Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, graphic sexual situations, narcotics, slash

Disclaimer: All characters are mine. Stay away or I'll cut you.

Author's Note: I don't know what provoked me, but I just started thinking about this and it struck my fancy. Trying out a slightly different writing style and all that jazz. Oh, also, I'm currently out of a beta, so this is all edited by me; my sincerest apologies for any typos or grammar slips that I didn't catch. Yeah. Reviews are very welcome!


Well Smack My Ass and Call Me Sally




I can feel stares burning smoking holes in my back. Come on, for fuck's sake, it's like they've never seen a guy in a dress before. Given… they probably haven't, but that's totally not the point. It's like they can't resist whispering and giggling and giving me dirty looks, which they probably can't. But it's really, really not helping my self-confidence. What makes it worse is that I can't stop blushing and shuffling and being generally embarrassed.

Why the fuck am I even wearing a dress, right? Well, before I get into that, I'm going to tell you a bit more about myself because I'm sure you abo-fucking-lutely care. I'm just that interesting. Ha, yeah right.

My name is Naomi Trystan Waitts. Yes, my parents, in some possibly drug-influenced episode, decided to give me a fucking girl's name. I'm quite sure my mom was on all types of pain-killing, mind-numbing pills after giving birth because I've heard a million times just how much I made her hurt coming out. And my dad… well, I have no clue, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know, what the fuck he was smoking to actually let my mom do that. Nineteen years and I'm still bitter about it, though I'm pretty sure I didn't care when I was younger, yeah when I was like three. Either way, I prefer to go by Trystan. Anyway, I'm just rambling now. I'm nineteen years old and I'm a senior in high school… for the second time. Long story, don't ask.

Ahem. Personally, I think I'm pretty, not handsome and certainly not beautiful, but pretty. In a girly way, I guess, is what I'm trying to say. I have this phobia of haircuts, so my hair is pretty long, shoulder length and layered totally straight – which I kind of hate. It's this really dark brown, almost black, actually. I guess that comes from my mom's Latino roots. My eyes do to, I swear, they're pitch fucking black and totally round - you could say innocent and naïve. The funny thing is I look almost exactly like my mom; if it weren't for the damned pale skin I got from my dad. I've got the whole 'delicate' thing going for me. Now don't get me wrong, I've got some muscle on me and I'm fucking mean in a fight, but most people think I need protection, which is a total fucking lie.

Oh, I guess the most important thing about me is that I'm a raging homo. And yes, I'm quite comfortable in my closet, thank you very much. It's dark and warm here and I don't have to suffer any extra shit from anybody else. Not to say that I get much shit from people anyway, it's nice being older than everybody else and the hook-up for everything from smokes to alcohol to drugs. I also have the benefit of a younger brother who's the star quarterback on the football team, a pair of steel-toe boots and a mean-ass right hook. People just don't fuck with me; it's definitely not advisable.

Anyway, back to the reason why I'm still wearing this fucking frilly, pink cake of a dress, a curly, blonde doll's wig and five-inch heels (which are hell on my feet, by the way). Honestly, sometimes I hate alcohol for the stupid shit it makes me do, like agreeing to a ridiculous bet that has me cross-dressing for a full week of school. Way to stay in the closet, I know. The most fucked up part though, is that I can't wear normal girl's clothes; but these concoctions of pink and pastel that make me look like a five year olds' fucking doll.

Luckily, rumors and news spread like wildfire around here. It doesn't mean that people stop laughing, I mean, I do look really fucking ridiculous, but at least they don't think that I'm dressing like this because I want to. I definitely fucking don't. At least everyone knows that last Saturday I ended up getting completely smashed at one of my brother's friend's parties and took on a bet. You might ask what the bet was, and I can say that I don't fucking remember – I was way drunk at the time. All I know is that everybody that remembered that I'd lost wouldn't pass up the chance to publicly humiliate me. Fuckers.

I really don't enjoy this. The dress is way too itchy… And get this: they even made me wear a fucking stuffed bra. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. What I can say is that I make a sexy-ass girl, as embarrassing as it is. Even my best friend, Max, who is straight enough to well… Let's just say he's straight as a fucking arrow. Max said I looked hot, which kind of caused my eyes to pop out and my jaw to drop and dear god, it nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. My girlfriend, who is a total cover-up, giggled and told me that I made a better-looking girl than she did. See what I have to go through?

A little more about Max: we've been friends since like… fifth grade or something. And the man is a Class A stud. Not to say that I'm crushing on him, or anything, but I'd do him… all night long. He's already done with high school, because he's less of an idiot than me, but he decided that college just wasn't for him. So Max is stuck here with the rest of us, and I secretly enjoy the opportunity to ogle him any chance I get. Anyway, he's got a perfect body, all smooth, toned muscle from working out about fifteen times a week. Fucking hell, he makes me drool like a ten year old in front of the biggest ice cream display in the world. It's not just the body, too, his face is like chiseled perfection – Max is a fucking Adonis. Gah, I know I sound like a lovesick girl, but I'm really not. My libido, which really isn't satisfied by sex with my girlfriend (for obvious reasons), can't resist the perfect image he cuts.

Speaking of, my girlfriend is one of the sweetest girls in the world, even if she does like to torture me (see the dress?). She's pretty, I guess; obviously not my type since I just don't like those of the female persuasion. Her name is Maggie and she's a junior. What? Three years isn't that much of a difference, give me a break. Lucky for me, she's kind of a tomboy, makes it that much easier to actually get it up for her; though I do prefer thinking of boys when we're fucking. As I said, she's just a cover-up. I really like it in my closet, and nothing can smoke me out – don't even fucking try.

Anyway, I'm walking down the hall, heading for homeroom wearing a frilly pink dress and people just refuse to stop laughing. I think I'm going to start steaming from my fucking ears at some point today, and tomorrow, and Wednesday, Thursday, Friday… For fuck's sake! If I end up murdering a sentient human being, nobody can blame me.


So, whaddya think? Is this worth continuing?