2. Diego
Diego
“I swear to God I should remember more about this because this was one of the classes I took amazing notes in for you, but honestly… I think I sort of struggled to understand it then, and am definitely struggling now,” Frankie said from Diego’s couch.
Diego was in the kitchen, fixing them their third cups of coffee for the evening.
It was mid-March of Frankie’s senior year, and instead of spending his Friday night at a party or at one of his many paramours’ houses, he was holed up in Diego’s apartment trying to figure out what useful insight they could both bring to the lab on Monday.
Diego hadn’t seen Frankie over Winter break.
The last time Diego had seen him was the night he’d matchmade Chris and Dustin at his fraternity’s holiday party.
As Winter break passed in a blur of friends and quiet nights in his apartment, Diego had almost forgotten he’d even be seeing Frankie again.
Well, no, that was a lie. He’d been looking forward to seeing Frankie again.
He hadn’t been able to get a read on the younger man during the first half of the fall semester, but after coming out to him and having him react so well, he’d begun to appreciate his presence.
He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes either, a fact Diego was readily trying to forget.
Meanwhile, it was a fact half of the school had noticed.
Diego had nothing against men, women, or nonbinary people who flaunted their sexuality and slept with everyone who was interested in them.
He just wasn’t able to do it. If he’d been born with the parts he wanted, maybe he’d have been more interested in casual hookups and silly flings, but he hadn’t, and thus far he’d never felt comfortable educating, enlightening and hand holding any hookups about the anatomy he had.
Even if he had been born with the parts he wanted, he still might not have been into casual hookups.
After all, very little about Diego was casual.
That hadn’t changed with his transition.
If anything, he’d gotten more intense with an added side of brooding.
His friends liked to describe him as self-assured, and he’d heard Frankie mumble “cock-sure, smart-ass, bastard” once or twice during late night study sessions the semester before.
Diego liked to think of them as compliments.
He’d been meek and anxious as a child, always taking everything “too seriously,” including his own thoughts, fears, and gender dysphoria.
Or at least, that’s what his mother always said.
He was malcriada, or a spoiled brat, also helpfully gendered for a female person, a point his mother always made with her conjugations and words every time he went home, which was why Diego didn’t go home anymore.
He hadn’t been home since college, and he hadn’t seen his mother since the morning of his college graduation when she’d brought him a white dress to wear.
He’d thrown it in the trash, proudly accepting his diploma while wearing a suit and tie even though many of his classmates also refused to see him as the man he was.
A few days after graduation, Diego had moved here, or more specifically to the city across the river from the university.
He made a living managing the books for one of the local gay bars.
The pay had been incredibly generous, and the health insurance was phenomenal.
Only three years after college, he’d saved up enough to pay for the parts of grad school that grants and scholarships wouldn’t cover, and he had just enough coverage and money in his health savings account to pay for top surgery.
Diego had come out as trans to his incredibly traditional Catholic parents with head held high and back straight, but he had been nearly shaking in his boots the day he’d had to tell the owner of the bar he was going to grad school.
He’d asked if there was any way he could go part time and had been fully prepared to be denied the request and lose health insurance.
If that had happened, he would have gotten the surgery and delayed going to grad school another year.
It’s just that he had been so excited to find out he’d gotten into the university across town.
It was like all of his stars were aligning perfectly so he felt like he had to ask.
To his immense surprise and gratitude, the owner of the bar had immediately agreed, knowing Diego’s desire for gender affirming surgery, and had even kept his pay the same as it had been when he was full time.
Diego was equal parts grateful and ashamed that he’d needed what was in essence a handout from an elder gay, but he was coming to accept how members of the community looked out for one another. He’d just never thought he’d be welcomed in the community.
For most of his childhood, he’d known he was different. When he entered his teens, the way he looked at boys wasn’t how the other teen girls did. He didn’t want to be with them, he wanted to be them. In fact, he barely wanted to be with them at all.
When he’d gotten to college, he’d attended a few Gay Straight Alliance meetings and met a few people who identified as aspec, or on the asexual spectrum.
For a while, he identified as a hetero, ace woman, but the label never felt right and slowly but surely, through studying a lot of queer literature and sleepless nights scrolling through online forums, he discovered he might be trans.
Over the past few years, he’d spent a lot less time focusing on his sexuality than on his gender, but he had come to the general conclusion that he wasn’t ace but was potentially demisexual.
He’d been sexually attracted to several guy friends over the years and had, as of late, found himself hopelessly attracted to Frankie.
He didn’t think he wanted to date him. He just…
wanted him. Wanted him in his arms, and in his bed.
He wanted to wake up next to him, Frankie completely naked and Diego.
.. well, that was where the fantasy always stopped.
Diego had no intention of doing a phalloplasty, surgery designed to construct a penis.
He’d heard of cases where it took two to three years for all of the surgeries to be completed, and recovery got more and more challenging as the procedures continued.
He knew only one other trans man who had undergone the surgery, and while he was ecstatic with the results, he had also been very blunt about how hard the entire process had been.
Diego had done some research and was intrigued by the idea of a meta surgery, or metoidioplasty, which would take skin from somewhere else in his body to turn his tiny bio dick, his preferred name for his clitoris, into a more sizable and semi-usable one.
He’d read, and researched on trans Reddit, that such dicks could even become erect on their own.
Diego’s bio dick had grown a little bit as he continued his testosterone therapy, but it was still only the size of two of his fingers pressed together.
If he got the surgery, it would be closer to three or possibly even four.
Diego had consulted with the doctor and surgeon who had done his top surgery, and they’d recommended a local surgeon who was apparently one of the top ten in the country, but her schedule had been booked through April.
Diego almost hadn’t made the appointment.
He’d thought that maybe, if it was meant to be, the doctor would have had appointments sooner, so he would be able to get all of his gender affirming surgery completed in one year and be done with it.
One of his online friends, Tanya, a trans woman who unfortunately lived across the country, had encouraged him to make the appointment – at least. Now, as he took his seat and stared across his well-loved sofa at Frankie, he was rather glad he’d made the appointment.
“D?” Frankie said. It was clear this wasn’t the first time he’d called out.
“Yes Franklin, I heard you. You have no idea how to contribute to the conversation, just as you have had no idea how to contribute to any of the conversations since our second class in January, hence why you are here with me on a Friday night, instead of out fucking the town red, or whatever the phrase is.”
Frankie looked startled that Diego had been paying attention. A brief flash of hurt stole across his face, but he quickly schooled his expression.
Damnit. Diego always liked to toe the line between banter and flirting, but sometimes he went in the opposite direction and came off caustic and hurtful.
Diego mentally sighed at the concession he knew he was going to have to make, and the amount of damage it was going to do to his fraying willpower.
Nevertheless, he hated seeing Frankie hurt, even for just a moment.
He leaned sideways onto the couch and lifted his legs up, resting his sock-clad feet against Frankie’s thigh.
Frankie immediately lit up like Diego had dropped a puppy into his lap instead of his freezing cold feet.
The first night Frankie had come over, begging for help prepping for their second class in January, Diego had discovered that Frankie loved physical touch.
It could be anything, even something as innocuous as their arms pressing together at his kitchen table or their feet brushing under blankets on the couch.
He should have figured it out sooner, given how often Frankie liked to touch his arm or his shoulder in class, but honestly, he’d thought Frankie was just being annoying.
It turned out, he was just being open and honest with Diego about his preferences and his needs. Something Diego didn’t do well.
“Alright, Mr. Know It All, what do you have prepared for Monday?” Frankie asked leaning sideways into the couch so he could press more fully against Diego’s feet.