Page 1 of Where the Snakes Sleep

1

Ryan

Three Months Earlier

“Can’t you at least try them on, babe?” Paul holds the offending gift bag out to me, shaking it a little as if to entice me.

“What don’t you understand about the word ‘no’?” I ask, practically hissing as I bat the bag away and retreat into the kitchen.

Paul follows me with a long-suffering sigh, like I’m the one making this difficult. “I just think you’d look incredible in them. They weren’t cheap, you know.”

“Then you should return them so that we can spend the money on something we actually need, like getting my car fixed.”

He sets the bag on the counter with a frustrated huff. “I told you I would handle that.”

“You’ve been saying that for three weeks.”

“And I’ll get around to it,” he grunts.

“Yeah, okay,” I scoff, rolling my eyes as I stand on my tiptoes to reach the pan I need, which is, of course, on the highest shelf of the cabinet.

I can sense Paul coming closer as he says, “Look, just do this one thing for me, please? I’ll have the car fixed this week.”

“No, Paul.”

“I was looking online…” Here it comes. “And there’s a lot of guys like you who love wearing this stuff. It’s like a whole kink thing.”

Finally, my fingers catch on the rim of the pan I need. “Okay? There’s probably also a lot of ‘guys like me’ who don’t like it. Not all trans people are the same, Paul.”

I almost drop the pan when his body suddenly presses against mine, pushing my pelvis uncomfortably into the edge of the counter.

“Paul.”

His arms come up on either side of me, effectively boxing me in. “You know I like seeing you dressed up.”

“I know you like seeing a version of me that doesn’t exist.”

He lets out an exasperated breath against the back of my neck. “Why do you always have to twist what I say?”

“I’m not twisting anything.”

“You are.”

I finally get the pan down and turn around as much as his body allows. There’s barely an inch between us.

“Move.”

Instead of moving, his hands settle on my hips. “You’ve gotten so… defensive, Ry.”

“I wonder why,” I answer sarcastically.

His thumbs brush against the fabric of my jeans as his hands start to knead my ass. “I miss when you let me have fun with you. I bought the lingerie because I thought it could heat things up. Get you to let me into that nice, tight pussy again.”

I barely keep myself from retching.

It isn’t even the word—pussy.

I’ve never really cared about the word itself. Plenty of trans guys use it. Hell, sometimes I do too, depending on the conversation. Sometimes, in the right situation, with the right partner, I even find it hot.