This post contains a single use of the f-slur, by a gay character talking about what the 90s were like.
Yeyette is my best friend Detergent's OC, who features prominently in our shared universe Corn of Eternity. This is a different universe.
_
As a rule, Sören Sigurðsson did not date clients.
For starters, the overwhelming majority of them were women, and Sören was gay. But also, Sören tried to practice "don't shit where you eat" - giving dance classes was his livelihood, and it was better to not damage his reputation and that of the studio by crossing personal and professional lines. Especially with the pandemic almost putting the studio out of business in 2020-2021, Sören felt even more guarded about preserving what clientele he had.
Of course, dating for him was fraught to begin with, as Sören had learned the hard way since his transition began five years ago.
This wasn't necessarily a date - though Anthony quietly pinged Sören's gaydar - and Sören was trying to not get his hopes up, but he still found himself fidgeting, his stomach all butterflies as he sat at a table by the window in Starbucks, glancing outside every few minutes to see if Anthony arrived yet.
He felt foolish for having a little crush on his dance student, but there was something about Anthony, with his black hair greying at the temples, green eyes, boyishly handsome looks and trim figure... soft-spoken and unfailingly polite, kind of the quintessential British gentleman. Once again, Sören found himself wondering what Anthony was like in bed.
Just as his mind began a delicious fantasy of a dance session turning into Anthony fucking him against the wall, Anthony walked into Starbucks, looking around. The way his face lit up when their eyes met made Sören's heart skip a beat.
Anthony strode over and looked at Sören's almost-finished iced coffee. "You want a refill on that?"
"White mocha with whipped cream, takk."
Sören tried not to stare at Anthony's ass while Anthony waited in the queue - Anthony had changed out of the black sweatpants and black T-shirt he'd worn to the dance lesson, into a short-sleeved light blue polo shirt and faded jeans, and the jeans hugged his ass just right. By the time Anthony came back with Sören's white mocha and his own iced coffee, Sören's face was on fire.
"What did you get?" Sören asked, trying to break the ice.
"Hazelnut, my usual." Anthony took a sip, eyes searching the room as he shifted in his seat.
"Ah, come here often?" And then at the word "come", Sören's mind started up the fucking-against-the-wall fantasy again, now with orgasms. Jesus Christ, get it together. This is bad even for you. Ever since he'd started T, Sören's libido was through the roof, but there was his usual horniness and there was this. He wanted to crawl under the table and die.
"Every Friday, when my shift is over. I work at the veterinary clinic in the plaza."
"Oh! All this time and I didn't know we were work neighbors." Sören gave a nervous chuckle. "I keep thinking about switching my vet to you guys because it's closer and more convenient. I guess I have no excuse now."
"I'd be happy to help keep your adorable kitty healthy, even though it means he'll probably hate me." Anthony gave a wry smile. Then he put up his index finger and his left hand went under the table. He pulled out his cell phone and a few taps later, he passed his phone over.
Sören stopped himself from making high-pitched noises and baby talk at the screen as he shuffled through the pictures of Solly the brown tabby and Seamus the grey tabby, sleeping, playing with cat toys, perching, and sitting in cardboard boxes and sinks and laundry baskets. Sören's favorite pictures were the cats getting into mischief - Seamus as a kitten unrolling an entire roll of toilet paper and carrying the roll around in his mouth with the sheets dragging behind him, Solly with a dollop of what appeared to be mashed potatoes on her nose, Seamus stealing a black sock. And Sören swooned at the selfies, finding Anthony even more attractive with a cat on his shoulders or curled up on his chest or sleepy and rumpled with a cat climbing on him.
When Sören had viewed all the photos, he quickly handed the phone back before he got tempted to look at the ones of Anthony over and over again. Anthony smiled as he took his phone.
"I love your cats," Sören said. "And they must love you, even though you're the V-E-T."
Anthony's smile became a guilty grin. "I usually let one of my co-workers handle them when they have to go in for checkups or to get their teeth cleaned and the like, just to avoid them being mad at me for days."
"Understandable." And then Sören couldn't help fishing a little, even as he once more cautioned himself not to get his hopes up with yet another guy. "Does anybody else take them in for you, so they don't feel betrayed? Significant other, kids...?"
"The cats are my kids," Anthony said, "and no, I'm not seeing anybody at the moment." There was a long pause and Anthony sipped noisily at his hazelnut latte, hunching down a little as if the question put him on the spot.
Sören hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was interested - preparing for another rejection if so. "That makes things even more curious," he mused, wanting to deflect the awkwardness.
"Oh?" Anthony's eyebrows shot up.
"I don't get many men coming in for dance lessons and almost all of them are accompanied by their wives. I'm not a sexist who thinks men lose their Man Card if they dance - obviously - but I'd been quietly wondering what your motivation was, if it wasn't for a wife or a family member's wedding or... something. I'm guessing you're going clubbing?"
"I don't do the club scene. Too much noise at my age." Anthony gave another wry smile.
"Oh, you're not that old, are you?" Sören knew he was fishing again, and hoped it wasn't going to make Anthony even more uncomfortable.
"Forty-three," Anthony said. "At that age where my brain still thinks I'm twenty-five and my body is protesting rather harshly." He leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "No, there's an entirely different reason why I'm learning how to dance, and you'll probably think it's daft."
"Try me. You probably can't beat the seventysomething white woman who wanted to learn how to twerk for her OnlyFans account where she was Latinaphishing to seem 'exotic' so she could get guys to fund her online gambling addiction." Sören shook his head - he still couldn't unsee the badly done spray tan and the mesh tops with saggy tits wearing pasties... and that camel toe.
Anthony ugly-laughed and turned beetroot. He clapped his hands over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter, tearing up. Sören snickered too, though it had been disturbing when the granny tried to get him to subscribe to her.
Anthony wiped his eyes, tried to sip his drink, and started laughing again. "Wow."
Sören nodded. "So trust me, unless you can top that, you won't shock me. I mean, it's OK if you don't want to tell me, I realize this might be a personal question and we're barely more than strangers -"
Anthony put up a hand. "No, no, you're fine." He exhaled, then cracked up laughing again, and it made Sören laugh too - and gave Sören more flutters, finding him especially cute when he laughed that hard.
When Anthony calmed down, he said, "My 25-year class reunion - Class of 1998 - is happening fourth of July weekend. I hated high school and I wouldn't piss on these people if they were on fire. I graduated a year before Columbine, and a few months before Matthew Shepard was murdered, so nobody took bullying seriously back then." He lowered his voice. "It wasn't just that I was a nerd, and an immigrant, though that was part of it. Back in the 90s, you could call someone faggot at school, at work, and not get in trouble. If your peers remotely suspected you were gay, they were going to make your life hell and everyone would just stand around and watch, or participate, instead of saying 'yo this is fucked up'. I didn't actually come out until I was in college, but they already figured it out and I was hazed like you would not believe. So now I'm going to go to my class reunion and laugh at my bullies, because I'm probably doing better than they are these days. If nothing else I'm going to look better on that dance floor."
Sören let out a low whistle. "Wow. I heard the 90s were a really bad time to be queer, but it's another thing to meet someone who lived it." He gave a non-ironic slow clap. "You walked through fire so I could run. Thank you."
Anthony smiled, but his eyes were tired and sad. "I'm glad it's better for your generation - uhhh, how old are you, anyway?"
"Old enough." Sören smirked. Then he said, "I'll be twenty-eight in November."
"Shit." Anthony sipped on his iced latte.
Sören stopped himself from adding that he liked older men. Instead he said, "It was better for my generation but I'm afraid things are getting worse these days."
"Not to be rude, but... you're not going back wherever it is you're from? You're Scandinavian, right? They have a better track record on this stuff."
"I'm from Iceland, and there's 'phobes there too. Like my aunt and uncle, who raised me." Sören's skin crawled thinking about them. "And anyway haven't you heard? The far-right is making waves all over Europe. Iceland might be safe for now, but it's only a matter of time before the poison spreads there too, or some other country decides to steamroll us like Russia is doing to Ukraine right now."
"Yeah." Anthony sighed. "I'm sorry. It's why I didn't go back to England after Trump got in, it isn't like the UK is doing much better."
There was another long, awkward pause - what was supposed to be a lighthearted get-together for coffee and cat talk had gotten dark. Sören squirmed a little in his seat, hoping he hadn't completely put Anthony off to getting to know him better. But then Anthony said, "So you're from Iceland? I've never met someone from Iceland before."
"I also lived in Denmark for a bit."
"Really."
Sören nodded solemnly.
Anthony propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, chin on hands. "OK, color me intrigued. I told you why I'm taking dance lessons, so tit for tat, I'm fascinated why you would come here to this shithole of a country. I take it you had more say than I did - my mum got involved with an American businessman after the divorce."
Sören took a deep breath. He didn't like to get into this with new people, but considering what Anthony had disclosed, it was only fair. "You sure you can handle this? It's not a pretty story, I don't want to, like, traumadump on you."
"I told you about being bullied. I won't judge."
Sören took a moment to find his words and translate them. "When I was a kid, I had two passions. Art and... dancing, which is making art with your body. Dancing was like a form of stimming for me. As a teenager I got accepted to the Royal Copenhagen Ballet School, which was my ticket out - away from my guardians, away from the classmates who picked on me for being weird. Except that I got bullied there too. Girls are very vicious at that age." Sören caught himself, not wanting to drop the bomb just yet. "I developed an eating disorder, I was groomed by one of my female instructors, and then I was, ah, abused by her, then in another abusive relationship -"
"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry." Anthony winced.
"And then I just... snapped. Had a whole big identity crisis, attempted suicide. Went back to Iceland, my guardians made it worse when I tried to, um... change my life." Again, Sören caught himself just before he could say what that change was: acknowledging he'd thought of himself as a boy since he was small - not macho, but still male - and going on T and getting top surgery to align his outer appearance with his inner self. "The one good thing that came out of my time in Denmark was making friends with another dancer, Yeyette, from France. She was my only friend from school who stuck by me when..." He thought of the gay dancers who called him "an honorary gay man" when he was still female-facing, then treated him like an impostor and mocked him once he began transition. "She helped me through a really rough time - she also quit ballet but for different reasons, and she moved out here, I followed in 2019, and we started the studio together."
"My deepest empathy that you went through all that. Sounds really rough." For the briefest instant, Anthony put a hand on Sören's arm, which sent a frisson down Sören's spine. "But holy shit - that's a really prestigious ballet school, innit? I knew you were good, but now I feel like a kid showing Rembrandt a crayon drawing."
Sören laughed, cheeks burning, stomach fluttering again. "You're too kind. Jæja, I could have had a promising career, so I was told. I didn't get very far." Sören shrugged. "I'm more into painting now - teaching dance just pays the bills."
"I'd like to see your paintings sometime."
"That can be arranged. They're in the gallery portion of the studio. Well, some of them." Sören felt that prickle of anxiety about even mentioning his work, hearing his uncle's you're no good in his head, his mind's eye replaying his aunt throwing out sketchbooks and art supplies, replaying the ballerinas finding him drawing, mocking his art, ripping it up. "Anyway..." Sören tried to push those thoughts back, and focused on trying to be supportive of Anthony. "I get it, why you're doing this. Why you need to do this. I'm not ever going to get the satisfaction of being better than my bullies, but I can get, ah..." Sören paused to translate the thoughts into English. "Vicarious satisfaction through you, já?"
"Definitely."
"Besides..." Sören sipped at his drink and looked out the window at the plaza parking lot, and thought of how far away Reykjavik was, and Copenhagen. He hadn't just left behind two other countries, but a gender. "I don't even think people would recognize me now, if they saw me."
Anthony cocked his head to one side and stroked his chin for a moment, considering. "I mean, I'm sure the beard makes a difference, but..."
As loath as Sören was to share this right off the bat, Anthony was a fellow queer and Sören was willing to take "compassionate animal lover who hates bullies" at face value and trust Anthony wouldn't freak out. Sören once again took out his phone and pulled up one of the few surviving photos he had from the pre-transition days. He passed it over.
"Is that your sister?" Anthony asked.
Sören raised an eyebrow and gave him a you've got to be kidding me look. "No," he said simply, then slurped loudly at what was left of his latte.
It took Anthony a moment - his gaze trailing down the photo, and back up - and then his eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. "That's..." He mouthed the next word rather than saying it aloud. "You?"
"That was me," Sören said. He took the phone back and allowed one quick glance at the serious-faced young presumed-woman with curly black hair cascading down her back, wearing a skintight black leotard that unmistakably hugged small but obvious breasts, before he turned off his phone and slipped it back in his pocket.
"That's... quite a difference." Anthony lowered his voice and looked around. "I had no idea. Honestly. You look -"
Sören put up a hand. While he was sure Anthony was being sincere, he got tired of every single cis person having this reaction when they found out he had once been a she, like he was some miracle of science and growing the beard and losing the tits was the most impressive thing he'd ever done with his life. "Jæja, that's kind of the point. I would hope after five years I look... you know. Like a guy."
Anthony's cheeks turned pink and he stammered awkwardly for a minute before he said, "I'm sorry. I don't want to make this weird. I swear I'm an ally, I just..." Anthony gave a nervous laugh. "Put my foot in it by telling you I'm an ally. I'm probably being annoying as fuck and should shut up."
Sören waved his hand dismissively - annoyed with himself that he found Anthony's too-earnest reaction cute rather than annoying. "You're fine. I've dealt with worse. Like chasers."
"OK, I might regret asking this, and please tell me if I'm overstepping my bounds, but what's a chaser?"
Sören fought the reflexive urge to tell him to Google it, reminding himself that Anthony was from the older generation of queers and probably this was his first time knowingly encountering a trans man face-to-face, and curiosity was better than hostility. "Someone who has a fetish for people like me." He thought of the last time he attempted dating - a bi guy who called him "the best of both worlds", which felt demeaning of his manhood. Before that, all the gay guys - both cis guys and even a couple trans guys - who rejected him because he had a vagina, so he'd felt he had to settle for a chaser as "what he could get".
Anthony frowned and nodded. "I see."
Yet another painful pause. Sören broke the silence with, "Jæja, I guess you and I are both super fun at parties. Other people talk about the weather, we talk about... systematic oppression, and shit."
Anthony nodded with a small smile. "On the bright side... it's important now more than ever for folks like us to stick together. I'm glad I met you, and... after my course is over, maybe we could hang out sometime?"
That was good enough. Sören was crushing on Anthony - the fierce determination to one-up his bullies made Anthony even more attractive to him - but he also liked Anthony as a person, so far. Yeyette was his best friend but she was cishet; it would be nice to have another queer bro to do queer bro stuff with.
"I'd like that," Sören said. "I'd like that a lot."
go to Chapter 3 | go to story index | go to O-fic index | go to home page