Liam awoke the next morning to a familiar sense of dread. Fresh from a shower and a session in Hannah’s makeup chair, he sat at the kitchen table in a bright pink T-shirt, nibbling at a piece of peanut butter toast he had little appetite for.
Gary stumbled in shortly after, looking worse for wear from too many pints the previous evening. “Mornin’, girls.” He slumped into a chair opposite Liam and crashed a bowl of cornflakes down onto the table. “So, how’d it go yesterday? Get what we need?”
“All sorted,” Hannah said, glancing over at her feminised brother. “What about you? Did you sort your end, or did you just sit in the pub all night?”
Gary pointed his spoon at her. “Aye, less of the lip, you. The pub is where all real work gets done. And for your information, yeah. Everything’s set.”
“Mint. Nice one, Dad,” Molly mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, great.” Hannah leaned back, looking unimpressed. “So, you gonna let us in on the plan or what?”
Gary smirked. “It’s all go for tomorrow afternoon. The place will be at its busiest. Easier to get lost in a crowd.”
On hearing this, Liam almost choked on his toast. His mind flashed to the cringe-inducing outfit the girls had settled on, picturing himself wearing it as he was paraded through a packed shopping centre on his uncle’s arm.
“You alright over there, Tiff?” Gary asked, leaning forward with genuine concern.
“She’s fine,” Hannah interrupted, smoothly steering the attention away. “So, can we have a few more details?”
“Don’t you fret about the details, Hannah.” Gary waved a hand dismissively. “It’s gonna be easy money. Just be down ’ere, ready to roll at two o’clock tomorrow, alright?”
Hannah wanted to push it, but knowing she was unlikely to get anything more out of her unpredictable uncle, she let it drop.
A minute of silence hung over the table before Gary spoke again. “So, where are you girls off to tonight, then?” He looked from Hannah to Liam before landing on Molly. “Where’s the hip place to be nowadays?”
“Hip!” Molly repeated, pulling a face. “Nobody says hip these days.”
Gary scoffed. “Alright, ’appening, lively. You know what I mean?”
“Well, we usually hit up Shooters for the cheap shots, then end in Liquid. The DJ’s pretty bangin’ in there,” Molly rattled off. “Why, you wanna come?”
“Nah, not my scene.” Gary chuckled, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a wad of twenty-pound notes bound by an old elastic band, peeled three off the top, and slid them across the table. “But get yourselves a drink on me.”
Molly’s eyes lit up. “Ta, Dad! That’s proper nice of you.” She snatched up the money. “Right, Han?”
Hannah smiled sweetly. “Yeah. Thanks, Uncle Gaz.” She shot Liam a look, jerked her chin, and silently ordered him to speak.
Liam cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Thank you. That is proper kind of you.”
“She speaks!” Gary grinned.
“Yeah, my voice is on the mend.” Liam kept his eyes fixed on the table, feeling a fresh wave of humiliation at having to talk with his uncle while looking like a chav Barbie.
“Well, that’s a bonus for tomorrow,” Gary said with an exaggerated nod. “Would’ve looked a bit odd if you went in there mute. Just don’t overdo it tonight, eh?” With that, he grabbed his bowl and stood up. “I’m gonna take this in front of the telly. Give you girls some peace. Have fun tonight.”
The moment Gary was out of earshot, Liam’s head whipped around. “What was all that about?” he hissed, dropping the fake pitch entirely. “We’re not actually goin’ out tonight, are we?”
Molly looked unsure, glancing at Hannah for guidance.
Hannah quickly took charge. “It’s Friday night, Tiff. What else would a girl like you be doin’? It won’t look right if you stay in.”
“But… clubbin’?” Liam pleaded, his voice cracking. “Han, I can’t! People will see me!”
“Of course you can.” Hannah waved away his protests. “You went to Nando’s, didn’tcha? You went to Vicky’s. People saw you then, and newsflash, sister: the world didn’t end, did it?”
“But nobody I knew saw me!” Liam moaned. “I’m bound to see someone I know out in town. Someone will clock me.”
“Nobody is gonna recognise you. Trust me.” Hannah leaned in, unwavering. “Me and Mols will doll you up, and all you have to do is be chill. We’ll be with you the whole time.”
Liam’s mouth hung open, his mind scrambling for an excuse.
“Or you could stay ’ere with me dad, if you want. Watch some telly and then join him down the pub?” Molly offered, giggling at her own amusing comment.
Liam glared at his cousin with fire in his eyes before turning to Hannah, hoping she would take pity on him.
“Yeah, you could tell everyone you’re his new bit of fluff. Might be good practice for tomorrow.” Hannah chuckled.
Liam sighed, dropping his head into his hands. Like it or not, he knew he was about to experience his first night of clubbing in Manchester—and odds were, it would be in a skimpy outfit and an unstable pair of heels.
=====================
Shooters Bar was a dump, desperate for a renovation but kept alive by two-for-one drink deals that drew a rough-edged crowd looking to start the night on the cheap. Liam usually avoided dives like these; they were Hannah’s territory. Yet here he was, thrust into her world—a chaotic, unsettling environment he had absolutely no idea how to navigate.
His tightly strapped feet were already throbbing inside towering leopard-print sandals. Hannah’s solution—to drink until the pain vanished—hadn’t kicked in yet. A steady stream of people kept coming through the doors, and with every new face, he felt the weight of his self-consciousness ramp up.
He had no desire to chat with Hannah and Molly—the very people he blamed for this mess. While they droned on about how hot some reality TV star was, Liam peered down through thick, unfamiliar lashes. He stared in disbelief at the distorted version of his body and thought, “Why me?”
The worst part was that, three sickly-sweet shots deep, after hobbling across the estate and surviving a humiliating tram ride in his barely-there outfit, Liam knew the night was just getting started.
From his point of view, as he hunched on a cheap metal chair with his frustratingly long nails wrapped around a Bacardi Breezer, his boobs looked massive. His chest jutted out from beneath a fake designer necklace, demanding attention he didn’t want. Mei’s work was still holding strong, but the skin where she had glued his flesh together felt tender and raw—a sensation only made worse by the tightness of his leopard-print top.
The furry, long-sleeved top was as painful as it was eye-catching—a bodysuit that fastened with a flap of fabric clipped firmly between his legs to keep the look smooth. That constant tension put a punishing pressure on his tucked package, making the thought of going to the ladies’ room all the more daunting.
Below, a wide pleather miniskirt with tiered pleats rested on his bare thighs. It was meant to hide his lack of hips, but with every mincing step he’d taken in his sister’s ridiculously tall heels, the fabric flapped and flared, threatening to reveal his silky pink panties.
How had he let this happen? His whole life, everyone had told him how clever he was, and until recently, he’d believed them. Yet here he was, dressed like a chavvy tart and surrounded by the binge-drinking dregs of society. If he was so smart, how had his “less intelligent” sister manipulated him so easily? Why hadn’t he outsmarted her?
“Oi, Tiff, are you ever gonna finish that?” Molly asked, slapping a hand on his shoulder.
Liam turned with a scowl, a sharp retort ready on his heavily glossed lips, but the words died in his throat as a shadow fell over them.
He scanned upwards from a pair of dark blue jeans, past a shiny silver polo shirt that was a crime against fashion, before landing on a clean-shaven face framed by curly blond hair and a fade cut. His heart skipped a beat.
“Alright, Han. Lookin’ sexy as ever,” the man said, grinning.
Liam held his breath as the man’s gaze swept over the group. He braced for the worst as their eyes met, but there was no flash of recognition—just a cheeky wink and a smile before the man’s attention shifted.
“Oh, this?” Hannah replied, acting coy. “It’s just somethin’ I threw on. How ya been, Zane?”
“Oh, you know, same old,” Zane replied with an easy grin. “And how are you, Mols?” he asked, turning his gaze. “You’re also lookin’ lovely this evening.”
“Can’t complain,” Molly replied, thrusting out her chest. “Shapin’ up to be a good night, innit?”
“Yeah, there’s a good crowd in tonight,” Zane agreed. “Got my lads over there,” he said, pointing to a table across the room. “How about I buy you girls a round and you join us?”
“Sure,” Hannah said, always up for a free drink. “Three Breezers and a round of sambucas if you’re offerin’.”
“Comin’ up,” Zane said as he caught the barman’s eye. He ordered confidently before turning towards a petrified Liam. “I’m Zane, by the way,” he said, extending a hand. “You a friend of Hannah and Molly, then?”
“Ti… Tiff,” Liam squeaked out, placing a manicured hand in Zane’s and giving it a limp-wristed shake.
“Well, nice to meet 'cha,” Zane said, holding eye contact. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, you’re lookin’ proper fit tonight.”
“Erm… thanks,” Liam stammered, feeling his cheeks going flush before averting his gaze.
The barman’s arrival with the drinks saved Liam from the awkward situation. Zane turned coolly and tapped his card. He then picked up a sambuca from the tray, passed one to Hannah first, then to Molly, and finally to Liam, who struggled to grip the small glass between his inch-long extensions.
“To a good night,” Zane said, raising his glass before sinking the shot.
Hannah and Molly did the same, and Liam quickly copied. It was stronger than he had imagined. The moment the thick aniseed liquor passed his plumped lips, a burning sensation hit his throat. He hacked out a violent cough and a pathetic whimper, drawing a round of chuckles from the group.
“Good choice, Han,” Zane said, giving her a nod. He then looked down at Liam. “Perhaps we can talk more at the table, Tiff? I’d love to get to know you a bit better.”
Liam, not knowing how to react to Zane staring right down his leopard-print top, defaulted to a nod and a smile, which seemed to please the young man.
“Alright, I’ll see you girls over there in a minute, yeah?” Zane said, not waiting for a reply as he turned and swaggered away.
Molly immediately turned towards her feminised cousin, practically vibrating with glee. “He likes you, Tiff!”
“We need to leave, like now!” Liam croaked nervously. “I… I know him.”
“What do you mean, you know him?” Hannah replied, leaning in. “Know him like how?”
“He’s my dealer. I get my weed off him,” Liam hissed.
“Oh, really?” Hannah chuckled. “Is that who you buy it off, then? Well, if you play your cards right tonight, you might get a discount next time.”
“This isn’t funny, Han.” Liam’s panic flared. “He’s gonna recognise me if we go over there. We need to leave.”
Molly shot Hannah a pleading look, but Hannah simply waved it off.
“We’re not goin’ anywhere,” Hannah replied flatly. “Molly fancies one of his mates over there. And these lads are gonna buy us drinks all night, and maybe even sort us out with some other stuff.”
“This is mental,” Liam pleaded, his voice rising. “How can you treat your family like this?”
“Oi,” Hannah snapped, pointing a sharp nail at him. “I’m not treatin’ you like anything. Things have gotten a bit mad lately, I admit. But here we are. Deal with it or go home.”
Liam glanced towards the door, then down at the impractical platforms Hannah had convinced him to wear for practice. The thought of going home alone, dressed as he was, crippled him with fear.
“But… what do I say if he talks to me?” Liam whispered, glancing over at Zane’s table.
“He will talk to you,” Hannah replied. “And all you’ve gotta do is listen. Lads like Zane love talkin’ about themselves. Just smile, nod, pay him a compliment once in a while, and if it gets awkward, ask him a question. Easy.”
“Yeah, easy,” Liam echoed, sounding unsure.
“You’ll be reet,” Molly said, slapping his bare thigh. “You’re a stunner, remember? Just act ’ow you look.”
Easier said than done, Liam thought as he studied the three muscular young men, laughing, sneaking occasional glances, and clearly after only one thing. Liam swallowed hard.
==========================
The bass in Liquid nightclub didn’t just thud; it vibrated through the sticky floorboards and straight up Liam’s aching legs. Two hours, four shots, and three alcopops later, tipsiness had finally taken the edge off his outright panic, but it did absolutely nothing for his tortured feet. Every step was now a calculated risk; his chest ached more than ever, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d had his bum squeezed.
Surviving Shooters to get here had been bad enough. With the tables in the front too small, they had relocated to the back room, naturally segmenting into pairs. Molly had instantly zeroed in on her crush, Jason, cosying up and giggling at his terrible jokes. Hannah sat next to a broad-shouldered lad named Ollie, the two of them hitting it off immediately.
That left Liam entirely at the mercy of Zane, squished into the corner of a red leather sofa. His local weed dealer had laid it on incredibly thick. There had been intense eye contact, lingering touches on Liam’s knee, and a relentless barrage of compliments about his lips, his lashes, and his outfit—basically everything Liam was self-conscious about.
Liam spent the better part of an hour nodding like a bobblehead, deploying a breathy, high-pitched giggle whenever the panic threatened to take over. Every time he tried to subtly move away, Zane simply closed the gap. To Liam’s absolute horror, his nervous stammering and flushed cheeks weren’t putting Zane off; instead, they had given the impression that "Tiff" was just playing hard to get.
Now, plunged into the chaotic, neon-drenched darkness of Liquid, Liam was rapidly reaching his limit. Strobe lights fractured the packed dancefloor into stuttering frames of jerking bodies and glittering colours. It was a world built for confident girls on the pull, not an exhausted gaming nerd struggling to stand.
He swayed entirely out of sync with the bass. All around him, girls rolled their hips in effortless rhythm. He attempted a clumsy imitation, wincing as every misstep sent a fresh jolt of pain up his legs.
He was ready to give up entirely when a manicured hand clamped tightly around his wrist.
“Come on, you,” Molly shouted over the pounding music.
Without waiting for a response, she steered him through the sea of writhing, energetic bodies and straight toward the women’s toilet. Liam stumbled behind her, his arms flailing as he fought to keep his balance and avoid rolling an ankle.
She pulled him into the blindingly bright bathroom, shoved him into an empty cubicle, and slammed the heavy wooden door, sliding the lock shut.
“Mols, please,” Liam begged, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his battered feet. “Can we go soon? I can’t take much more of this.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Are you jokin’? We’ve barely been in ’ere an hour. It’s way too early to sack it off.” She dug into her tiny clutch bag. “You just need a little pick-me-up, is all.”
Liam’s eyes widened as he watched her pull out a small, transparent baggie filled with crushed white powder.
“A little bit of Mandy will sort you right out,” she whispered with an excited grin, tapping the side of the plastic.
Liam pressed himself harder against the cubicle wall, shaking his head. “No, you’re alright. I don’t want that. I’ve never done anything like that.”
“Oh, bore off, it’s just a bump,” Molly insisted, entirely unbothered by his panic. “It’ll make the music sound mint and make your feet stop hurtin’. Trust me.”
Before Liam could protest again, Molly grabbed his hand. She took hold of his index finger and guided it straight down into the baggie, using the tip of his glossy, extended nail to scoop out a small mound of white powder.
“Just suck it in,” she instructed, slowly guiding his hand toward his face.
Liam sighed, the last ounce of fight draining out of him. Driven by a desperate need to numb the nightmare, he pressed his long acrylic nail against his nostril, closed his eyes, and inhaled sharply.
“There you go,” Molly said sweetly, her frantic, pushy energy replaced by a warm, approving smile.
Liam stood perfectly still as Molly’s fingertips began gently combing through his hair, taming the top and fluffing the lengths around his shoulders. Pulling out a wand of gloss, she touched up her own lips before leaning in to do his, carefully smoothing the edges with her thumb. Looking satisfied, she slipped her hand into his.
“Come on, let’s go dance, you sexy bitch,” she said, throwing open the lock.
Hand in hand, they minced back into the chaotic nightclub, threading through the crush of bodies to find the others right where they had left them.
“Where’ve you been then?” Hannah shouted, leaning in to be heard over the sound system.
“Bathroom!” Liam shouted back, his voice straining over the noise.
Hannah gave a knowing nod and shoved a freshly opened alcopop into his manicured hand. He took a long sip and nervously looked around, waiting for his heart to explode or for some terrible sickness to take hold.
For the first half-hour or so, nothing changed. It was more of the same overwhelming noise and the sharp burning in his arches. Then, subtly, the environment began to shift.
The heavy bass started pulsating in his chest, syncing perfectly with his heartbeat. A weight lifted—both physically and mentally. A sudden warmth flooded his veins, erasing the agonising cramping sensation in his feet. The fear melted away, replaced by a dizzying rush of pure bliss. He felt good. Unbelievably good.
It felt like he’d slipped underwater, moving through a warm, dense liquid where nothing mattered, and the real world couldn’t reach him. Time lost its rigid structure, becoming entirely incoherent. Hours seemed to compress into the space of a single song.
One moment, he was wedged between Hannah and Molly, letting his long hair whip wildly around his shoulders as he mirrored their energy. He was grinding to the beat as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Reaching for the ceiling, he let out a loud, genuine laugh. The terrifying reality of his disguise had vanished, leaving him completely uninhibited and entirely free.
Then, he was somewhere else.
The crushing heat of the crowd was gone, replaced by the cool, slippery press of leather against his bare legs. He was on a sofa with Zane pressed tightly against his side, his skirted backside sinking deep into the plush cushions. He didn’t remember how he got there, but he had no desire to leave. It felt strangely familiar and comforting.
The rush of the drug amplified everything. Zane’s hand slowly stroked up and down Liam’s bare thigh, sending electric, euphoric shivers radiating throughout his entire body. Warm fingers threaded gently through Liam’s long blonde hair, tracing down its length. It felt incredible. Liam leaned in, chasing the feeling, all logical thought entirely overridden by the chemical high.
Then, Zane’s face hovered inches from his own. Liam giggled; it was somehow funny seeing him so close. When their lips crashed together, Liam didn’t pull away. The thought of who he was or what he was doing never entered his head. It felt nice, and that’s all that mattered. He sank into the kiss, his swollen lips feeling hypersensitive and foreign, while the thick gloss turned the contact into something slick and uniquely compelling.
Liam surrendered to Zane’s touch. The hand gripping his waist, the fingers tracing further up his thigh—it didn’t feel like an intrusion. Liam leaned in, his hands acting on impulse as he grabbed Zane’s neck and raked his fingertips through the man’s hair.
Lost in sensory overload, the moment seemed to extend into eternity, until eventually the heavy bass blurred, the neon lights smeared into a senseless wash of colours, and everything went black.