Read Online You Are the Reason by Renae Kaye - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Renae Kaye
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guy? The thought kept going around my head like it was a blowfly caught in a glass jar. It circled around and around, buzzing loudly and becoming more frantic with each pass.
He was a guy? I looked him up and down. Today he looked like a guy. Kind of. A small, pretty guy. He was wearing all gray, and there was no makeup or earrings. Could I be sure he was telling the truth? I looked at his face again and saw the earnest pleading there. Pleading to be listened to and believed.
He was a guy? He was a guy, and he wore dresses for fun? Why would a guy do that? Guys were guys for a reason. We left the froufrou stuff for the girls. We played football and punched each other to show affection. We threw our ponies in the rubbish bin, and all their accessories, including their combs, shoes and pretty saddles.
“You’re a guy?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”
He was a guy? So why didn’t he say something earlier? Did he purposely go out of his way to lead people on? Did he enjoy the sexual hijinks of fooling people? I obviously fell for the well-presented façade. I had no idea that he was a guy. He was way too pretty to be a guy, anyway.
But did that give him the right to lie?
I tried to understand. “Why would you do that? Do you get your kicks by tricking people?”
“No,” he cried and stepped closer to me, his hand outstretched. But I wasn’t sure of him anymore. He was a liar, one small baby step away from being a con artist. All he needed to do was to produce the blackmail photos of us together, and he would be the scum of the earth. Was this all an elaborate setup? What did he think I had? What did he think I was afraid of?
I stepped back again as the enormity of the lie began to hit, and he froze where he was. His hand dropped as he slumped a bit. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Dave. You have to believe me. I… I like to put a dress on sometimes. Women wear pants, why can’t men wear dresses?”
“Because we’re men,” I shouted.
“So? What’s your point?”
I couldn’t believe he could be so casual about it all. Men did not simply wake up and wear dresses. It wasn’t done.
“So are you transgender like Bobby? But in reverse?” I still couldn’t see him as a guy. This person in front of me was Lee. A sweet, adorable little pixie. I couldn’t see it, but if he needed me to, I could pretend.
“No. Bobby’s trans, but I’m not. The easiest definition of a transgender person is one whose self-identity doesn’t correlate with their external body. They feel male, but have female genitalia or vice versa. That’s not me. I identify as a man, and I have male genitals. I just like to dress in women’s clothing sometimes. I guess you could call me a cross-dresser.”
I took another step back. A cross-dresser brought to mind pictures of older, ugly men with beards, in cheap wigs and bright red lipstick.
“Why did you lie?”
The blowfly was still circling around and around. It was loud and irritating, but its message was finally starting to sink in.
The woman I liked was actually a man.
On the surface, this seemed like an ideal situation. But it was followed closely by the biggest hurdle.
He lied to me about it.
Lee sighed and cradled his coffee to his chest. “It’s complicated.”
That sounded like an avoidance of the subject. Perhaps he was really a she and now she was lying to me to get rid of me.
“I don’t believe you.”
Lee looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You,” I clarified. “I don’t believe you. You say you’re a guy, but you look like a girl. You go out at night dressed as a girl. You speak to people dressed as a girl. Are you delusional? Are you telling me now that you’re a guy because you know I’m gay and you think that’s what I want to hear?”
Lee was shaking his head. “No. Of course not. I’m a guy—I really am. I piss standing up and I shave. I don’t really grow a lot of facial hair, but it’s there. That’s why
He was a guy? I looked him up and down. Today he looked like a guy. Kind of. A small, pretty guy. He was wearing all gray, and there was no makeup or earrings. Could I be sure he was telling the truth? I looked at his face again and saw the earnest pleading there. Pleading to be listened to and believed.
He was a guy? He was a guy, and he wore dresses for fun? Why would a guy do that? Guys were guys for a reason. We left the froufrou stuff for the girls. We played football and punched each other to show affection. We threw our ponies in the rubbish bin, and all their accessories, including their combs, shoes and pretty saddles.
“You’re a guy?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”
He was a guy? So why didn’t he say something earlier? Did he purposely go out of his way to lead people on? Did he enjoy the sexual hijinks of fooling people? I obviously fell for the well-presented façade. I had no idea that he was a guy. He was way too pretty to be a guy, anyway.
But did that give him the right to lie?
I tried to understand. “Why would you do that? Do you get your kicks by tricking people?”
“No,” he cried and stepped closer to me, his hand outstretched. But I wasn’t sure of him anymore. He was a liar, one small baby step away from being a con artist. All he needed to do was to produce the blackmail photos of us together, and he would be the scum of the earth. Was this all an elaborate setup? What did he think I had? What did he think I was afraid of?
I stepped back again as the enormity of the lie began to hit, and he froze where he was. His hand dropped as he slumped a bit. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Dave. You have to believe me. I… I like to put a dress on sometimes. Women wear pants, why can’t men wear dresses?”
“Because we’re men,” I shouted.
“So? What’s your point?”
I couldn’t believe he could be so casual about it all. Men did not simply wake up and wear dresses. It wasn’t done.
“So are you transgender like Bobby? But in reverse?” I still couldn’t see him as a guy. This person in front of me was Lee. A sweet, adorable little pixie. I couldn’t see it, but if he needed me to, I could pretend.
“No. Bobby’s trans, but I’m not. The easiest definition of a transgender person is one whose self-identity doesn’t correlate with their external body. They feel male, but have female genitalia or vice versa. That’s not me. I identify as a man, and I have male genitals. I just like to dress in women’s clothing sometimes. I guess you could call me a cross-dresser.”
I took another step back. A cross-dresser brought to mind pictures of older, ugly men with beards, in cheap wigs and bright red lipstick.
“Why did you lie?”
The blowfly was still circling around and around. It was loud and irritating, but its message was finally starting to sink in.
The woman I liked was actually a man.
On the surface, this seemed like an ideal situation. But it was followed closely by the biggest hurdle.
He lied to me about it.
Lee sighed and cradled his coffee to his chest. “It’s complicated.”
That sounded like an avoidance of the subject. Perhaps he was really a she and now she was lying to me to get rid of me.
“I don’t believe you.”
Lee looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You,” I clarified. “I don’t believe you. You say you’re a guy, but you look like a girl. You go out at night dressed as a girl. You speak to people dressed as a girl. Are you delusional? Are you telling me now that you’re a guy because you know I’m gay and you think that’s what I want to hear?”
Lee was shaking his head. “No. Of course not. I’m a guy—I really am. I piss standing up and I shave. I don’t really grow a lot of facial hair, but it’s there. That’s why
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