[Knowing something intellectually and feeling it in the twists of your gut were two different things. His left-of-center looks never stymied him in chasing skirts. Didn't stop a few from chasing him back either. He knew better, that there were things that mattered more, and in his own partners found their flaws more invigorating than their perfections. If you took the bump out of baby's nose or gave her the extra inches she tries to take in heels, it's like some of the charm snuffs out. And really, wasn't the package only gift-wrapping anyway? All the best stuff was tucked between a person's ears.
Even so, he's never shaken the way his own reflection gives him the middle finger. Bruised ego's a bitch. Getting pummeled for his looks and his big mouth and small frame as a kid made for heavy skepticism of his personal appeal twenty-some years later.
Prior's smile turns broader and thinner than Richie'd like. He has a pricking moment of terrible regret. "I take it back!" he almost blurts. "I don't need to know! Don't sweat it! Wear the drapes for all I care, wear the Yankee's Dandy costume! I didn't mean nothing, I swears!"
He doesn't get the chance to interject. Instead he's left with reddening ears, always a sure sign of his embarrassment. They don't color him so cutely as they did the first time Prior got to his shucks and gollies, trying to goad him on board for the Vorrutyer's party over the network.]
...That's more philosophical than I was expecting. [He threads his legs together and sits sturdier upright, making certain to keep his gaze strong with Prior and not darting every which way looking for the exit sign. He's not getting told off, for fuck's sake. It's just another queasy way of thinking being pointed out. Never comfortable, but usually necessary.]
You've referred to yourself as a girl at times too. Which is part of why it's confusing, but you don't...you're not looking for the surgery. [Not a question. He knows Prior's not, it's obvious now but in a way he can't identify. There were men who got bits nipped and tucked and rearranged to come out looking like they've never touched a Y chromosome. That just didn't seem Prior's style.] Seemed more like the sentiment was the emphasis than anything to do with who you are, or aren't. Correct me if I'm wrong on that.
And you don't feel like you're trying to fit in with a different box? If things weren't so...well, if people didn't get so riled up about who loved who or whether a man wears lace and a lady puts on a tux. Would you still prefer what you do now? Is some of it rebellion, or identification, or...is this making any sense, or am I just digging myself a six foot hole?
Sounds like the latter to me.
[Richie shoots a glare at the glass asshole hanging opposite.]
Do we really need a mirror? We could spot each other for shaving, I'm sure of it.
no subject
Even so, he's never shaken the way his own reflection gives him the middle finger. Bruised ego's a bitch. Getting pummeled for his looks and his big mouth and small frame as a kid made for heavy skepticism of his personal appeal twenty-some years later.
Prior's smile turns broader and thinner than Richie'd like. He has a pricking moment of terrible regret. "I take it back!" he almost blurts. "I don't need to know! Don't sweat it! Wear the drapes for all I care, wear the Yankee's Dandy costume! I didn't mean nothing, I swears!"
He doesn't get the chance to interject. Instead he's left with reddening ears, always a sure sign of his embarrassment. They don't color him so cutely as they did the first time Prior got to his shucks and gollies, trying to goad him on board for the Vorrutyer's party over the network.]
...That's more philosophical than I was expecting. [He threads his legs together and sits sturdier upright, making certain to keep his gaze strong with Prior and not darting every which way looking for the exit sign. He's not getting told off, for fuck's sake. It's just another queasy way of thinking being pointed out. Never comfortable, but usually necessary.]
You've referred to yourself as a girl at times too. Which is part of why it's confusing, but you don't...you're not looking for the surgery. [Not a question. He knows Prior's not, it's obvious now but in a way he can't identify. There were men who got bits nipped and tucked and rearranged to come out looking like they've never touched a Y chromosome. That just didn't seem Prior's style.] Seemed more like the sentiment was the emphasis than anything to do with who you are, or aren't. Correct me if I'm wrong on that.
And you don't feel like you're trying to fit in with a different box? If things weren't so...well, if people didn't get so riled up about who loved who or whether a man wears lace and a lady puts on a tux. Would you still prefer what you do now? Is some of it rebellion, or identification, or...is this making any sense, or am I just digging myself a six foot hole?
Sounds like the latter to me.
[Richie shoots a glare at the glass asshole hanging opposite.]
Do we really need a mirror? We could spot each other for shaving, I'm sure of it.