Russian Birch: Chapter 1
ATTENTION: There are no tags or categories for transgender related stories or subjects. For that reason these stories have been categorized as "other". They do not. however, contain any herm or supernatural content. They are intended to be realistic stories depicting transgendered persons. If at some point there are categories and tags for transgendered content I will remove this notice and change the story's classification appropriately. That is all.
It was nothing but birch trees in every direction. The ground was covered in leaves; cold and wet so that footsteps made almost no sound but a slight shuffling. High in the air the grey sky fell through the open canopy â€" no green â€" no life to mitigate the light of the sun. Somehow the overcast illumination drew the heat from your face, doing nothing to provide warmth. One lone figure in a very long, very heavy grey military coat walked slowly away from an unseen camp dug into a dry creek bed. Some distance from both the wanderer and the camp another set of boots slowly and silently worked to catch up with his comrade. As the thin white birch did little to stop the light of day, so it did little to stop the stiff breeze that somehow managed to move between the trunks unmitigated. The wind shifted just so and the follower was given away. Both froze in their tracks, though without any dramatic show.
"You may as well come over. I can smell you from here. If you were the enemy I would be dead."
The follower gave up on stealth and in a few moments slight shuffling of leaves became a din of snapping twigs and heavy steps.
"You're right, but if I was the enemy, I wouldn't smell nearly so nice."
They were both huskies; Siberian. They had the same grey eyes and the same grey fur. They spoke the same language and they wore the same clothes, though the follower had a few extra stripes and a few extra pins. The similarities ended there, though. One was tall, even for the military. One was short, especially for the military. One had the broad shoulders and barrel chest of a farm worker while the other's uniform always seemed oversized.
"You don't smell as good as you think you do." The smaller husky bristled, walling himself off emotionally from his superior officer.
"What are you even doing on the front line; you should be at home tending to a husband." The larger husky came to a stop behind the smaller, uncomfortably close, reaching out slowly to envelope him in a hug.
In a juvenile fit the smaller form escaped, wrenching his body away as if he was being held strongly already, though fingertips had just started to brush against his coat. He spun and stood back, facing up at his commander's face. On the small face there was fury masking fear, on the larger there was a confident and laughing grin, cracked only slightly by genuine concern.
"The whole unit knows you're a woman." The forest fell silent. There was a bird in the sky and the young soldier would have sworn it was deleted from existence â€" that it made too much noise for the deathly silent and god plucked it from earth.
"Did you hear me, everyone knows it's true." The commander reached out and closed his fingers around the lapels of the long jacket â€" usually reserved for the lucky or those higher in rank â€" he had given it to his subordinate upon seeing he was far too small to survive in the winter. The young man looked down and away, escaping from the forest in his mind, unable to move his mouth. His hand slipped into his pocket. The coat was so big and his hands were so small â€" he had started to carry his side arm loose in his pocket to fill the space. "Speak! Speak freely!" The commander looked back over his shoulder, suddenly worried he might be heard. His voice dropped and became sinister â€" something very angry. "If you get my boys killed because you're on your fucking period I'll be the one that puts a bullet through your fucking skull, do you hear me."
The harsh words clawed at the young soldier's ears, nagging and teasing, telling him to come back to reality and to face the aggressor.
"Everyone in the unit knows their commander is a faggot." The young soldier closed the distance between them in one step, his boots together fitting neatly between the shoulder width gap between the commander's feet. Their bodies shared warmth and scent. Despite so much stiff, itchy fabric they could feel each other's hearts and the young soldier's breath was warm and damp on the broad chest. "If you can't keep your eyes off my ass then you'll be the one getting us killed. Tell me how a faggot falls in love with a woman."
The commander was cut to the quick. It was true. He didn't hide that he was gay, and none of his soldiers held it against him. He was effective in battle and he had saved their lives again and again. He had kissed his subordinates â€" as any man facing death may kiss another â€" as any man who has escaped death might â€" but it had never been an issue until now. They looked like brother and sister. The young soldier, in fact, reminded him of his sister â€" killed early in the war. He was beside himself in his private moments, unable to make sense of it. A normal man, he told himself, would have been relieved if this young soldier truly was a woman; but for him it only made things more confusing. He slipped his hands under the jacket and pulled the other â€" the man or the woman â€" close. He had wanted this moment for a long time. He squeezed tightly and felt his eyes watering.
The young soldier, on the other hand, felt no deep satisfaction from the embrace. He was scared out of his mind and burying everything, pushing it down, skimming across thin ice over a rushing river. With one hand he clumsily unfastened his belt and snapped open the top of his pants, withdrawing the gun with his other. He stabbed the freezing cold barrel against his commander's side, just under his rib cage and angled up.
"If you need to know, reach down and tell me if you're a faggot."
It was a stupid gamble. The last thing he wanted was to be found out. The last thing he wanted was to be raped and left in the forest â€" reported dead by enemy sniper fire. But as long as he was perched atop his terror and the gun was in his hand he felt just enough power â€" just enough control to dictate how things would go.
The gun meant nothing to the commander. If he were thinking soberly it would hurt, jammed under his bottom rib, but his eyes were a haze and his mind had long shut the lights off. He drew a deep breath through his nose to take in the young soldier's scent â€" seeming stronger since he heard the belt open. Without giving up the embrace he wanted so dearly he pushed one hand down the front of the opened pants. To avoid having to pull away it was the back of his hand that felt the heat; that was pressed to the other's body. His knees grew weak and he nearly fell. He drew his breath in again and shuddered it out as his middle finger found no sheath, no mass, nothing at all. His hand slipped down and he felt the heat of a woman on the back of his middle finger â€" thick soft fur and hot humidity.
The commander felt like he was slipping off the edge of the world. His voice was weak and pleading as he pushed the words against the top of the young soldier's head like a child would push words against his mother's breasts, head buried for comfort. "Why do I love you..."
There was nothing but silence again. He would not remove his hand. He would not release his young soldier from the embrace of his other arm. Neither of them knew what to do. Both of them were blushing hotly, terrified, and alone in the forest.
The commander pleaded again, even softer, after a long pause, "What do I do now?"
The young soldier jammed the gun into his side harder, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, wanting to be respected â€" no â€" wanting to be feared â€" but his commander only held him and felt his most shameful secret with the back of his hand, holding him there like they were lovers. With a voice that cracked and shuddered like an angry young woman's â€" betraying him now in his moment of desperation â€" he looked up at his commander and spoke.
"You're the faggot. You have your hand down the pants of your subordinate â€" your little soldier boy... Why don't you do what faggots do and suck my dick." He was grinding the barrel of the gun against his commander's flesh as he spoke, wanting so badly to cause pain but feeling weak and ineffectual.
"But.. You're a woman..." He said; his voice still oblivious to the gun and to the young soldier's anger. He sounded like they were already lovers â€" like they were together for years â€" and some unfair circumstance had dashed their hearts to pieces â€" like all would be fine if not for this â€" lost in the delusions of love.
The young soldier's hands trembled. He was nearly hysterical. He had nearly lost any hope of controlling himself. He pushed away from his commander and his groin felt suddenly cold without the hand down his pants. He took two long steps back and held the gun at the commander's face, drawing back the hammer with a click. His breath came in deep, ragged pants, sending a fog up into the birch branches.
"Get... Get on your knees and suck my dick, you faggot." His voice was a woman's voice, through and through. All pretense... all ability he had to sound like a man had drained out of him in his passion and all the things that made him a woman rose up to betray him. In a shrill scream he stepped back to the commander and drove the barrel of the gun into the soft spot above his collar bone. The commander just stood there stunned, looking like he would burst into tears of pitiful sadness. "I said get on your fucking knees faggot! NOW!"
The commander gave in to his failing strength. He collapsed in a heap under the gun, weakly swaying standing on his knees. The young soldier stared into his eyes now and was scared of what he saw. His commander was in love. His commander was deeply â€" deeply in love. But he was crushed by the fact that he was in love with a woman. For a second, through his anger and fear, the young soldier thought he loved his commander. The thought crept up on him like a madness, ‘you love a man; what a good little girl falling in love with a big strong man'.
Both of them began crying freely and silently. Tears rolled down their cheeks and a cold breeze blew in from the north. The day was fading and the soft leathery leaves below them were turning to a crust of ice and frost. Their tears buried in their fur and froze there, refusing to be ignored.
The gun slipped from his hand and fell into the leaves, tumbling off his commander's shoulder on the way down. He opened his pants further and the cold air felt so much colder on that cursed flesh â€" that cunt he never asked for. With his sex exposed he grabbed two rough handfuls of the fur on his commander's cheeks, feeling those frozen tears â€" wondering if his face felt the same â€" so cold and sad. He calmed down, but he had been too exposed to make his voice sound deeper â€" to pretend that anything was other than as it seemed. He was a woman. Under so much wrapped bandage he had two large breasts. The cold air was hitting his clit â€" his pussy â€" it was right there and nothing else could be said. He knew he was a man, but this was the body he had. If this man â€" this commander â€" this gay man wanted him he would have to take him as he was â€" as a woman in flesh.
"Put your mouth on my dick..." The words came in a dark, lust filled voice. He worried the fur would rip from the commander's cheeks the way he pulled that face against him, forced that man's lips against his sex. There was no resistance.
The young soldier looked down at the tear stained face of the man in love with him â€" eyes closed and face scrunched up as he ran his tongue up and down, probing, dumbly searching for the right way to do something he never thought he'd do. It was sweet. It was touching. It was disgusting to see, to have his female body forced into the picture, but as he pictured in his mind the very same face with lips wrapped around a bright pink cock he felt a surge of something. His hips rolled and he ground his clit into his commander's muzzle, letting out a loud and heavy huff of air. The young soldier moved his hands to the commander's ears and dug his claws in, holding him in place, pulling on the ears in maddening frustration.
"I don't want to love you." He finally managed to say. His tears had finally stopped.
The commander pulled away, his lips and nose glistening with clear fluid. "I don't want to love a woman..." He thought about his words carefully. His crying too had stopped and he had been forced to take stock of what was occurring. He looked for the right words to say. "I have never loved a woman. I never will love a woman. But I will die here in this forest without your love."
The young soldier put his left hand on the back of the commander's head and ground his hips, demeaning the large male, getting off by smearing his clit against cold wet nose and hot lips and tongue. He reached up with his right hand and came down with something between a slap and a closed fist, crashing into the side of his face. It was his release of hate and fear â€" of everything he didn't want to be true about what was happening.
The blow hurt â€" especially in the cold air â€" but the commander ignored it the same as the gun. He pulled away slightly and the young soldier dropped his hands to his sides. The commander stood and again slipped his hands under the young soldier's coat, hugging tightly. The two panted loudly from a mix of excitement, lust, and fear and tried to make sense of what was going on as the sun set behind a wall of grey clouds. Darkness and cold were rolling through the birch trees. What cover could they offer from the enemy if every whim of nature whipped through them as easily as air?
The young soldier closed his pants, tugged them up slowly, and refastened his belt. "What... what do we do?"
The commander licked his lips and his nose. He knew the other soldiers would smell what they'd done. He knew he must look ridiculous. He buried his face in the collar of the young soldier's jacket, drying his face as he stole the chance to feel a little closer.
"I don't know." The commander looked around, taking in the quickly darkening forest. "I want to be inside you..." He bit his lip at the words, worrying that he might be misunderstood. "If you were a man I'd pin you to a tree and fuck you..." Before he knew what he'd said he'd already said it. The young soldier cringed and felt cold. ‘If you were a man'.
The commander withdrew his hands and held the young soldier by the cheeks just as had been done to him earlier. He forced a kiss, just as his face had been forced before. At first the soldier recoiled, but the commander's passion, and the frustrated need of sexual release the both of them felt â€" and perhaps just the cold of impending night... The kiss broke slowly. The commander withdrew.
The soldier's voice was low again. "Faggot."
The two stood together in the woods as everything turned to blackness around them. Even the white birch slowly disappeared. The only thing left was the stars and the faint sound of soldiers without a commander in the distance, laughing and shouting, ignoring the enemy through the woods and across the river.