Page 2 of Stranded
Ricky’s face turned red. “Theo? Is that really not your name?”
To defy my step-horror, I wanted to deny it. To go on another date with Ricky. But I couldn’t play with Ricky’s heart like that. He was a sweet guy and didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of this warzone with my impossible stepdad.
I just had to find some other way to make the step-asshole angry.
“I’m sorry, man. This was just meant to be a one-night thing.”
Ricky’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I see. Well, err, I guess good-bye.”
“I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
He walked out of the house, his shoulders slumped. I almost felt sorry for him, but I didn’t get the chance. He was barely out the door when Jackson slammed it shut so hard it trembled on its hinges.
“You have no right to interfere with my life!” I shouted.
“Your life?” he snapped. “Weren’t you pretending to be someone else again? What? You too ashamed of your hookups to show them the real you?”
“I have no interest in showing them the real me. It’s sex. That’s all. Good, satisfying sex. No need to know my name for that.”
His nostrils flared. “Must you always be such a…”
“A what?” I squared my shoulders for what I knew was coming next.
“A slut. Fucking everything in sight that has a dick.”
I scowled, looking pointedly at his crotch. “Not everything that has a dick. Especially one that’s not working.”
It was a low blow to bring up his impotence, but he’d crossed the line when he slut-shamed me. Couldn’t a boy enjoy a little—okay, a lot—of dick and not be judged for it?
He grabbed me by the front of my camisole top and yanked me forward so hard the material ripped. We both glanced down at my barbell-studded left nipple. The surrounding area was red from Ricky’s beard.
Jackson sprang back, looking at me like I’d contaminated the air with some sissy virus. My stomach knotted. Was he afraid he would catch the gay?
“Normally, Ilovebeing manhandled.” I infused every bit of sweet venom I could in my words. “But next time you want to see me naked, just ask. You don’t have to rip my clothes in your haste to get to the goodies inside.”
“You!” His mouth opened and closed several times, his face turning a bright shade of red. He finally strangled out, “I’m your stepfather. How could you say that to me?”
“My stepfather? You sure don’t act like you have a stepson.”
“Maybe if my stepson remembered that’s exactly what he is. A son. If you stopped this fucking nonsense, dressing up like a girl, I could be a proper father to you.”
I shook my head. “Sorry,Dad. I love the way I dress. I love being a femboy, and nothing’s wrong with that. It’s my thing. Other men think it’s cute and I look pretty. What’s wrong with that?”
“A man’s not supposed to be pretty, and no son of mine is going to grow up to be a sissy.”
“Don’t you mean a man’s not supposed to be attracted to another man? That’s what you really have a problem with, isn’t it? And I am not your biological son, so it’s really none of your business now. Is it?”
“I didn’t say all that.”
“You say it every fucking day like some kind of record.” I squared my shoulders and puffed out my chest imitating him. “‘Your skirt’s too short. If you’re wearing that dress, you might as well be naked. You look slutty in those heels. The only bra that should be in the washer is your mom’s.’ I’m sick and tired of your fucking discrimination already.”
“Listen to me, boy.” He wagged his finger in front of my face. “You use that language one more time with me, and I’ll smack the senses back into you that you’ve done lost years ago.”
“You mean the same language you use with me?” I cocked my head to one side. “Well, aren’t you the hypocrite?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Mom raced down the stairs, her long blond hair in rollers, and shoved her way between us. “It’s six in the morning. Why do you have to start so early? I go to bed with a headache from you two arguing and I have to wake up to one too? I’m tired of this.”
