This Gender Reversed World Ain't for Me (11) - He's Really Good with His Fingers

"Damien." Willow put her hands flat on the table, which was her version of calling a meeting to order. "A gym is a different situation entirely. Women go there specifically to—it's a physical environment, and you—" She gestured vaguely at me, which I found interesting, since it suggested she understood the problem but couldn't quite say it out loud without it sounding insane.

"I what?" I frowned. 

A pause.

"You know what..." She said, tiredly.

"I've read that men rarely go to the gym, so why would women go there specifically for that if there aren't any men to begin with?"

No, seriously. 

The table was very quiet.

Freya had stopped pretending to look at her glass and was now fixing her attention on me, along with Iris and Ivy. 

Willow straightened. "T-That's true, but dear... you are very attractive. And you're a man. And women in physical environments, when they see something they—when they encounter—" She stopped again, visibly frustrated with herself.

"When they encounter something they want." I finished for her, because yes, I knew how to drive an axe in an open wound, even with my sweet and innocent face. "That's what you're worried about, right, Mom?"

She exhaled. "Yes."

I looked at Iris. Then at Freya, then Ivy.

Each had their own expression to add. There was no support for this choice. 

"Are you implying that any one of the ladies who happen to attend the gym will stop whatever their routine is in the midst of sweating it out for hours a day, five days a week, or maybe more, to then be overwhelmed by uncontrollable desire that they somehow can't help acting out on the moment they see me?"

Even in this world, it seemed unnecessarily exaggerated. This wasn't an anime, come on. 

And, well, I understood that, in theory, there were some women out there who'd literally have their cunts explode from seeing a male, but, common-sense was as important and fundamental as strength. 

Wouldn't there be safety measures in place? Otherwise you might as well ban men from hospitals, in case a poor doctor merely doing her job would somehow lose it and fuck a patient instead, against both her ethics and will.

No, the situation wasn't that bad. But Willow seemed to think so and would certainly use this as an example.

"We're not saying it'll happen immediately..." Willow offered weakly.

"Let's make a deal." I sighed, not wanting to place further distress to my obviously worried mother. "Let me give it a shot, please. I promise that, should any untoward, unfavorable events occur during my visits, or if anyone has reason to feel unsafe, I shall immediately cease and desist."

Willow rubbed her forehead and then the back of her neck. 

Freya tapped the edge of her plate thoughtfully, a faint, lopsided smile twisting at the corner of her lips. "... it can't hurt to try. At least, within safe boundaries. If that gym isn't too out of the way, maybe... within walking distance. We can even take a look. It seems you already took care of most of the groundwork."

Willow's gaze switched rapidly between us, caught somewhere between disapproval and what looked almost like shock.

"It is a nice gym." I said casually.

"Oh? You've looked already?" Freya smiled.

"Not personally. Just skimmed their website, mostly, and read online reviews. They seem to have a reasonable selection of exercise equipment. It's open 24/7. The reviews are very positive too. And, most importantly..." Here came the selling point. The make it or break it part. "It's not far from here at all. In fact, less than a five-minute walk."

And just to drive the point home, I presented a Google map showing their precise location, like a magician flourishing a wand.

The complete package.

Perfectly marketed, or at least I hoped so, because I didn't want to start an argument right here and now. 

A momentary silence.

Willow looked at Freya with a 'can you believe this shit?' look, then at the phone, and then at me. Her shoulders deflated visibly. "We really have taught you everything a good, responsible adult would know. At this age, there's not much we can say anymore." She sighed, pressing two fingers to her forehead. "I suppose you know best, Damien. And I do know you aren't the type to be so careless."

"Right?" I agreed, looking pleased. "Why would I act recklessly or with little forethought and planning, and just throw caution to the winds? But if it makes you feel better, one of you can come with me for a tour, or I can go alone, since I doubt—"

I was about to make a joke in poor taste. 

Seeing the darkening expressions around the table and realizing it wouldn't end pretty, I quickly closed my mouth. "Well, I'd feel more comfortable with either of you around for the visit."

"... right. Exactly, Damien."

At my calm assurances, it looked like Willow, just barely, was letting herself to relax a little.

Freya languidly tilted her head, resting her chin on a hand as she stared right at me. "What do you want to achieve in the gym anyway? You're afraid of getting fat or something, little prince?"

"Hell no." I made a disgusted face. "I just want to... to... have a nice physique."

"......"

Ah, perhaps I should've said stronger.

Freya's mouth closed slowly as she studied me. Then her eyes cut sideways, briefly touching Iris, who had, in fact, begun choking. "Iris. Dear. Maybe you shouldn't eat while we're conversing. Your face looks quite red."

"My lungs feel strangely stuffy."

"I believe a sip of water might help."

I handed her a glass, meeting her eyes as she raised it to her mouth.

Willow blinked a good ten times as her brain processed that sentence and tried to find a suitable response.

"B-B-But you already have a nice body, Damien." Ivy interjected poorly.

"And how do you know that?" I raised an eyebrow.

"U-Uhh, ah, oh! You took off your shirt in front of everyone! Right! That!"

I nodded. "Can't argue with that."

Her face was rapidly reddening, though she had made a valiant effort.

"Damien..."

Willow finally snapped out of her daze.

"I mean, I want to be stronger... for self-defense, as well."

I felt the need to add before Iris's pretty eyes had an aneurysm and popped, or before I sent Willow and Ivy to the clinic or hospital for medical support or mental consoling.

No need to say that the rest of lunch proceeded in a less stimulating fashion, mostly due to my proclamation.

I sighed. 

xXx

Iris

She found it hard to close her eyes without the sight of Damien's bare skin coming back to the forefront of her mind. It seemed she had suddenly forgotten the way he looked fully dressed. All she could see now were his collarbones, the lines of his shoulders, the smooth expanse of his chest.

She could not have imagined that that much vulnerability could exist in a person. 

That much skin. 

It was nothing like those online pictures or movies; it was real, it was in front of her, and it was not a composite piece of art.

The urge to grab some tissues and indulge a guilty pleasure had not yet completely subsided. It was only normal for a young woman her age to be so highly sensitive and reactive to visuals with a clear sexual connotation, right? It was natural to respond to something aesthetically pleasing.

The problem with having Damien as a brother was that it required a level of selective blindness that Iris was discovering, quite painfully, she did not possess.

She sat on her bed that evening with her knees pulled up and her back against the headboard and stared at the wall opposite with the expression of someone doing very serious accounting.

The numbers were not adding up in her favor.

It had been manageable before. When he was just Damien. Her brother who had been quiet and distant and easy to file away under family and leave it within that folder. Family was a category with clear boundaries. Walls and everything.

Now, though, he wasn't just Damien any more than an ocean could just be blue or water could just be wet. Iris's careful, exacting, strictly organized world was proving itself too flimsy a framework for dealing with a fact that had become irrevocably concrete.

Damien was a man.

And she was a woman.

And then he had to wake up and remove the last tiny semblance of safety left in that equation by turning himself into—into that—

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, directly, without the usual social shuffling that people did when they weren't sure of themselves.

It was the collarbone situation, which she was not going to think about.

She was thinking about it.

Iris pressed her palms flat against her eyes and held them there.

The thing was, she was a reasonable person. She knew the difference between finding someone objectively attractive, the same way you'd acknowledge a well-designed building or a particularly good painting, and actually wanting something.

The problem wasn't just her perception, the kind of passive appreciation that happened anywhere and everywhere in the world at all times.

To quote a famous poet, 'what is apperception but perception plus intention.'

And if what had made this one night and morning so harrowing wasn't that Iris could not separate perception and intention no matter how hard she tried, then she didn't know what else possibly could.

Iris shuffled out of bed, smoothing her nightshirt and taking a quick moment in the mirror to ensure she'd maintained the same degree of composure she had woken up with. It was important to come back to reality often and reaffirm that the thought-journey you'd been on was not in reality.

'Sitting here mooning is pointless and accomplishes nothing.'

She walked out the door, with no real destination in mind except possibly the kitchen, but predictably paused when she got within sight-range of her brother's room.

It was entirely by accident, of course. There had not been any reason for her to stand here. If that was the case, she could've just turned around and continued her route to the kitchen with nothing changed. But perhaps she had been looking for an excuse to raise her fist and intrude upon someone else's space without needing justification.

Just as she was considering the relative merits of various ways to interrupt Damien's peace, however, the perfect excuse handed itself on a silver platter.

She heard the strumming of a guitar. The notes flew gently and aimlessly, and even when she craned her ears, she could only catch traces. It was pleasant, but without focus or direction. More like practicing.

Still...

Knock. Knock.

The strumming stopped abruptly and was immediately replaced by the soft sound of movement. She had no chance to backpedal or convince herself it was a bad idea, so Iris leaned forward a bit and spoke softly against the wood.

"Damien?"

"Iris?"

"Y-Yeah, it's me..."

"Come in."

Iris blinked, processing this information for longer than it probably deserved. "Are you... dressed?"

The answer came a few seconds later, accompanied by the telltale creaking of a bed being vacated. "Come on, have a little faith. I'll be right here."

"A-Alright, if it's no big deal."

"No big deal."

Iris stood, shifting back and forth uncertainly and biting at her lower lip. She turned the knob and pushed it a little, her face peeking inside, to confirm—

Yes, this time, unlike with that other morning's fiasco, Damien was, as he'd promised, dressed.

She sighed, a little disappointed and ashamed, also a little relieved. 

What had she expected? That Damien was actually lying in bed waiting for his family member to take a peek and be lured into... whatever.

"What is it?" He asked, seeming to not notice or not mind her odd behavior. Or was that another unusual part of his personality? He seemed to have developed an inscrutability Iris could not ever remember seeing in the brother that had used to be the equivalent of a dim bulb.

"How do you feel? Is everything... fine?" She tried asking first.

It sounded like such a generic question, but it also happened to be one she did care about.

He cocked his head to the side. Iris noticed he had his were around a guitar. It had been a while since he'd played it.

"You mean mentally? Physically, psychologically and sexually, right? Which one exactly do you want me to answer?"

"Wait, I..." She trailed off and blinked. "All of—no wait, just... were you playing?" She asked again, choosing a different course of action as soon as it became apparent that she'd only dig her own grave any further, simply by speaking.

"A bit." There was a hint of curiosity in his tone as he held the guitar, gently caressing the strings and studying each note that resonated with his careful plucking. "I used to play... more, didn't I?"

He stared at her, looking for confirmation. She couldn't tell whether it was more of an actual question or a statement. "Used to, yes. It's been a while. We never heard you play... anymore."

Iris quietly closed the door, tightening her fists behind her for a moment, to circulate the blood necessary to join Damien on the bed.

She did so. And he didn't mind, merely flicking his eyes towards her and then focusing back on the strings.

"Did you forget how to play or something?" Iris tilted her head. Damien, in her eyes, looked a bit lost.

"Hmm... not really, no... it seems."

He laughed, incredulously, as he started to strum the chords into an actual, coherent and beautiful melody, this time.

Iris, on most occasions, would've listened, enjoyed and complemented him. She did, today, but there was also the distraction that came with his slender, beautiful fingers moving like that, up and down and all over the—

"Fuck!"

Iris gulped.

He really was good with his fingers.