Chapter Four
Roos
This is not how I imagined my day ending, I think as Mari and I leave the cosy brown bar.
Two hours we were inside, talking about everything from kink to work to Amsterdam to growing up in small towns.
Not once did I even think about Lex. Not once did I berate myself for going to xir exhibition at the art gallery.
Not once have I ached with missing xem like I have nearly constantly since xe left my apartment six months ago.
Night has cloaked the city in darkness while we were inside, but as I lead Mari further down Utrechtsestraat, the streetlights, passing bike lights, and the lit-up blue and white trams mean it’s easy to see everything around us. And yet I find my eyes keep drifting towards them.
They’re cute. I established that much within minutes of my eyes falling on them once the double vision from the bang to my head had faded away.
They are plump with full cheeks, a slightly upturned nose, blue eyes that twinkle like stars, and feminine make-up – thick eyeliner, purple eyeshadow, pink blush.
But their clothes lean towards being more masculine, black overalls above what looks like a vintage rugby shirt.
Their dark green wax jacket is at least three sizes too big for them, and their Doc Marten boots look like they could be as old as we are.
It’s their mile-long handmade scarf that adds the pop of colour that really suits what little I know of Mari’s personality.
With stripes of random colours, I can’t help but watch as they wrap it around their neck over and over again, and it makes me think of one of the Doctor Whos who had a long-striped scarf like that.
A pang of nostalgia, or maybe homesickness, hits me.
I used to watch old VHS recordings of Doctor Who with my dad as a kid.
“I’m so hungry,” Mari says, digging their hands into the pockets of their jacket.
“Same,” I agree. “But we’re nearly there.”
We don’t say anything else until we’re at my favourite Greek deli and takeaway. Dimitri recognises me instantly and waves through the glass door before it’s even opened.
“Koukla!” he calls out. “Long time no see!”
“Hi, Dimi,” I gesture to Mari, “this is my friend, Mari. They’ve come to try your world-famous gyros.”
“World-famous! Ha! You’re all talk!”
“It’s very famous in my world,” I reply.
We order – one normal for me and one vegan version for Mari – and then take a seat at one of the few tables in the back. I’m surprised the place is nearly empty, but I’m relieved that it gives us plenty of space and quiet to keep talking.
“What does koukla mean?” Mari asks as they start to unwrap their scarf again.
“Doll, or beautiful girl,” I say. “I looked it up just to check it wasn’t a slur.”
Mari waits for me to smile before laughing nervously.
“You know,” I unbutton my jacket a little, “when I first lived on my own in Amsterdam, I rented a room on a side street near here. Tiny space. Barely big enough for a single bed. Anyway. On pay days, I would come here and treat myself to a gyros. And Dimitri and his brothers, they were among the first people to really validate my gender in this city. He’s called me koukla from day one, before I was taking hormones.
Before I knew how to wear wigs properly.
Before I could afford decent ones, no less.
He saw me as a beautiful, young woman before I was one. ”
Mari frowns at me for a second. “You were beautiful then,” they tell me with conviction. “All this,” they wave their hand at me, “is just what you do with your meat suit. What makes you a beautiful woman is what was and is inside you.”
I smile at them. “Thank you. I know it shouldn’t, but gender validation from somebody like you, someone who’s non-binary, doesn’t mean as much for some reason as it does from somebody like Dimitri. I know that’s a terrible thing to say. I know that’s letting gender norms win.”
Mari shrugs. “Maybe, but I also believe in taking your gender euphoria wherever you can find it. It’s a rare gem, and most of the time, in this fucked-up world, you have to dig deep to find it, so when it comes to the surface in a Greek deli, grab hold of it.”
I smile at them, and it warms my cheeks and my heart. I have a good queer community around me – at work, yes, but also in my social life. And yet it never gets old meeting somebody who…just gets it.
After our food is placed in front of us, we eat in near silence but for a few expressive moans at how good the gyros, tzatziki, and freshly baked pitas are.
We wash it down with bottles of water and then put our jackets back on and head outside after we both receive two-handed handshakes from Dimitri.
It’s only once we’re standing on the pavement outside that I realise we hadn’t talked about what’s next. I suddenly don’t want the night to be over. I don’t want to say goodbye to Mari. Not yet. I open my mouth to say something like this, if a little less emphatically, but Mari’s already talking.
“I’d like to see you again,” they say, “before I go home. Would that be okay?”
They’re being so sweet, so polite, and maybe it’s that or maybe it’s the way they look up at me with their big blue eyes, but I start to get all manner of ideas of how the rest of this evening can play out.
“What time do you have to be back at your convention tomorrow?” I ask.
Mari blinks again like they did earlier in the night when I asked a direct question, but they quickly recover. “Not early. I mean, I could show up at midday and I’d probably still have time to meet all the people I’m supposed to meet.”
“I’m not working tomorrow,” I tell them. “How about we spend the night together?”
“As in…” Mari drifts off, and I curse their lack of directness. Lex was the same. No, Lex was much, much worse.
I extend my hand and tuck their hair behind one ear. “As in, come back to mine and let me fuck you.”
“You want that?” they ask in a breathy voice I haven’t heard before, but I definitely want to hear again.
“I want you,” I tell them.
This time, my directness seems to melt something in Mari, and their whole body relaxes as they rock back and forward on their heels. “I would like that,” they say. “But I have a whole massive hotel room with a canal view and a bed the size of France. It’s just like a fifteen-minute walk away.”
“My place is five minutes by bike,” I say.
“But I don’t have a bike.”
“You’ll come on mine. On the back. Have you not seen people doing it?”
“Yes, but I’m not Dutch. I’m pretty sure I’ll fall off and go splat under a tram.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say, and I grab hold of their hand and lead them to my bike.
*****
“Oh my God, this is harder than it looks!” Mari calls out from behind me. Their hands grip my waist as I pump my legs and take us down Kerkstraat, swerving to miss a small group of people. “Fuck, don’t move like that!”
“It’s move like that or have an accident!” I call back.
They start to giggle, and I don’t know why, but that doesn’t stop me from laughing with them.
By the time we emerge onto Weesperzijde, we’re both cackling loudly and contagiously.
Our shared laughter doesn’t stop until I’m pulling up outside my apartment building and planting my feet on the ground so Mari can get off.
“I survived!” they say with childlike amazement.
“You survived,” I agree with a smile as I lock my bike up. It’s only when I straighten that I can feel the slight ache in my stomach. I haven’t laughed like that in months. I haven’t laughed like that since… Lex.
I turn to Mari and bring my hand to their face. “Thank you,” I say.
They look startled, puzzled. Blue eyes wide and dancing around my face. “What for?”
“For making me laugh again.”
“Oh, I’m glad my near-death experience on the back of your bike made you laugh.”
“You were laughing too!”
“Don’t you know the sound of nervous near-death laughter?”
I laugh again and stroke their face. “Can I kiss you?” I ask before my giggles have even stopped.
I’m pretty sure Mari is also still laughing when they nod and say “yes, please” before pushing up on their toes towards me.
There are a handful of seconds while our lips are pressed together when we’re still chuckling together, unable to control our mouths as they keep wanting to laugh.
But then a greater need surfaces, at least it does in me.
We begin to kiss in earnest. Blending lips, open mouths, sweeping tongues.
I grip both sides of their face, not wanting to let them go.
Their hands spread out across my back and hold me just as close.
It's only when a group of teenagers start ringing their bells at us and shouting vague obscenities as they approach on bikes that I pull away to shout something back at them, but Mari is much quicker.
They have their middle finger poised at all of them and are shouting, “Fuck off, wankers!”
I bring a hand to my mouth to hide my smug smile, but also to taste the wetness they left there.
“They probably don’t understand me,” Mari shrugs when their attention turns back to me.
“Oh, they will have understood you perfectly.”
“I don’t give a shit.” They tuck strands of my hair behind my ear. “Can we go inside now?”
*****
Once inside, we are a hurricane of clothes and shoes and Mari’s kilometre-long scarf.
We strip as we stumble into the hallway, kissing the entire time.
I lead the way, past the small kitchen, and only slightly bigger living space, past my bathroom, and then finally into my bedroom.
One step inside the space, I spin Mari around and push them onto the bed.
They fall with a delicious wobble of all their flesh – they’re somehow already down to their bra and their overalls hang folded over at their hips – and I can’t wait to get lost in their body.
But first things first.
I pull my sweatshirt over my head, revealing a spaghetti-strapped vest top. “I’m on HRT, but I haven’t had any surgery.”
Mari nods and keeps their gaze on me as I take my vest top off, and then my bra. “You’re beautiful,” they say on a jagged breath.
“Honestly, I don’t hate having a dick,” I say as I start to unbutton my jeans, feeling Mari’s gaze still on my fingers.
“Oh, and do you like to fuck with your dick?” They reach out a hand but then stop. “I mean, also, can you fuck with your dick?”
I smile at her awareness. “I can. I had a good doctor who told me that I had to use it or I would lose it.”
This answer seems to give them the permission they needed to touch me: one long stroke of their finger along the thin waistband of my panties.
“That’s good,” they say with a smile.
“But I don’t like certain words. Piemel, for example, that’s the Dutch word for penis, which I also hate. And cock. But dick is fine.”
“Okay,” Mari says, and they give me their eye contact, like they want me to know they’re concentrating now. But it doesn’t last. As I drop my jeans and my panties, they’re back to looking at my whole body with a hunger I don’t always see on lovers.
I saw it all the time with Lex, I think loudly enough that it makes me pause.
“Are you okay?” Mari asks.
“Yes.” I elongate my spine and pull my shoulders back. I refuse to let Lex ruin this. “Well, no… There is something wrong.”
Mari sits up. “What is it?”
“You’re wearing too many clothes. I want to see you.”
Mari smiles so widely, it changes the shape of their face into a perfect heart. And then they rush to remove their remaining clothing.
They pause when they’re in their underwear, eyes downcast and their teeth sunk into their top lip.
“Tell me,” I step closer, “tell me about your body.”
“I’m genderfluid, so sometimes, I really like my body.
Like, love it. Love my big boobs and big bum and Renaissance-painting stomach.
But other days, I just…I don’t hate it. I just don’t vibe with it.
I sort of feel like it’s not mine. Like when you’re wearing clothes that are too small.
Or shoes that aren’t worn in yet. It just doesn’t feel right. ”
I sit down on the bed next to them and reach for their hand. Now is not a time to dominate. Now is a time to meet them at their level. “I know what you mean. How are you feeling today?”
“Well, today is one of the days when I stupidly feel a bit of both. Like, I don’t really want any attention on my boobs. Sometimes I feel like they can take over the show when I’m having sex, and I really don’t want that to happen tonight.”
“Firstly, that’s not stupid. And secondly, I can do that. I can leave your breasts alone.”
Mari smiles again, and it brings me a strange amount of relief. “Okay. But I definitely want you to fuck me with your dick. If that’s what you want to do. Like, I quite like having a cunt right now.”
“And I quite like hearing you say cunt.” I slide my hand up their leg. “Let me give you a safe word, and that way we can stop whenever something doesn’t feel good.”
“By that logic, you should have one too.”
“Right, yes. Mine is…” I pause. I don’t want to give them the same one I had with Lex. And yet xir ghost apparently won’t leave me completely alone. “Monarch.”
“Okay,” Mari accepts it without question. “Mine is paparùda.”
“Paparùda?”
“It’s a long story,” Mari says, but I don’t ask any more questions because they’re gripping my wrist and gliding my hand up their thigh until it cups their full mound through their bright pink boxers.