Page 7 of They Were Roommates

For most of his childhood, he’d known he was different. When he entered his teens, the way he looked at boys wasn’t how the other teen girls did. He didn’t want to be with them, he wanted tobethem. In fact, he barely wanted to bewiththem at all.

When he’d gotten to college, he’d attended a few Gay Straight Alliance meetings and met a few people who identified as aspec, or on the asexual spectrum. For a while, he identified as a hetero, ace woman, but the label never felt right and slowly but surely, through studying a lot of queer literature and sleepless nights scrolling through online forums, he discovered he might be trans.

Over the past few years, he’d spent a lot less time focusing on his sexuality than on his gender, but he had come to the general conclusion that he wasn’t ace but was potentially demisexual. He’d been sexually attracted to several guy friends over the years and had, as of late, found himself hopelessly attracted to Frankie. He didn’t think he wanted to date him. He just… wanted him. Wanted him in his arms, and in his bed. He wanted to wake up next to him, Frankie completely naked and Diego... well, that was where the fantasy always stopped.

Diego had no intention of doing a phalloplasty, surgery designed to construct a penis. He’d heard of cases where it took two to three years for all of the surgeries to be completed, and recovery got more and more challenging as the procedures continued. He knew only one other trans man who had undergone the surgery, and while he was ecstatic with the results, he had also been very blunt about how hard the entire process had been.

Diego had done some research and was intrigued by the idea of a meta surgery, or metoidioplasty, which would take skin from somewhere else in his body to turn his tiny bio dick, his preferred name for his clitoris, into a more sizable and semi-usable one. He’d read, and researched on trans Reddit, that such dicks could even become erect on their own. Diego’s bio dick had grown a little bit as he continued his testosterone therapy, but it was still only the size of two of his fingers pressed together. If he got the surgery, it would be closer to three or possibly even four.

Diego had consulted with the doctor and surgeon who had done his top surgery, and they’d recommended a local surgeon who was apparently one of the top ten in the country, but her schedule had been booked through April. Diego almost hadn’t made the appointment. He’d thought that maybe, if it was meant to be, the doctor would have had appointments sooner, so he would be able to get all of his gender affirming surgery completed in one year and be done with it. One of his online friends, Tanya, a trans woman who unfortunately lived across the country, had encouraged him to make the appointment – at least. Now, as he took his seat and stared across his well-loved sofa at Frankie, he was rather glad he’d made the appointment.

“D?” Frankie said. It was clear this wasn’t the first time he’d called out.

“Yes Franklin, I heard you. You have no idea how to contribute to the conversation, just as you have had no idea how to contribute to any of the conversations since our second class in January, hence why you are here with me on a Friday night, instead of out fucking the town red, or whatever the phrase is.”

Frankie looked startled that Diego had been paying attention. A brief flash of hurt stole across his face, but he quickly schooled his expression.

Damnit. Diego always liked to toe the line between banter and flirting, but sometimes he went in the opposite direction and came off caustic and hurtful. Diego mentally sighed at the concession he knew he was going to have to make, and the amount of damage it was going to do to his fraying willpower. Nevertheless, he hated seeing Frankie hurt, even for just a moment.

He leaned sideways onto the couch and lifted his legs up, resting his sock-clad feet against Frankie’s thigh.

Frankie immediately lit up like Diego had dropped a puppy into his lap instead of his freezing cold feet.

The first night Frankie had come over, begging for help prepping for their second class in January, Diego had discovered that Frankie loved physical touch. It could be anything, even something as innocuous as their arms pressing together at his kitchen table or their feet brushing under blankets on the couch. He should have figured it out sooner, given how often Frankie liked to touch his arm or his shoulder in class, but honestly, he’d thought Frankie was just being annoying. It turned out, he was just being open and honest with Diego about his preferences and his needs. Something Diego didn’t do well.

“Alright, Mr. Know It All, what doyouhave prepared for Monday?” Frankie asked leaning sideways into the couch so he could press more fully against Diego’s feet.

Diego obliged, having done this little song and dance before, and lifted his feet up until they were resting in Frankie’s lap. Frankie immediately began rubbing his insole, and Diego tried not to sink too deeply into the pleasure of the innocent contact, or the gender euphoria he got every time Frankie so easily called him man, bro, dude, mister, or any other masculine term.

He knew he shouldn’t be so easily impressed since Frankie had thought Diego was actually a cis man for half a year, but he’d come out to a few other friends in grad school and even though they’d never slipped up on his pronouns before, after he’d come out, they had messed up several times.

“Well, as you’ve so helpfully pointed out, I wasn’t actually in this class, so I’m not sure what I can contribute in terms of helpful verbal exercises or breakout topics… but the way you annotated the notes, adding in additional research and some of your own thoughts, was incredibly helpful.”

Frankie bit his lip, and his cheeks turned an adorable pink. “Yeah, uh… you’re welcome…” he mumbled and Diego realized with a start that he’d never properly thanked Frankie. Was it too late now?

He scooted slightly farther down on the sofa until his neck was craned a bit awkwardly, but he was able to rest his calves in Frankie’s lap. Frankie blushed even harder but wrapped one arm around his leg and snuggled deeper into the sofa.Madre de dios, he was cute.

“So… you think we should suggest bringing in outside examples? Maybe have a featured speaker or someone with lived experience come to the lab?” Frankie asked quietly.

“There’s an idea! See? You have lots of ideas, you just have to sit with them a little.”

Frankie nodded dutifully and they lapsed into silence. Diego pulled out his laptop and began reading through his notes. Almost a full hour elapsed with neither of them saying anything. Diego should have known something was off because Frankie typically interrupted them every five to ten minutes with random thoughts and commentary. He glanced up and saw Frankie gazing off into space with a surprisingly open expression on his face. While Frankie was unabashedly the class clown and the life of every party, there was something closed off about him, or at least Diego thought so. Frankie never seemed to show his true self to any one person, instead revealing bits and pieces to different people. Diego had been lucky enough to be around him in a few different settings, so he’d gotten to know a few sides of him. Still Diego wondered how much more there was to this handsome man.

“¿Estás soñando despierto?” Diego asked on instinct, nudging Frankie lightly with his toes.

Frankie glanced over in surprise. His expression clued Diego in that he’d spoken in Spanish.

“Do you speak fluent Spanish?” Frankie asked before Diego could translate.

“I do. Mostly just back when I lived at home, but I have a few friends I see on occasion who also speak fluently, and we tend to lapse into a bit of Spanglish when we’re together. I spent some time with them over winter break, so I guess it’s still top of mind.”

Frankie cocked his head. “Would you teach me?”

Diego smirked. “Do you think you could sit still long enough to learn?”

Frankie grimaced and looked away. “Probably not. But you can at least teach me what you just said?”

Diego made a conscious effort to lighten his tone. He seemed to be hitting Frankie’s buttons in a bad way tonight. “Estásmeans—”

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