Is Becky Home? Pt. 02

When I awoke the next morning to bright sunlight coming through the front windows, I noticed that Beck was not in bed. I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt and walked out on the porch for a while.

When I came back in, I saw him and startled, gasping just a bit. He turned to me and said, "Hey, coffee's making." His face was not smiling or weird or confused at all. No upset registered. This was Beck, just his normal face. But. It also wasn't him, exactly. What was he wearing? Not a shirt but like a dress. No, a gown. No, not just a gown but a short silky pink gown with small straps over his shoulders.

"What is this, Beck?" I asked. My mouth still hung open. And he cocked his right hip, in a silly kind of way, leaning his head to his left, he said, "Sometimes I wear this when I'm alone. And when I have it on, I feel like another part of myself. Completely different kind of, and not completely different at the same time. I think of myself as Becky when I wear this. Not Beck."

I could barely push words out of my mouth, "What the fuck, man?" A long silence built between us. I pulled at a chair and sat down near the dining table. "Are you a girl now? What's going on? You're kinda' scaring me a little."

Beck sat down as well and looked at me, without seeming to be embarrassed or scared. After a while he said, "What we did last night was beautiful. I've thought about doing that for so long. I'm not a girl. I'm a boy and you know that. You've held my boy parts. And I like my boy parts. I really like your boy parts," he said, with a sly smile.

"We've just been messing around, though. Right?" I said. "Because we're just out here alone. And we aren't gay about it. It's just a summer thing for us. Isn't it?"

"It's not for me." Beck said, "I like wearing pretty things like this sometimes. And I'd like to wear them with you sometimes. If you're ok with it. Last night was so sweet. When I woke up this morning, I lay in bed watching you breathe and sleep. I saw your dick, hard again in your boxers even as you slept. I wondered what you were dreaming about, but I didn't touch you. I just watched you."

I was shaking my head but there was something touching or connecting about how he was telling me all of this. He continued, "I felt really close to you. And I thought that I might be able to show you another side of me. This side of me. That's all this is. It's just another side of me. I'm still me. But there's a part of me that I've hidden from everyone until now. Until last night. Until I first started to touch you and get you off. Now I'm showing you a bigger picture of who I am." Beck sat still, leaning back in his chair, the strap on his right shoulder fell to mid-bicep.

My mind reeled. Ok, so Beck is still Beck but sometimes he says he's Becky. What? How? When? So many questions. But when I opened my mouth to tell him how fucking stupid this was, instead I asked, "So what now? What are you saying is different? What are you suggesting we do. "

"Not much is different for me," he said, "Really, I'm still just me. And now you know my secret. I'm trusting you with a private and vulnerable piece of who I am. And what do we do? Well, that's entirely up to us. Right?"

No words. He reached out across the table and touched my hand, which I immediately drew back but then I returned it on top of his, patting it and pulling my hand into my own lap. I rubbed my face and my hair and looked up at the ceiling and back at Beck. Or Becky. Or whomever.

At my response, Beck smiled and said, "Nothing has to change. But it could. Some. I like what we've been doing. I'd like to do more. But I don't want to do anything that causes us to not be friends."

I asked quietly, almost in a whisper, "You're gay, right? Is that what this is? Coming out? Just tell me plainly: are you gay? Are you saying you want us to have sex?"

"No, and yes," he said. "I am not truly gay. I don't think. I still like sex with girls. But sometimes I think about and get off to thinking about guys and about being fucked by guys. Fucked by you."

He went on, "For a few years, I've been mostly confused about sex stuff - hell, I still am - but I'm figuring some things out. And one thing I know is that I like sex, period. Different kinds of sex, with girls and guys. Not all of them. Some guys do not turn me on at all. Same with some girls. But some do. And those that do, really turn me on. And I think about you. Doing things to me, with me. When you want to. If you want to. That's all."

That's all?!? That's all? I couldn't believe that this was the last thing he said. I stared at him. I got up and started packing up my gear. Today was the day we were supposed to clean up, pack up and drive out. We were expected home tonight. And I got serious about that task. Leaving. Exiting. Going home.

We didn't say a lot more about what had just happened. I grabbed some breakfast and got my gear packed and put all my stuff in the car. Beck came outside in his jeans and shirt with his gear.

We cleaned out the place, gathering towels, sheets and stuff that we were supposed to take back to his house. After we were done, we walked out to the pond and sat down on the big rocks on the western side of the pond. Beck talked about the armadillo we had chased a few nights back. He had run into a small tree during the chase and we had both died laughing. No one was hurt, including the armadillo that night. But it was funny.

Sitting by the lake together we laughed again. I recalled what Beck had said, "Who put a tree there? Crazy place for a fucking tree." He laughed, and we continued talking about our week out at this place alone. No talk of sexual stuff or the woman gown thing he had worn this morning. No talk of this Becky part of him. I couldn't get that out of my head, but I couldn't form any coherent words about it either. It was just stuck in the air between us.

Driving home we talked some, listened to music and drove miles and miles silently. At his house we unloaded gear and I hugged him in a bro-hug kind of way and took off walking, with my pack, thinking about nothing for the few blocks it took to get home.

For about four or five days, we didn't see each other or even text. I thought about all of what had happened at the camp-house and outside. A couple of times I got hard when I remember him taking my dick in his mouth out in that dark field. And his hands on my thighs. But I couldn't get past that morning when he said he like for me to fuck him. Wouldn't it hurt so much? I couldn't imagine it and have no desire to have something stuck in my butt. And yet Beck said he liked that. He talked about trying it with his own fingers and once with a screwdriver handle.

Crazy Beck, what's up with him? What is all of this gay stuff with him now? Wearing that gown thing over his boxers. And saying that when he wears it, he's Becky and not Beck. I didn't really know what to say. So, I said nothing. For a while.

On a Friday afternoon, when I walked over to Beck's house, I saw Beck outside with Gena and Tim and some other kids from school. They were just cutting up and tossing a Frisbee around and staying in the shade of the trees in his front yard as much as possible. It was terribly hot. Beck's parents were gone for the weekend to see his grandparents in Louisiana, but he had to work. He has a job at a grocery store, Saturday and Sunday day shifts.

That night, we all ended up going to a movie together and Vanessa, the girl I was dating, sort of, and a friend of hers met up with us. Afterward, everyone broke off into groups. Beck, Gena and Tim were walking to grab a bite to eat. Vanessa and I walked to my car and we drove to her house. We watched TV with her brother and dad and then we went out back and talked some, kissed some and held each other, enjoying the feel of each other's skin.

By 11 pm, I was home. And horny. And I missed hanging out with Beck. I missed talking with him. I texted him, "What's up?" After a few minutes, he texted back, "Not much, you? I'm home. Alone."

I lay back on bed, thinking about a lot of stuff. I'm not sure what I felt. Fear? Hurt? Anxiety? Anger? Loss? I felt something. Love? Lust? Maybe I was feeling a lot of things. I couldn't get clear-headed. I sat up, pulled my shoes back on and went out the back door, quietly.

I walked the few blocks to Beck's house. When he opened the door, he had on a gray t-shirt with our school's mascot on the front and dark-colored pants, no shoes or socks. Beck smiled at me. And I asked, "Hey, is Becky home?"

The end