Chapter 1

Joel sat two seats from the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey he didn't even like. Third time here in as many weeks. Same stool, same drink. Same quiet hope something might feel different tonight. The first two nights, he'd said nothing to anyone but the bartender, paid in cash, and walked home to an apartment that didn't echo unless he wanted it to.

Three months divorced. Not that anyone was counting.

He hadn't fought her.

Not over the house. They sold it and split the money evenly. Not over the cars - he kept his Tesla, she kept her Benz. Not over the friends who mostly stayed her friends.

After all, she was the fun one, right?

She said she'd fallen out of love, and Joel hadn't argued. Not because he agreed with her, but because he didn't see the point in trying to hold together something that had already come undone.

He wasn't weak.

He made a good living, kept to himself, didn't ask for much. And right now, he didn't need more than the apartment he was renting - a single bedroom with solid water pressure, good internet, and a quiet neighbor who played jazz instead of having screaming matches at 2 in the morning.

Still, the silence weighed on him more nights as time passed.

And maybe that's why he was here. Not really to drink .. he was never a big drinker .. but to sit among strangers and try to remember what it felt like to exist in the world again.

He looked up at the TV. There was a Cricket match .. or game .. or whatever they called it. He had no idea. Some guys with European accents were cheering occasionally, but he had no clue how the game even worked.

There were other empty seats tonight. Not many, but a few. All of them next to people.

So when she walked in - tall and confident, with a slow elegance in the way her eyes moved across the room - and she chose to sit beside him.

Somehow it didn't feel like coincidence.

The bartender appeared almost immediately, wiping his hands on a towel before dropping a napkin in front of her.

"What can I get you?"

"A Pina Colada," she said. "With Malibu Rum, please."

Joel didn't usually pay attention to voices. But hers pulled at something. It was soft, polished, easy to listen to - like the kind of voice that would sound just as good telling a story or whispering something meant only for him.

He looked over without thinking. She was stunning, and for his part, Joel was stunned.

Light auburn hair that brushed just past her shoulders, catching the light with every movement. Makeup so subtle it was almost invisible. And a body that didn't scream for attention, but held it anyway. Curves in the right places. Perfect posture. Effortless.

She turned her head just as his eyes met hers.

He looked away, fast. Took a sip of his drink like it might save him.

"You don't seem like the bar type," she said.

She wasn't wrong.

"What gave me away?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "I just get that feeling. I'm not the bar type either, otherwise I'd probably know what gave you away."

That got a small smile out of him. Not forced. Not polite. Just real.

She turned toward him more fully, resting one elbow lightly on the bar.

"I'm Celeste," she said.

There was something in the way she said it - no hesitation, no second-guessing. Like the name belonged to her completely.

He shifted in his seat.

"I'm Joel Hirsch .. umm .. I mean .. I'm Joel." He thought a second and continued, "Hirsch." He rolled his eyes at his own awkwardness.

It came out clumsy. He was used to work intros - full name, firm handshake, eye contact. The casual stuff felt foreign now.

Celeste smiled, but didn't tease him for it. If anything, her expression softened.

The conversation kept going. It flowed easier than anything Joel had felt in months. She made him laugh. He made her smile. They had things in common. She liked Rush. He had never met a woman who actually liked Rush. His wife had hated them. He was already lost. Time slipped by without him noticing. He would look into her eyes, and when she looked back, he would have to look away. He felt like a teenager.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone.

"I should get going," she said. "It's getting late." She started using the Uber app.

Joel nodded. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay longer. Not for anything specific. Just more of this.

"You need a ride?" he asked.

She smiled again - a little touched, a little knowing.

"Thanks, but I'll be ok. I have an Uber on the way."

He nodded, but something in his chest dipped.

Celeste hesitated for a second, then looked at him directly.

"I want to give you my number .. but first I need to tell you something."

Joel sat a little straighter.

"I'm trans."

She said it plainly, without buildup or drama. Just the truth.

"I know that doesn't work for a lot of guys," she said, "so I wanted to tell you now."

Joel blinked. He thought maybe he misheard. Did she mean she was becoming a man? Because there was no way she wasn't a woman. But he realized that's exactly what she was saying. She wasn't born a woman.

"Oh .. I had no idea," he said.

And he meant it.

She didn't look different. Or act different. She was just Celeste. And yet now his brain felt like it had been nudged off-course.

He stared at the bar. Thought for a moment. Then looked back at her.

"I don't know if this is appropriate for me to ask," he said slowly, "but have you had the uhh .. umm .. the surgery?"

"To be honest, it's probably not appropriate," she said, calm as ever. "But the answer is no. I haven't had bottom surgery."

Joel nodded, eyes on the napkin in front of him.

"Do you plan to have it .. I mean, bottom surgery?"

"I do not," she said. "I like my body as it is now - all of it finally. I hope that's not a deal breaker."

Joel didn't answer right away.

"It's not .. but there's still a lot for me to think about. I just need a few moments."

She glanced at her phone.

"The Uber is still 12 minutes away," she said. "So you have at least that long."

Joel nodded again. She wasn't pushing him. Just giving him space.

He thought for a moment. This was a beautiful woman with a penis. Any sexual activity between them would involve him being active with a penis. Could he handle that? Doing things with her and her penis? It wasn't something he had ever thought about, and now he had to consider getting into a relationship where that would probably be a regular activity.

Could he handle that? Really handle that?

He sat with it. Let the thought settle.

Then he looked at her again.

"Celeste, can I have your number? I'd very much like to see you again."

She smiled. It wasn't playful this time. It was real.

"I'd like that too."

She picked up a napkin, pulled a pen from her purse, and wrote her number carefully.

"Try it now," she said, handing it to him.

Joel took out his phone, entered the number, and hit send.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

"No way it's fake now," she said.

He laughed. And realized his hands were shaking.

She looked at her phone again.

"The car is 2 minutes away .. I'd better go outside."

"Let me walk you out," Joel said.

They stood and moved toward the door. He reached for her hand. She squeezed his.

Outside, the night was cool and quiet. She checked her phone again.

"Almost here."

Joel turned toward her.

"Can I kiss you?"

She didn't answer. Just leaned in.

He didn't think he was the greatest kisser. Never had. But she was an amazing kisser .. or maybe she was just amazing overall, and the kissing was one more part of it.

Their lips parted just as the car pulled up.

"I hope to hear from you soon, Joel," she said.

"Goodnight, Celeste."

He watched as the car pulled away.

And he kept watching a few minutes after it was out of view.

Chapter 2

Joel pulled up in front of her apartment building to pick her up. He almost never arrived early for anything, but here he was waiting and feeling like he was maybe trying too hard.

His Tesla was spotless. He'd taken it through the wash that morning, as if she would care if there was dust on the dashboard.

She stepped out a minute later in a black dress and ankle boots, her hair down and slightly curled. When she saw the car, she paused just a second too long.

He got out and opened the door for her.

"Hi Joel, you look nice," she said. He got the distinct impression she didn't approve of the car. Maybe something about batteries and the environment?

He didn't think much of it at the time.

The restaurant was on the water, small and quiet, tucked between old brick buildings near the harbor. They were seated by a window with a view of the boats. Joel had asked for that specifically.

She ordered the Dover Sole and swapped out the broccoli for roasted potatoes.

Joel looked at the menu, and the word "bouillabaisse" somehow jumped out at him. He confidently ordered it and closed the menu. He didn't even like bouillabaisse that much, but he already ordered it and would look weird if he changed now.

They talked more freely than they had at the bar. Maybe the lighting helped. Or the wine, at least in his case. She barely touched her wine. Maybe once for taste, but she mostly drank water.

They spoke about religion. She was an atheist. Joel said he'd been raised Methodist but didn't really believe anymore if he ever did - called himself agnostic now. She nodded.

Then politics.

Without hesitation, she said she was a Democrat. Joel hesitated before admitting he considered himself an independent.

"I regret voting red in the last election," he added. "Didn't feel like I was voting for anything. Just against things I didn't like on the other side."

Celeste sipped her wine.

"You know billionaires like Trump and Musk don't care about anything but protecting their money and the money of their supporters, right?" She smiled, honest but sharp. The kind that made him want to argue and agree at the same time.

Joel nodded, "Yeah, I get that, but at least Musk makes decent cars." Then he had a realization that she didn't like his car. It was the first thing about her he didn't think was perfect.

She smiled. Not unkind. Just honest.

They ordered dessert. She didn't look at the menu.

"Mixed fruit bowl," she said.

Joel closed his menu and followed her lead, "I'll have the same."

She gave him a look. Small smile. Eyes holding his a second longer than necessary.

He hadn't even planned to get dessert, but when she ordered, he figured something light would be nice. He wasn't sure what her smile meant, but he was glad he earned it. He blushed.

The drive back to her apartment was quiet, but not in a bad way.

Full. That was the word for it. They'd talked about real things. Disagreed, even. And somehow, it made the air between them feel warmer.

Joel parked in front of her building and turned off the engine.

Celeste unbuckled her seatbelt but didn't open the door right away.

He turned to her. She was already looking at him.

"Tonight was great," he said.

She smiled.

"Yeah. It really was."

She leaned in first. Their lips met again - but this time, it was slower. More sure. Less polite.

He kissed her back, letting himself sink into it. He barely noticed how uncomfortable he was. The steering wheel in his leg, the seatbelt around his neck. He didn't care.

Her hand moved to his chest, fingers grazing his shirt, then settling on the line of his shoulder. She shifted a little closer, and he felt her body press into his.

His hand found her breast. Tentative at first, then firmer.

She made a soft sound against his mouth. Then her hand moved.

Lower.

He felt her fingers trace along his thigh, then gently cup his groin.

Not a full grab. Just a touch. Like she was checking. Curious, not pushy.

He thought about doing the same. Letting his hand drift lower, between her legs, to see for himself.

But then he hesitated. He got inside his own head. He wanted to know, but didn't want her to know he wanted to know. He didn't want her to think he was the kind of guy who was just looking for something unique.

That wasn't what he was about, but he really did want to know.

So he let the kiss slow. Let the moment settle.

Celeste pulled back just enough to look at him.

"If you're available Friday," she said, "I'd like to cook you dinner upstairs."

Joel nodded, still catching his breath.

"I'd like that."

She smiled, opened the door, and stepped out.

He waited until she was inside before pulling away.

The scent of her still hung in the car. The taste of her still on his lips.

Before tonight, he wasn't sure if his memories were altered by the whiskey he drank. But if anything, she was better than he remembered.

He drove home in silence, thinking about how an imperfect person can still make awesome cars.

Chapter 3

Joel arrived just after seven. He'd shaved twice that day. Changed shirts three times. Checked his breath like it was a test he might fail.

Her building was an older one - brick, solid, good bones - but clean. The kind of place that didn't scream money, just taste.

When she buzzed him in, her voice was light through the speaker.

"The door's open. Come on up."

He found her kitchen warm and filled with the smell of citrus and spice.

Celeste was barefoot, in jeans and a loose black top that hung just right. Her hair was tied back. Again, he was struck by her feminine beauty. A glass of water sat beside the stove.

"You're not drinking?" he asked.

She smiled. "Not while I'm cooking."

She wasn't a chef - she had said that at their dinner date - but she clearly knew what she was doing. Duck l'orange. Seasoned rice. A simple salad with vinaigrette. No clutter. No showing off. Just intention.

They sat across from each other at the small table by the window. Lights low. Music playing somewhere in the background.

She poured them each a glass of wine to go with the duck. Not too heavy. Just enough to complement the food.

Over dinner, they talked.

About work. Family. Music again.

She mentioned Rush again - casually, in the middle of a story.

Joel laughed. "You're the first woman I've ever met who actually likes Rush."

She giggled and took a sip of her wine.

He paused. Something clicked.

"Oh .. I get it. I'm an idiot."

She tilted her head slightly, smiling.

"Maybe," she said. "But tonight you're my idiot."

Joel didn't know what to say to that. So he just smiled back and took another bite.

They talked more. About places they'd each been and places they wanted to go. She didn't like talking about her childhood, and he didn't ask.

When the meal was done, she collected the plates and cleared the table without asking for help.

He reached for the wine bottle. She stopped him.

"Maybe we switch to water."

Joel nodded, almost relieved.

She poured them both tall glasses and handed him one.

"I like being clear-headed when things matter."

They moved to the couch after that. Still talking. Still laughing.

Her apartment was even nicer than he'd expected. Real furniture. Big windows. Art on the walls. Soft lighting. No clutter.

"Your place is beautiful," he said.

"Thanks," she said. "I've been building it slowly. One piece at a time."

He nodded, looking around. Then back at her.

Their eyes held.

And then he kissed her.

She kissed him back. This time, it didn't take long before it deepened.

Her hand slid along his arm. His hand found her waist. Then her back. Then lower.

They shifted on the couch - closer, more tangled. Kissing like they'd been holding back for weeks.

His hand drifted across her stomach, then lower still. He felt her through her jeans.

Hard.

He didn't pull away, but his mind stuttered. He had no frame of reference. He didn't know what it meant - not really. He just knew he wanted her.

She broke the kiss gently, lips brushing his jaw.

"Would you like to see the rest of the place?" she asked.

He looked at her, flushed and breathless.

"Very much," he said, trying to not seem too eager.

She stood, took his hand, and led him through the apartment.

Her bedroom had soft lighting that played off the dark sheets. A subtle scent in the air reminded him of her skin.

She turned to him just inside the door. Kissed him again. Slower. Then started to lower herself to her knees.

He stopped her - hands on her shoulders.

"No .. me first. I don't know if I can do this .. umm .. after."

She smiled - the kind of smile that made it feel like she'd been waiting for him to say that.

"Ahh .. yes .. I know exactly what you're getting at. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

He didn't hesitate.

"With you? I'm ready."

He knelt in front of her, heart pounding like it had something to prove.

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted just enough, watching him. Not judging. Just there.

She was hard - bigger than him, maybe - and for a second, it made him hesitate. Not from fear. Just from not knowing. He hadn't fully pictured this, or at least what he pictured was nothing compared to reality. He had nothing to compare it to. No roadmap. Just instinct and curiosity.

So he leaned in, his heart pounding, breath held, no roadmap.

His hands rested on her thighs, steadying himself.

His mouth found her slowly. He had no tricks, no technique. Just instinct.

His lips brushed her shaft. It twitched under him, and for a second, he froze.

The feeling surprised him. It was warm, smooth, firm but not rigid. When he opened his mouth wider and took her in, the fullness caught him off guard. It wasn't like anything he'd known. It wasn't bad. Just real.

He went a bit too deep, gagged softly, and pulled back. He looked up at her face and saw concern. But he was not panicked, just adjusting.

He wrapped one hand around her shaft to control the motion, to stop himself from pushing too far.

Then he thought, "What do I like?"

So he circled the tip with his tongue, then slid back down - slow, deliberate movements, building rhythm from memory, not experience.

He watched her - not just her face, but her breath, the way her thighs shifted, the way her fingers curled slightly when he did something right.

He was learning. One stroke at a time.

He felt awkward. A little clumsy. But not ashamed.

Not with her.

After a few minutes, her voice came low and breathless:

"I'm gonna come .. handle it however you want."

He'd already decided - back before their first date - how he'd handle this.

The first twitch caught him off guard. Then a sudden burst of warmth hit his tongue - thick, salty, strange.

He swallowed.

Another pulse. More liquid.

He kept swallowing, each time a little faster, trying not to overthink it.

The pulses kept going, long after the last drop. That surprised him too - how long her body stayed in it.

When she softened in his hand, he pulled back, breath shaky.

He sat next to her on the bed.

"I really didn't know what I was doing," he said, breath still uneven. "But I hope it wasn't bad."

She smiled - wide, relaxed, pleased.

"I'm not sure there's such a thing as a bad blowjob .. but you'll get better."

She winked.

He let out a breath. "I wasn't sure what to expect .. but the taste wasn't bad."

Her grin widened, and there was something smug in it now.

"It's all about diet," she said. "Red meat, certain vegetables, fatty foods, alcohol .. those are all bad. Fresh fruit like pineapple is good .."

She leaned in, kissed his mouth, then whispered against his lips:

"I told you you'd get it."

Another wink.

She kissed him once more, then whispered:

"Lie back."

He did, his body sinking into the mattress, chest still rising and falling too fast.

She stood for a moment, pulling her hair into a loose tie, then crawled over him with a look that made his whole body tense. She wasn't playful. She wasn't putting on a show.

She was focused.

She slid down the bed, settling between his legs - not on her knees, but nestled there, arms resting lightly on his thighs. Like she belonged.

Joel's cock was already hard, twitching slightly with anticipation.

She wrapped her hand around the base - firm but steady - and kissed the tip once, softly. Then again. Her tongue followed, tracing slow circles around the ridge, warm and wet and confident.

Joel let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Her mouth opened, lips wrapping around him with practiced ease. She sucked - not hard, just enough pressure to pull a reaction from him. Then she took him deeper, one inch at a time, letting him feel every bit of her control.

Her rhythm built slowly. Tongue and lips working together. Hand following just beneath her mouth, matching the motion.

When he looked down, her eyes were closed - not in detachment, but concentration.

She was listening - to his breath, to the way his thighs tensed, to the quiet noises that slipped past his lips when she hit something just right.

Then she opened her eyes.

And took him deeper.

Joel gasped.

She didn't gag. Didn't flinch.

She just kept going - past the edge of what he thought was possible, then a little more.

It felt like he was inside her in a way he'd never been with anyone else.

Her throat flexed around him, and then she pulled back - slow, wet, deliberate. Her tongue flattened along the underside on the way up, and then she eased him in again, setting a pace that stole his ability to think.

He moaned. Not performatively - helplessly.

Her other hand slid up his chest, grounding him while her mouth kept working him over - rhythm perfect, suction strong, every movement fluid.

This wasn't a blowjob.

This was a gift.

He felt his body tightening - a coil winding faster than he expected.

"Celeste .." he warned, breath catching.

Too late.

She didn't stop. Just held him in her mouth as he came - swallowing once, then again. No hesitation. No change in rhythm. Just acceptance.

When he was done, she pulled back and kissed the inside of his thigh. A small, satisfied smile played at her lips, but she didn't gloat.

She climbed up beside him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

Joel let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his chest for years.

"I don't even know how to describe that," he said softly.

"You don't have to," she murmured.

Then, quieter:

"You needed that."

He nodded, still catching his breath.

"I didn't know how much until just now."

They lay together, her body beside his, warm under the covers.

And for the first time in a long time .. Joel truly slept.

His eyes opened as the sun rose, still naked, still warm from each other.

Joel wasn't sure how long it had been. But he hadn't moved. Neither had she.

Her head rested against his shoulder. Her hand on his chest. Their legs tangled under the blanket.

"I didn't think this was where my life was going," he said.

Celeste didn't answer right away. She didn't have to.

"But I don't want to go back. Not to being half-awake. Not to hiding from my own life."

She reached up, brushed a strand of hair from his face. No rush. No pressure.

"I'm glad you didn't walk away," she said.

He wasn't sure what came next. Couldn't see that far ahead.

But he knew one thing for sure.

The next date was happening.

And he knew what he wanted to do when it did.

She makes me feel like a man.

Not because she's less.

Because she's more.

They lay like that for a long time. No words. Just skin and breath and the weight of what had changed between them.

Finally, Joel spoke again. Quiet. Like he wasn't sure if she should hear it or not.

"So what am I now?"

Celeste didn't move at first. Just rested her palm flat over his chest. Right over his heart.

He stared at the ceiling.

"Gay?" he said. "Bi?"

She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, eyes on his.

"I am a woman," she said. Calm. Unapologetic.

He turned his head. Met her gaze.

"A beautiful woman," he said, and he meant it. Every syllable.

She smiled - not like she was flattered, but like she saw something in him that he didn't even know was there.

"Then you are straight," she said. "Or bi-curious or heteroflexible, it's up to you .. these labels .. they're about who you're attracted to. Not what you do with them."

Joel let that sit. Rolled it around in his brain. Let it unfold.

"So all those people losing their shit about what it 'means' to be with someone .. with someone like you ..?"

She shrugged. "That's their problem. Not yours."

He looked at her.

Not the clothes. Not the body.

Her.

And it clicked.

"I didn't want you because of what you are," he said. "I wanted you because of who you are."

Chapter 4

Joel had learned to read her silences.

Not the cold ones - Celeste didn't do cold - but the quiet that came just before something meaningful. A small pause. A shift in her breathing. The way she blinked just once, slow and deliberate.

He'd learned a lot in the last six months.

Like how she hated sleeping without socks, but always kicked them off by morning. How she said "I'm fine" when she meant it, and "I'm okay" when she didn't. That she couldn't stand cucumbers, loved pineapple, and would instinctively reach for the left side of the bed even in a hotel.

He knew her laugh - all of them. The polite one for strangers. The fake one she used when she wanted to get off the phone. The real one that came out of her when she lost control - sharp and sudden, almost musical, usually followed by a snort she pretended didn't happen.

He knew she cried at the touching beer commercials - you know the ones with the huge horses and dogs. And she sometimes would watch old romcoms to fall asleep.

He knew her.

And he loved her.

They were tucked under a thick blanket on a small wooden deck, somewhere deep in upstate New York. Early October. The trees were lit up in red and gold, and the air carried that bite that said winter wasn't far off.

It was the kind of place you didn't just stumble into. A cabin with big windows, radiant heat, and shelves full of books that hadn't been touched in years. No Wi-Fi. No TV. Just the sounds of the woods and the occasional hum of a far-off car.

Celeste sat with her knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves covering her hands. Hair loose. No makeup. Just her - exactly as he liked her best.

Joel stood.

"Hey," he said.

She looked up at him, curious.

Then - without preamble - he dropped to one knee.

No box. No speech. Just a small velvet pouch in his hand.

He opened it, and inside was a ring - simple, elegant, and very real. White gold. A clean diamond cut. Not too flashy. But not cheap either.

"I love you," he said. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Celeste didn't say anything for a few long seconds. Her eyes were wide, but not surprised. She felt this coming.

She reached down and took the pouch from his hand. Slid the ring out. Held it up to the fading light.

Then looked back at him.

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone," she said softly.

He stayed kneeling. Waiting.

"But let me give you my answer in the morning."

They didn't talk about it after that. He didn't press.

Back inside, she curled against him under the blanket on the couch. They watched the fire, shared a cup of tea. Listened to the wind tapping against the window like fingers asking to come in.

She rested her head on his chest, and he held her tighter than usual.

Not out of fear.

Out of hope.

She hadn't said no.

But something was coming.

And Joel, for once, didn't feel the need to fill the silence.

He just listened to her breathing and waited.

Later, in bed, clothes optional and the room lit only by the fireplace's last glow, she shifted beside him and sat up slowly.

"I need to talk to you before I say yes."

Joel blinked up at her, chest tightening just a little. "Okay.."

"This is going to sound cold, but it's not. I love you. I'm not testing you. I'm just .. I'm being honest."

She looked down at her hands, then back at him.

"I've been trying not to push," she said. "And I haven't needed to. Emotionally, romantically, sexually - I've been happy. More than happy. But .. long-term .."

She took a breath.

"I need penetrative sex. Not every day. Not like some kind of kink checklist. But it's part of who I am - how I feel complete. And without that .. forever .. I know I'd feel like there was something missing."

Joel was silent. Not tense. Just listening.

She kept going.

"I know it's not your thing. You told me about your past. You tried it with your ex. It was uncomfortable. It left a mark. I get that. And I've never wanted to push you. But if this is forever.. I need that part of me to exist."

Her voice stayed calm.

"I'm what is considered a top, which is to say I prefer being .. well .. the penetrator. I'd be lying if I said I could spend the rest of my life with that part of me shut away."

Joel looked up at her. His eyes didn't flinch. He just let it sit.

After a moment, he asked quietly:

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Not if we take it slowly, and we will. And preparation goes a long way. It might not feel comfortable at first, but there shouldn't be pain."

He nodded slowly. "Messy?"

"Sometimes," she said, brushing her fingers along his arm. "Trust me, I've handled messier things from you."

That made him smile - just a little.

He looked into her eyes again.

"Is it going to change me?"

"Probably," she said. No hesitation. "But not in any way you're afraid of."

He let out a slow breath.

"I don't want to be someone who says yes just to keep you. I want to mean it."

"You're allowed to say no," she said.

"I'm not going to."

"Joel .."

He cut her off gently.

"There's nothing I won't do with you .. or for you. I want all of you. Not just the parts that fit cleanly into what I thought love looked like."

Celeste stared at him for a moment - not blinking. Just seeing him.

Then she lay back down slowly, her head on his chest again.

He felt her breathing settle and wrapped his arms around her. Something clicked in him as he realized that this was what forever felt like.

Chapter 5

She kissed him slowly. No hurry. Just warmth, and the comfort that came with it.

He was already hard when she pulled the blanket down. Already breathing heavier by the time her lips reached his stomach.

"You good?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. This is just .. new."

She smiled - not smug, not playful. Just sure. "That's why I'm going slow."

She kissed him again, then reached for the lube beside the bed. He hadn't noticed it until now. Of course she had it ready. Of course, she had everything ready.

"On your back," she said. "Legs up."

He obeyed, awkward at first. He wasn't used to feeling this exposed. But Celeste wasn't staring. She wasn't gloating. She was focused.

She started with her fingers - gentle, methodical, teasing more than pushing. The cold slickness made him flinch, but her touch was steady.

"Breathe," she whispered.

He did. Long, slow exhales.

The first finger entered with soft pressure - then a pause, letting his body adjust.

It was strange. Foreign. But not painful. Just .. full.

The second finger made him grunt - not from discomfort, but surprise. There was a moment, just a second, where her fingers curled forward, and suddenly something lit up behind his eyes.

"Jesus," he whispered.

She smiled - just a little. "That's your prostate."

No smugness. Just pride. Like she was giving him something no one else had.

She pulled her fingers out slowly. She took her time - not in a way that made him wait, but in a way that reminded him she cared. That she saw him.

She guided his legs higher, then positioned herself with impossible precision.

"You ready?" she asked, voice low.

"I think so."

She started to press in.

He felt the stretch first - slow, steady, deliberate. His body pushed back at her for a second, reflexively resisting. But she paused. Let him catch up.

He kept breathing, and gradually, his muscles loosened. His body let her in.

The first few inches were slow. Careful. Reverent.

By the time she was fully inside him, his chest was heaving, but not from strain. From how deeply he felt her - not just physically, but everywhere.

She didn't move yet. Just stayed there, letting him feel it. Letting him own it.

Then she began to move.

Short strokes at first - slow, steady, nearly silent. Her hips barely shifted, just enough to keep his body active.

He adjusted. Breathing into it.

And then - there.

She hit something that made his breath hitch, his back arch slightly.

"Fuck," he said, voice low and cracking.

She leaned in, her body hovering just over his, and stroked him gently - hand light, rhythm slow. Not pushing for climax. Just keeping time.

As he relaxed into the rhythm, she pressed deeper. Her thrusts lengthened. She began to move with purpose.

His cock throbbed in her hand.

"You feel so good like this," she whispered.

Her hand stroked him a little faster now, matching her hips as they pushed deeper, more confident. He moaned. Not performatively - helplessly. Like something had broken loose inside him and didn't want to be put back.

Then she found it again - that angle, that perfect pressure. His whole body reacted like she'd flipped a switch.

Every thrust pressed against it. His cock jumped with each one. He couldn't think, couldn't speak - just felt.

Her hand gripped him tighter, stroking in sync with her thrusts now. Her rhythm picked up - no longer gentle, no longer cautious.

She was fucking him now. No other word for it. And he was taking it. All of it.

His thighs shook. His hands clawed at the sheets.

"Don't stop," he gasped.

"I'm not going to."

She was breathing harder too now - not from effort, but from the build. Her hips were moving fast, focused, relentless.

And then he felt it coming - too fast, too deep, too big.

"Celeste .. I'm .."

"I know," she said. "Me too."

Her pace didn't falter. Her hand didn't stop.

And then they broke.

His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball - deep, full, overwhelming. His whole body clenched around her as he came hard in her hand, moaning louder than he ever had in his life.

He didn't even feel the last thrusts - only her body grinding into his, the warmth of her release, the tight stillness that followed.

They froze in place, breath tangled, hearts pounding.

She lowered his legs slowly. Slid out with care. Then curled up beside him, slicked with sweat and glowing.

He blinked at the ceiling, wrecked and whole at the same time.

"Well," he managed.

She laughed - a warm, soft laugh that wrapped around his ribs.

"That good?"

He didn't answer.

He just kissed her.

They showered together. Not rushed. Not slow. Just quiet.

She washed his back. He washed her hair.

They toweled off in silence, skin still pink and sensitive. Then collapsed into the bed and curled against each other under fresh sheets.

For a while, there was just breathing.

Then morning light began to stretch across the room.

She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket halfway up her chest.

"Yes," she said softly.

He blinked. Turned his head.

"Wait.. what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

Her smile was lazy, sleepy, and undeniably smug.

He laughed, wide and full. Relief crashing over him like a wave.

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious."

He leaned over, kissed her forehead.

He said, "Last night seemed like a test."

"It wasn't," she replied, fingers brushing his arm. "But it was important."

"I'm not sure what to say," he exhaled. "My thighs still feel like jelly."

She smirked. "That's the good kind of sore."

He let out a slow breath, still smiling.

"That was .. unexpectedly awesome. Like, mind-blowingly good. I always thought only the .. umm .. top .. got pleasure from that."

"I guess now you know the secret," she responded. And gave a warm laugh - the kind that curled around his spine.

"And in case you were wondering, you were amazing!" She kissed him again, slower this time.

Epilogue

The apartment was quiet.

Joel sat on the edge of the couch, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. One hand wrapped around a lukewarm mug of coffee. The other held his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, staring at the post he'd made the day before.

It was still there. Still public.

A photo:

Him and Celeste walking in the Baltimore Pride Parade.

Bright sunlight. Wide smiles.

Their lips caught mid-kiss.

They wore matching shirts striped light blue, pink, white, pink, light blue.

In large letters, her shirt said:

"I love being trans"

His:

"I love my trans wife"

He hadn't overthought it when he posted it. He hadn't asked for permission. He didn't schedule it or check the privacy settings. He just opened the app, dropped the photo, and hit Post.

And now he was here, twenty-four hours later, still staring at it.

The likes were still climbing - over 300 now.

Comments filled the thread.

Some were simple:

"Love this."

"Y'all are beautiful."

Others came from deeper places:

"As a trans woman, this gives me hope!"

"Thank you for showing people what it can really look like."

And a few from people Joel never thought would say a word:

"So you're into dudes? I always had a feeling." (A guy he went to High School with)

He thought about responding. Then, about unfriending.

Instead, he just kept scrolling.

"You look happier than I've ever seen you." (An old college roommate.)

"She's lucky. And so are you." (His boss, surprisingly.)

"Takes guts, man. Much respect." (His cousin's husband.)

Then he looked at the likes and saw it - near the bottom of the list.

His ex-wife's name.

No comment. No emoji. No snide follow-up.

Just a like.

Joel stared at it for a long moment.

Not because he cared what she thought - not anymore - but because even now, he could still feel the faint echo of who he used to be when she had a say.

That version of him - the quiet one, the agreeable one, the one who didn't ask for much - he would've deleted the photo.

This one?

He tapped the heart. Locked the screen. Took a long sip of coffee.

Celeste came out of the bedroom a few moments later, wrapped in his old hoodie, yawning as she pulled her hair into a loose bun.

"Morning," she said, smiling.

Joel looked up. That smile - his home now.

"Morning," he said, voice low. Steady.

She padded barefoot across the floor, leaned down, and kissed his forehead.

Still sleepy, still soft.

"Regret the post?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not even a little."

She smiled wider, then sat beside him, curling into the curve of his body.

No more talking.

Just silence.

Just pride.

Just them. No apologies. No compromises. No going back.

The End