FSE

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I.

The dance, the last one before graduation, is over. You ditch your boring, overdressed date and go around the corner of the building to sit down and smoke. Someone's already on the disused stairs, a girl in a pink floral dress, hugging her knees idly.

"Feeling like you're too good to join the party later?" you ask as you approach.

She doesn't respond.

"Me too," you nod. Just not very talkative. As you sit down, she uncurls, turning to face you. You immediately recognise who this is. There's only one person in class that insists on wearing a face mask.

Despite not saying anything about a transition, Nate couldn't more obviously be on estrogen. And yet you've never seen him looking so gentle until now. He's wearing flats - a real girl would have worn heels, but fine. His admittedly nice calves are crisscrossed by the threads of something fishnet that disappears under the knee length skirt of his floral pink dress. His modest, but present chest contrasts oddly with his lanky wide shoulders. His pink mask matches the dress, and his face is framed by chin length dark hair. Even with his brows hidden under the straight bangs, he has really intense eyes, accentuated by what seems to your trained eye like light makeup. All in all, he really does just look like a crossdresser, it's almost pathetic, but that only makes him seem more fragile in this moment.

"What?" he murmurs, tilting his head.

"Hi, Mint." He has a weird preferred name, but it feels appropriate right now.

"Stand up if you're gonna smoke." He stares down the cigarette in your hand.

You look at it too and don't say anything.

"All this effort and this is the only attention I get?" he asks, more cynical and disappointed than mad. "Kind of insulting."

You stand up and light your cig, just so you can take the edge off. "Welp, sorry."

"I really expected guys to like me more. They have no idea what to do with me, do they." He sounds... really gay, high pitched with a feminine musicality to the intonation, but not a girl's voice. Oddly, it fits his look now.

"What were your expecting?"

"I don't know. I thought they'd like me coming out of my shell like this."

"You're certainly out of your shell right now," you quip.

"You shouldn't have started talking to me if you didn't feel like listening."

"The accusation is annoying."

He stands up, glaring at you disapprovingly, and just huffs.

"Okay, okay, whatever. I'm fine listening while I get my nicotine."

"Thanks... So yeah, this is our last get-together as a class. I wanted to take the opportunity to show them who I am, basically. I'm really tired of hiding, I never wanted to be such a wallflower."

"I know I just agreed to listen to you, but you're probably oversharing right now."

"Fuck you. I'm specifically trying not to think of that right now. Just looking like this is oversharing."

You place a hand on his arm. He's soft and silky.

"You're being weird." He looks away.

"Just indulging you."

"Now that I think about it, maybe I never actually wanted attention."

"Too late."

Your hand traces his shoulder and neck and ends up caressing his cheek through the mask. You hear his breathing quicken a little bit. You turn his head to face you and stare deep into those eyes.

"I thought you were into girls."

"It's 20XX. I've heard of trans women, Minty."

"I'm just a trap."

"Whatever you say." You slowly hook your fingers on the top edge of his face mask and let him slowly watch your hand with wide, panicked eyes as it pulls it down to under his chin. His features are still a bit sharp and boyish, though smoother than you remember. He's kinda cute. And helpless. You mash your thumb into his reddened, glossy, hormone softened lips, prying them apart a little, threatening to push it between them...

He turns away, pulls the mask back up over his nose, timidly bats your annoying hand out of the way and hides his face in your chest. His arms wrap around your back. He lets out one long, pained, girly whine, then a couple ugly sobs. Maybe you shouldn't have done that.

"Sorry. I noticed you have lipstick on."

"Doesn't mean I wanted to show my face," he squeezes out.

"Kinda does."

"Fuck you," he says through tears and spit.

You hug back. He's shorter than you and feels dainty, if a bit lank. "It's okay to cry."

"My mascara will run."

"I think that looks hot more than anything else."

"Pervert." He holds onto you tightly. After a little while of cathartic ugly-crying, he pulls away and dries his eyes, smearing more wet blackness over his face. "Sorry, that's probably enough for now. I'm a mess."

"It's cute."

"Wanna text me later, straight guy?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry for spilling my guts here."

"I don't mind."

"Thanks."

He's cute. You exchange numbers before parting ways until Monday.

II.

You get to know him a little over the next while. He's just as withdrawn and unapproachable in class as always, but he sends you nudes pretty regularly. You manage to get over him having no testicles and start finding his soft, boyish body attractive in a way. He fucking rocks women's clothes, especially on video. When he's in his element, he moves like a girl. You hear him moan, both from being cuddly and from having a finger up his ass. He tells you how horny he's been since starting hormones, shares some of his turn-ons, exhibitionism is a big one, for example... and you don't really reciprocate, having reservations. Not even one dick pic. He's desperate, but at the same time just your compliments are enough to keep him happy.

On one hot sunny day, you manage to talk him into wearing his thinnest leggings to class. No underwear either. Now there he is at the back of the room, looking fucking miserable. Face mask as usual, clingy white tee drenched in sweat, he's slouched forward with his elbow on his desk, visibly annoyed, struggling to pay attention to literally anything while a vulgar erection rages between his parted legs, tenting and stretching the already somewhat seethrough fabric. The personification of feminine grace. He keeps looking over at you, with a desperate, lustful, vulnerable, confessional gaze. You just smirk.

You get bored of the class at some point and decide to make it a little worse for him. Through a combination of eye movements, nods, and subtle hand gestures, you convey the instruction to pull his pants down - completely, you reconfirm. You nod once they're around his ankles. You get a perfect view of him from your angle, knees apart, dick twitching and bobbing visibly between his cushy thighs. His face reddens, he's burning up with shame and arousal, squirming on his naked ass a little. Deciding not to risk it, you wait only a minute or two before you let him pull them back up. Though they do nothing to hide his persistent arousal, it helps him to stop squirming for the rest of the class.

He walks out of the classroom clutching his backpack in front of him to hide his crotch. Giving him a quiet spank on his round, somewhat bouncy ass as he walks by earns you a hurt look. You join him outside the door, so you can both slink off to a nearby janitor's closet. It smells like chemicals, but it beats doing this in a bathroom. He leans on the wall while you stand in front of him.

"Seeing how turned on you are almost makes me feel bad for you."

"I'm like this a lot of the time these days. Thank fuck the material is easy, because I can't focus on studying anymore."

"What do you focus on?"

"I want to be bred. Railed, if you will. Taken from behind."

"Noted." You pull his leggings down, his sneakers too so they can come off completely this time. His shirt stays on, clinging to his chest obscenely.

"It's impressive how hard you are for someone with no testosterone in his body."

He gulps.

"Now that I have you here, I want to see you get off. Be quick so we don't get caught."

He looks up at you apologetically as he grips his dick with his right hand and starts jackhammering at it, using the friction of the foreskin going up and down the ridge of the glans to get off.

"That thing must take a lot of abuse."

"I just press a wand to it usually, but this is how I used to... ah..."

You pet his head.

He starts panting in no time. When he's just about to orgasm, he really yanks the foreskin all the way back, and you watch his exposed tip strain and flare. His toes curl. He lets out a girlish moan and relaxes as he spews only a few pathetic clear drops onto the tile floor in front of him. He keeps whining for a couple seconds in the afterglow, holding his softening girlcock in his hand, but quiets down as he remembers where he is.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Kinda hot."

"Mh." He pulls his clingy leggings back on, hiding his already entirely limp little dick. Curiously, the lack of balls makes the bulge very manageable when flaccid.

"You sound like a girl sometimes."

"I know. I like it that way."

"Your femboy ass voice has grown on me."

"Pff, okay."

You don't bother to clean up the spurts of sterile femcum before exiting the closet with your arm around Minty's shoulder. You walk slowly, and he coos in your ear, letting out sweet and quiet oxytocin moans as he snuggles up to you. His hair smells of strawberry scented conditioner for girls. Fuck going to class, there's so much you could get him to do in the empty hallways.

"Would you mind letting me pull down your mask?"

"I would. My face makes me dysphoric."

"What if you covered my eyes so I couldn't see you?"

"Why?"

"I want to kiss you."

"Ever kissed a guy?"

"Nope, but you're not really a guy, I don't mind."

"Still gay as fuck for you to-" you interrupt him by grabbing his wrist, lifting his hand up to your face and letting him hold it over your eyes. With that, your world goes black for a bit. After a moment of suspense, you feel his matte, sweet flavoured lips on yours, then he slips his wet tongue into your mouth... You reciprocate, pushing it out of the way with your own and ravaging this strange boy's oral cavity, practised and ruthless. You instinctively cup one of his aching, budding boyboobs. Despite its modest size, it fills your hand nicely. He makes delightful little noises into your mouth as he lets you push his tongue around. Eventually you're satisfied and pull away. When his hand stops covering your eyes, you see him with the mask back on as if nothing had happened.

"Boykisser," he teases. "You even groped me. How would you feel if I grabbed your balls through your pants?"

"Wanted."

"Wanted?"

"I'd feel wanted."

"Fascinating. Your hard-to-get act works too well on me. I hope I get to see your dick sometime."

"Don't worry, I'll be mashing your prostate soon enough."

"Congrats, you're bi."

You pet his head. "Drop the orientation play. It doesn't get to me. I like you because you're kind of easy, and trying really hard."

"I don't know if I should be offended or not."

"You should wear dresses more often."

"You should ask me out."

"Maybe I will."

"Please do."

You ruffle his hair. "You were beautiful last time. It might have awakened something in me."

Even through the mask, you can tell he's grinning. "It's not in your interest to show weakness like that."

"It's in my interest to make my girlfriend feel good about himself."

"...Why did that make me hard? Also, girlfriend?"

"Like you would say no."

He hugs you, hands on your shoulder blades, arms pressing your chests together tightly. "You're right, girlfriend it is."