Robbi – Beyond Friendship

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I’m a firm believer in “truth in advertising”. This is a love story, so if you’re looking for “Wham! Bam! Thank you, (insert gender title here)”, please feel free to leave.

Here’s the usual disclaimer and preface stuff. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to…etc., etc. The story is my property, so please don’t “borrow” from it. If you should happen to enjoy it, please let me know, and let your friends know, too.

***

The morning sun creeps around the edge of the blinds and casts our bedroom in a soft light. I lie quietly in bed, my eyes half-closed, watching my wife walk out of the bathroom. She is wearing nothing, and after many years of marriage, still beautiful.

“Have I told you lately that you have a great cock?” I ask.

“Perv,” she replies, smiling.

I heave myself out of bed. As I wander to the bathroom, unbidden memories of a day in 2012 come to mind. After all these year though the rationale has changed, it remains as one of the worst days of my life.

***

It was a Saturday in mid-July. My best friend Rob and I were hanging out in my room, cooling off from having chucked a frisbee around out in the yard for a while. We had been best buds since forever, and seemed to live in each other’s house as much as we did in our own.

In late May, we had graduated as co-salutatorians of our high school class. (Kelli, whom Rob had taken to the prom, kept us out of valedictorian by a crummy two hundreds of a point.) We had spent the first part of the summer inseparable as usual, swimming, fishing, occasionally cruising the teen hangouts, and half-heartedly working summer jobs.

Tomorrow Rob would be leaving with his parents to spend a month in their summer cabin at a lake upstate. Although he had invited me to come along, we both knew that I really wanted to stay and work to get money for tricking out my car before going to college in late August.

“Well, amigo, looks like this is our last day of summer fun together. Whadda ya wanna do?” I said.

“Mark, I gotta tell you something.” Rob’s expression became serious and a little sad. “I was gonna wait till tonight but it’s tearing me up inside.”

“Woah! You get Kelli pregnant on prom night or something?” It was all I could think of.

“I wish it were that simple,” he answered, looking even more forlorn.

“Jeez, Bro, spit it out. You know I’m here for you.”

“There’s no easy way to say it.” There were tears in his eyes now. “Tomorrow when I leave here, I’m going to start my transition to becoming a woman.”

“YOU’RE WHAT??!!” I shouted. “You gotta be shitting me.”

All the time we had spent together and now he was telling me he’s gay, a fucking sissy. It was so surreal. We’d been varsity football teammates. We’d showered together. We’d shared beds in overcrowded motel rooms on team field trips.

A feeling of loathing, disgust, and anger washed over me. I suddenly felt filthy. My clenched fingers were digging my nails into my palms, and I felt my face flush with rage. “YOU’RE GONNA DO WHAT??!!” It was all I could do to keep from smacking the shit out of him, from trying to beat the gay away.

“Mark,” he asked, tears streaming down his face now, “will you please listen to me, let me try to explain?”

“Fuck, no, you faggot!” I roared. “Get the Hell out of my house and my life.”

“You said you were here for me,” Rob pleaded. “Please…”

“Yeah, I’m here for you. Here to pound some sense into your fucked up head. If that’s not what you want, hit the bricks. NOW!”

As Rob, crestfallen, turned to leave, I couldn’t resist adding “Have a nice life, queer!” in a venom-dripping voice.

***

Needless to say, that cataclysmic event began to consume my life. Beyond the nausea caused by learning my supposed best friend was secretly a fag, until I left for the university I was consumed by the fear that others of my crowd might learn of Rob’s decision and decide that I must be gay also. Once I escaped my hometown that fear was replaced by a hated of Rob for not telling me what he really was sooner.

After a couple of wakeup calls in the form of low grades on some early tests, I struggled to compartmentalize the anger and hurt. However, in unguarded moments I would slip back into the morass.

With time, a dim light began to glow, I hesitantly started to realize that I had never really considered Rob and his feelings. I had completely vilified my best friend while taking no time to appreciate his situation. He had trusted me enough to share this monumental aspect of his life rather than hiding it and sneaking off. This whole thing must have been awful for him to deal with. The realization that I hadn’t been been there for him when he needed me the most sent me on a downward spiraling guilt trip.

By working hard to maintain the compartmentalization, I was able to have a pretty good freshman year. I pledged a fraternity and got adequate, though not stellar, grades. Things continued to go as well as could be expected during Kurtköy Esmer Escort sophomore year. In confronting the elephant in my soul I actually started to study the issue of transsexuality, gradually straightening out most of my (generally incorrect) preconceived ideas. While it didn’t do much to alleviate my on-going guilt trip, somehow I was more comfortable with it.

In the latter part of that year a bunch of my fraternity brothers decided to have a spring fling weekend in a large city in the next state over. It had several universities and colleges with lots of female students. As a bonus. there was a chapter of our fraternity there, so we would have place to crash. Since I was pretty much caught up on all my studies, I tagged along.

After a Friday night of partying and drinking way too much beer, we woke up late Saturday and struggled out for something to eat. A couple of the brothers from the local chapter took us to a food court in a sort of open-air mall where students from the various schools tended to hang out. As we were checking out the various fast-food vendors, trying to figure out what we could hold down, I noticed a gaggle of female student types standing in front of the GAP window

across the way apparently intrigued by somethimg in the display. One of them caught my attention, and I started to feel queasy.

She was a bit on the tall side, lithe and her straight brown hair hung to the middle of her back and was cut in bangs in front. The briefest turn of her head and an instantaneous meeting of our eyes confirmed my fear. As my stomach gave a huge heave, I jumped up proclaiming “Head call!”

I lurched down the corridor into the mens’ restroom. I plunged into an empty stall. Leaning against the wall, I managed to get the nausea under control and saved myself the indignity of having to barf in a public toilet. But what now?

No chance of sneaking out of the mall by a back way. I didn’t have my own wheels and didn’t know the town. I would have to go back to the food court. I could only pray that somehow the GAP group had moved on. Wonderful.

“Hey, Dude,” one of my buddies queried, “you gonna live?”

“Sure. I’d have to get better to die.” Relief washed over me. The girl gaggle was nowhere in sight and the hangover gave me a cover story for my rush to the head.

Another guy in the group added “One of those broads across the way must have known you. She came over to leave you a note.” He handed me a folded scrap of paper with “Mark” written on it. “We told her you were temporarily indisposed,” he added with a chuckle.

“Which one?” I asked.

“The stacked redhead.”

I snuck a look at the paper in my hand. The was one word, “Robbi”, and a phone number. I shoved the note in my pocket.

“Waddid she say, Man?”

“Said my fly was open.”

“Gonna be like that, huh?”

“Yup.”

Later, I pondered what had happened. First and foremost, should I call? Even though I was coming to grips with transsexuality on an intelectual level, I was nowhere ready to deal with it on a personal level. At least Rob hadn’t come over personally and possibly have brought about a face-to-face meeting. That bullet had been dodged.

If I did call, should I stick with “Rob” or give in to “”Robbi”” as the note indicated? What gender pronoun should I use in my own mind? Until now, I had thought of Rob as male. Accepting “”Robbi”” and shemale pronouns was somehow cutting the link to a guy who had been my friend virtually my whole life. Nonetheless, the person I had seen at the mall didn’t look like a guy in a dress, not a “Rob” or a “him”.

I suppose that secretly I had been hoping that he would just turn out to be a guy in a dress and realize the foolishness of the female wannabe thing. However, the Rob I thought I had known had moved on in the search to fill an inner need. As much as I disliked the idea. It was apparently time for me to move on, also.

Monday, back on my own campus, I finally decided I couldn’t put it off any longer. After punching the number on the note into my mobile, my finger froze over the call button. What was I going to say? What would she say? What did I want her to say? Almost as if I hadn’t willed it, my finger plunged to the fatal key.

A couple of rings went by, then she answered. The voice was right, but was it my imagination that that heard something feminine in the simple word “Hello”?

I fought off a brief impulse to hang up then, but realized that would resolve nothing. I managed to choke out “Robbi?”

“Mark?” Her voice was bright, happy and unhesitating. “I was so worried. You looked like Hell back there in the food court.” Nearly two years after an ugly parting and she was worried about me, teasing me, or both. The vessel might be undergoing some changes, but apparently the contents were still pretty much the same.

“I find your concern most touching,” I quipped.

WTF. A monumental occasion impacting our future relationship, so much to be said, and here Kurtköy Eve Gelen Escort I was being a wiseass. “You been doing well?”

“Yes. The school is great and I’m in a nice sorority. You?”

“I’ve missed you,” I blurted out, realizing that I meant it.

“Me, too,” “Robbi” responded wistfully. “There’s a lot of things we need to talk about. We’ve got finals and end-of-school stuff coming up now, but do you want to meet when vacation starts?”

She was still a straight talking cut-to-the-chase person. And I owed her after my unforgivable performance the last time we met face to face. Fortunately I would have a few more weeks to try to screw my head on correctly. “I’d really like that.”

After that we phoned or texted each other daily, catching up on a lot of gender-neutral aspects of our lives and sharing the small things of winding down a school year. My study habits improved and I did better on my exams than I had done up to that point.

Then school was over for the summer. It was time to meet “Robbi” face-to-face. The last few weeks of texting or talking to “Robbi” on the phone resurrecting our friendship had been great. Still I was worried that when she actually met with me it would bring back her memories of how horribly I had reacted to her decision to transition.

Worse yet I still wasn’t comfortable with how I might act when I was actually up close and personal with her in her female persona. Nonetheless, I knew that most of all I wanted my friend back, male, female, or whatever.

We arranged to meet on a Saturday afternoon at her family’s cabin upstate. I got up early that morning. I went out and washed my car. After coming back inside I shaved and showered. For good measure I splashed on a ittle woodsy aftershave and cologne. I actually paid attention to selecting my clothes, casual but not to casual, trendy but not too trendy. What in Hell was I doing? It was like I was getting ready for a date, a very special date. I finally decided on a subdued Hawaiian shirt, loose denim shorts, and topsiders without socks.

On the drive to the cabin, my stomach did some interesting acrobatics. I tried to visualize the meeting. Assuming that I would not cut and run at the moment of coming face to face, how should I act? Bubbly? Cool? Serious? Repentant? Should I approach her or maintain a lot of space between us? Should I offer a handshake or a guy hug? (Actually neither of those last two sounded very good.) Eventually, I decided to adopt some sort of neutral demeanor and take cues from her behavior.

Finally I was on the cabin porch. I checked my reflection in the glass of the door. Since I didn’t see any outward signs of panic, I decided to knock. I was slightly taken aback when Robbi’s dad opened the door. Being so wound up about seeing the new version of my boyhood best friend, it was sort of anticlimactic.

“Hi, Mark,” he said, giving me a firm handshake, “Come on in. “Robbi and her mom are in the kitchen fixing some lemonade.” He led me into the living room.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been up this way. “Robbi tells us you’re doing well in school.”

“Not as well as I’d like, but I think I’m getting a handle on it.”

“Good. Anyway, don’t be such a stranger. We’ve all missed having you hang around.”

“Hopefully. Things seem to be straightening out.” I hoped I wasn’t showing the vague discomfort I was still feeling.

At that point, Robbi and her mom came into the room. She was wearing a simple light blue waist-length sleeveless blouse, a short white skirt, and sandals. She was carrying a plate of cookies. Robbi’s mom set down a tray with a pitcher of lemonade she was carrying and pulled me into a matronly dear friend embrace. “College life agrees with you!” she said as she stepped back. “We’ll have to catch up later. Dad and I promised to meet a few other couples at a craft fair in the village.”

“You two behave yourselves,” her dad said as he took his wife’s hand and led her out of the room.

Robbi and I were alone. This wasn’t what I had expected. I had wanted to have others around while I got used to her feminine behavior and appearance.

I guess my discomfort showed. “Mark, please sit down for just a few minutes. Give my parents a little time to get away, then you can leave. I’m sorry it isn’t working out.” There was a catch in her voice and her eyes brimmed with tears.

I sank into a chair and Robbi sat demurely on the sofa. For several minutes she sat forlornly, occasionally touching a tissue to her eyes. The silence was deafening. As I placed my hands on the arms of the chair to stand up, she said with a strength that caught me by surprise, “I love you, you dufus. I love you more than anything.”

Looking back, it’s easy to say I should have sensed it, seen it coming. However, in truth, it blindsided me. I paused, in a ridiculous position halfway out to the chair, as the new reality sank in. As it did the realization that I, also, had loved this person forever. Now I fully Kurtköy Evi Olan Escort understood the void that had haunted me since I had driven her away.

In a heartbeat I moved to sit beside her and take her in my arms. She seemed to melt against me and her arms encircled me. Her tears were flowing freely now. I gently placed a hand under her chin bringing her face up so that we could look into each other’s eyes. “Oh, Love, can you ever forgive, forgive me for my blindness and cruelty?” I asked in a halting voice. Hers weren’t the only tears running down our faces.

“I love you, you dufus. I always will.” Somehow our lips came together and we shared our first kiss. Tentatively at first, our lips just brushed. A current went through me. I was kissing someone I truly adored, a person I had loved all my life.

Our lips were firmly together now. Unbidden, my tongue began its gently probe. Without hesitation, Robbi’s lips parted and her tongue welcomed mine. A blessed moment, like none I had ever experienced.

After many glorious minutes, we drew our faces slightly apart and looked again into each other’s eyes, wondering at the love we saw there. “Robbi, Robbi, Robbi…” was all I could say.

“Dufus,” she replied with a grin.

Uninvited, some sense of reality returned. “I suppose we should do some lemonade and cookies so your parents won’t be suspicious.”

“I suppose we should,” she sighed, “and, like it or not, we need to discuss a few things. I’d like to do that before my folks come home.”

She was right, of course. This wasn’t your garden variety “high school sweethearts reunite and decide to become a couple” situation.

“I hate to be so blunt, Mark, but I still have my penis. I’m still a functioning biological male.” She paused, watching my face. “And honestly I’m not sure I want to give it up.”

I was totally at a loss or words. I as envisioned many scenarios and prepared things to say, but imagining and experiencing are two completely different things.

“Don’t say anything yet. Just listen and think.” She smiled and touched my hand lightly.

“Here are the facts. I love you. You love me. You have never really thought of yourself as anything but a straight male, and have never expected to be in an anything but a heterosexual relationship.”

“I guess,” I said, lamely.

“Mark, I love you so much, but like the song says, “I gotta be me.” I wan you for my lover, in every sense of the word. I want the world to know you’re my guy.” Her hands were holding mine and she continued to study my face fervently. “I don’t want a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ relationship. I don’t want to wait until I have some artificial surgery which might or might not make our relationship more acceptable to some.”

She was right. There was so much more to consider than a heavenly kiss and a profession of love.

“You could probably back away now and laugh off what just happened, but that would end any chance of us being a couple. I will always love you and have the memories of our childhood, but I won’t put myself in a position of waiting for what might be another rejection.”

So many things were bouncing around in my head. Afraid that whatever I might say would come out only as senseless babble, I sat there mute.

“But you need to understand that being lovers before the world won’t be easy. It most certainly will be painful at times. People you have always considered good friends will speak of you in the same terms of endearment you used when you threw me out two summers ago, plus a few more like ‘cocksucker’ and ‘butt-fucker’. They’ll turn their backs on you. They’ll belittle you and mock you in public. Mark, I’m all in on this. Can you be? Are you?”

Pain, born of guilt and shame, seared my soul. Was I not really the homophobe I had seemed when I had driven her away? Had I truly evolved? Could I handle the revilement of others? Could I unconditionally give her the physical acts of love she desired and deserved? Could I totally commit to Robbi in a way I had never imagined I might have to commit to someone? Could I be all in, too?

As if in response to these questions, my arms once again drew her into a close embrace and our lips eagerly sought the others. My hands began to roam over her hack and bare arms as hers caressed and teased the back of my neck.

By some sort of unspoken consent, we both stood. I unbuttoned Robbi’s blouse as she undid my shirt. We slipped them off. She was wearing a simple cotton bra over well-proportioned breasts. Still standing, we resumed our caresses. Sliding one hand between us, my lover lightly stroked my chest with her fingertips, sending a tingling sensation through me. With the other she unfastened her bra. Stepping back, she tugged the straps off her shoulders and let it fall away.

Robbi’s breasts, though not huge, were full and firm. She took my hands, placing one on each breast. A shiver of delight coursed through each of us at the contact. I slowly raced her areoles and gently tweaked her nipples as she began again to run her fingers over my chest.

As nice as it would have been to spend the rest of the day that way, there was one more thing I had to do, as much to confirm my self-reaffirmation as for givng her the pleasure I wanted to. I began to look for a way to unfasten her skirt.

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