Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Lace by Jaime Samms

Cross dressing Caleb has a huge chip on his shoulder that makes it impossible for anyone to get close... including his boyfriend, Levi or the uncle he lives with. Shielded behind his bad-ass boots and leather kilts, he feels safe from the bullying and harassment he's lived with his whole life.

It takes a bully pushing him over the edge and a kindred spirit he never expected th find to make him see that maybe it's time to exchange the leather for a bit of lace and show his more vulnerable side.

Tag: A young man, his skirts and his anger. Something has got to give.
Excerpt: “Stunning?”
Caleb stared after Mitchell even once he’d disappeared into the throng of milling students. And not afraid to be…what? Caleb shivered. Afraid to be. End of. Maybe some people who knew to look could decipher his secret. He glanced down his body. There was nothing girly or remotely tranny about what he had on. Leather pants, tight and almost-knee-high biker boots. No. It was all boy.

And he felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin to cover up his own.

He slid both hands heavily down his front. He had an almost overwhelming urge to peel it all off. He turned and hurried towards the bathroom, and inside, glared at himself in the mirror. The navy spikes of his hair flopped to one side after his sleepless night, and his face looked naked without eyeliner or mascara. He had a stash of everything he needed to make himself presentable in Levi’s dorm room, but he’d felt so exposed this morning, feeling Levi watch him dress. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sit at the tiny desk and make himself up. He didn’t want to let the uncertainty between them fester, but if neither of them broke open the Pandora’s box of silence, nothing bad could come out. He didn’t want to know what would come out, so he’d opted for flight instead.

He needed to get home—to get changed, or at least undressed—and for a little while remember what it was like in his own skin. He had time, would have the house to himself before his uncle got home.

“To play dress-up,” he muttered. There wasn’t ever going to be a day when what he was would be okay with the rest of the world. Best that he hide. Best that he ignore whether anyone even thought they knew the truth. Best that he didn’t think about Mitchell, about his fashion designs.

About how much he wanted it.

The house, when he arrived, was as deserted as he’d expected.

“Uncle Jase?” he called anyway. He knocked on his uncle’s bedroom door, checked the workshop in the garage, and poked his head down to the laundry area in the basement. No uncle.

“Thank God.”

Dashing up to his room, he closed and locked the door.


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