. “You’ll tell Bianca how good this feels right?”

“Why would I…” Emmanuel began to ask how something like that could ever come up, but Song had already finished the sentence before it ever left Brooks’ lips. He heard, ‘Why would I ever tell her that when it doesn’t?’

Before the boy could get the words out, Song had already pressed those soft crimson lips into his own, and their tongues were swirling around each other’s mouths while the handjob continued, the pleasure escalating. Still occupied in the familiar activity of locking lips, Emmanuel groaned into the sexy girl’s mouth, wanting to cum so badly for her, and at the same time for this moment to never end.

It was right then that Song found a new apex to the towering levels of shame building up in his life. Dressing, and acting like a girl were now so low on the scale that they barely registered. Still, he persevered, and the volcano finally started showing signs of erupting. Pushing through the cramp forming in his bicep and forearm, Song kept at it until he suddenly felt a warm sticky substance coating his hand, palm, fingers, and all. Before he started kissing the brown-eyed boy, Song was able to see how small and feminine his hand looked wrapped around the cock and now feeling the cum saturating it made him shudder.

The passionate kiss breaking, Emmanuel and Song were face to face. The freshly milked boy could barely string a sentence together, as the mental fog that always washed over him after getting off set in. He just grinned like the village idiot, and with his mouth hanging open collapsed back into his seat. A brief moment of refraction later, he pulled himself back up, noticing the giant mess he made, his ropey seed stretched out like webbing between Song’s fingers. “Umm…Let me get you a towel.” he said, simultaneously thinking, ‘God that is so fucking hot.’ He imagined the pretty girl licking her hand clean as while in reality, he took care of his own mess himself in a far less erotic fashion.

The drive home was another silent affair, this time Emmanuel full of bliss instead of nerves. It was no longer an issue, finding the confidence to touch his date's leg, to hold her hand, or to lean over for a quick kiss at a red light. Helping Song out of the car, he walked his date to her front door with his hand on the small of her back, enjoying every click-clack of her heels on the perfectly aligned stones that made up her driveway. “Song, tonight was perfect. You are perfect.” He didn’t mean that literally, but he was riding so high that he didn’t consider the weight of the complement till much later. Stepping closer, Emmanuel placed one hand on her slim waist, and the other touched her chin lightly, as he gave a soft, but lingering kiss.

Song remained quiet. He was dwelling on so many things, none of them good from his point of view, that he hardly noticed the time passing. When the car was parked, and Emmanuel placed the keys in his hand, his face lit up after not being able to hold the status symbols for so long. The happy moment was put on pause while he had to play up his role. Not taking much conscious effort at all, the feminized boy lifted one leg, like the love interest in an old movie when her lips met the hero’s.