That which makes us different

"I dunno… you were just… different." George offered, rubbing a hand across his forehead in a vague sign of not wanting to be pressed on this right now.

"Talking to most of the other guys usually just ended up as dick-measuring competitions… in one way or another… And the girls…" The handsome young man sighed the sigh of someone who was only ever approached for one thing really.

"With everybody else it was always just sex, sex, sex… y'know. Who was dating who. What kind of whore we were gonna be when we graduated. How many rich ladies we were gonna plow… That kinda bullshit."

Jesse listened intently, feeling the vibrations of his friend's words echo up from the sternum beneath his fingertips. Different. Different was good… though it certainly hadn't felt so at the time. Isolated even from the other effeminate boys by the way he had held no interest in prancing and preening. He supposed they had been proved right in the end though… considering how carefully he had applied his third round of makeup before coming over here.

He could definitely feel the press of something nestled between his asscheeks now. Not swollen and solid yet… but he had been taught a thousand ways to change that around, without needing to draw attention to it. The tight pinch of his leotard just itched to be pulled aside, letting that awkward first meeting of flesh to flesh step into play. His rear entrance had been delved into so regularly by now, he was sure it had developed its own, natural way of guiding visitors in to be welcomed warmly. He was, after all, really just an elaborate extension out from that point of being. Everything else he said or did, served mainly as landing lights towards that ultimate destination.

George had continued talking, however, not noticing the obvious distraction and direction of his small passenger's thoughts. Or perhaps… Noticing them all too clearly.

"It was nice… to have someone to talk to who wasn't just obsessed with who they were going to end up fucking, all the time. Like, I genuinely thought you might end up beating the system… not turn into what everyone else seemed convinced you were going to… It gave me hope, y'know, to see a little guy so stubbornly holding out against all this… You were a breath of fresh air."

Jesse squirmed atop the larger boy's stomach. Desire writhing within him: to feel that hot slab of meat buried within his body. To melt into the mindless, bouncing receiver of lusts and thrusts that had become his sissy centre of self. Yet, through it all… he started to actually hear what George was saying. Somewhere, deep inside the femboy, a small window seemed to open upon a shuttered room. A place he had slowly been locking away from himself day after day… for what might have been years. He sat back upon his friend in pure astoundment. Tears suddenly welling up in his eyes, and causing expensive, glittery mascara to begin running down from them.

Concern had immediately spread across George’s face, horrified at what upset he might have caused. “I’m sorry, dude! Are you alright? ...We can still do it, if you want to?”

The words seemed to fade from Jesse’s mind. He managed to resurface enough to reassure his practice partner… but then finished the massage session then and there.

With eyes still streaming the sissy traipsed back to a darkened room, no sign of Betsy returning for the evening given. He curled up on the bed he had slept in for thirteen years now, and hugged a pillow to his chest. George hadn’t wanted to fuck him at all… but he had nearly been the aggressor in that. Acted like just another sex-obsessed teenage fucktoy… the ones that he had apparently seemed so different from. The realisation twisted inside his chest like a knife. So quickly he seemed to have become someone he didn’t recognise…

But, beyond all that… there was something else… An image that had flashed into his mind from depths he couldn’t even guess at. A sense of place and time that seemed so detached from everything he knew… yet also as real as the night he cowered in now. Blue skies, green spaces and air that didn’t taste of concrete. Fresh air. Run down old vehicles that chugged and groaned, rather than glided smoothly along. A face… a smiling face that knew him… and yet that he could not recall the details of at all.

Jesse saw and smelled and felt all this… and sobbed into his pillow. Unable to tell if he was happy... or desperately saddened by the memory.