22
He had seen these kinds of places in movies and on tv. A single, empty room, bearing a wall of mirrors and a wooden floor that had seen more than it's fair share of footfalls and polishing. A dance studio, lights illuminating the area so bright, any occupant could see every single thing that occurred within, which was, Luke surmised, the entire point. Dancers were known for their perfectionist attitudes. They needed to see every part of their bodies as they danced, in order to discover and rid themselves of any flaws.
Helen breezed into the room without a second thought, dropping the shopping bag to the side of the door and practically tackling the man within. He looked exactly as Luke expected a dancer to look. Lean, muscular, but only as much as he needed to be. Shoulders that looked as though built by chopping down entire forests, or breaking a quarry's worth of rocks. The man returned the embrace given to him by Helen and hooked his head around to catch sight of Luke.
"So, this is the one you phoned about? Pretty. Strong thighs." How the man could tell what his thigh's looked like, Luke couldn't guess. The man swatted Helen's arm with his hand. "And you are late, missy! And before you blame anyone else, I know it's your fault. You're always late. Luckily, I anticipated that and told you I needed you out earlier than I actually do need you out. Nightmare, I tell you."
Those last words were aimed toward Luke and the man strode over to him with a dancer's grace, grabbing Luke's hand and almost crushing it as he shook Luke's hand. The man had called Luke pretty, but Luke could say the same about the man. Beneath the stubble, the slightly balding head, hair cut close and gelled, Luke could see a strong, but round face with deep blue, expressive eyes, long lashes flickering as the man gave Luke a genuine, friendly smile.
"Deacon, may I introduce Luke. He's in the process of exploring who he is." Helen stood to the side of them both, a hand on each of their shoulders like a referee in a boxing match, preparing for the two to beat each other senseless. That wasn't going to happen. "Luke, this is Deacon, the best dance instructor in this entire room. May I tell him?"
"After that insult? No. I'm the best dance instructor in the building and you know damned well I am." Deacon wheeled away, legs crossing, opening again as he spun before coming to a flourish of a bow. "What Hell's Bells is trying to say is may she tell you that I'm trans. Female to male. I expect because your exploration is along similar lines?"
Luke nodded. It felt as though everyone they had met during this long day were either trans, or non-gender conforming, as Clarisse had put it, gay, both, neither, or were a bigot of some kind. It had all become a bit of a whirl in Luke's mind. So much had happened. Now it appeared that Helen had brought him here to see the other side of the trans story. If he had to admit, though, this was all better than reading about it on T-Connekt. It felt more real.
What also felt very real was the fact that Deacon looked as much as, if not more, of a man than pretty much any man born that way. That handshake, for a start, felt rock solid. Luke could practically smell the testosterone in the air. Deacon stood around the same height as Luke, but had a far better build. If the gender critical people, online, had their way, people like Deacon would have to use women's toilets and Luke could imagine the outrage that would cause. The only thing that even barely resembled anything close to femininity about Deacon were those eyelashes, and Luke had seen plenty of other men with lashes almost as long.
"I'm ... yeah, exploring is probably the right word." The wall of mirrors made Luke feel more than a little uncomfortable. "Accepting? Maybe? I don't know. I dress. In women's clothes."
"They're not women's clothes! They're yours. Bought and paid for." Helen pulled him up on his choice of words and Luke couldn't disagree with her. Clothes were only material stitched together in different ways. "He looks good in them, too. Style needs some training, but he'll get there. And he plays football, too, so his body's not bad, either. He never mentioned that and now he's wondering how I know. Photos, darling. You have photos on your phone. Oops!"
Of course she had gone through his phone. She was who she was and personal space was something other people needed to care about. It wasn't as though he had anything on there that he wanted to keep private. Except, perhaps, the photos of Elaine that were the first things he transferred every time he got a new phone, or a new laptop, or tablet. Everything else had to wait. Even then, he didn't really mind people seeing Elaine's pictures. He wanted people to remember her, or see her for the first time. She deserved that long-lasting recognition.
"So, I take it Helen's brought me here to hear the story of your transition?" He leaned back against the wall, keeping out of sight of the mirrors, as he smiled at Deacon. "I don't know if I want to go that far, to be honest."
"No?" Deacon gave a slow nod as he glanced in the mirrors, himself. He had no problems looking at himself. Neither did Helen, who now examined her face, up close, brushing aside the strands of her wig. "And, no. Helen hasn't told you? Typical. Hell's Bells! Stop being you for a second and speak. Use your words. Good girl."
Torn away from her reflection by Deacon's teasing, Helen gave him a fake scowl, giving him the middle finger, before turning back to the shopping bags they had brought with them. Bending double, her backside pointed toward Deacon, she rummaged in one bag, pulling out the shoes with the shortest heel. The suede ones. Standing upright, she clicked the stubby heels together three times before dropping them into Luke's hands.
"Put them on." With a sweep of her arm, as though presenting a prize on a game show, Helen indicated Deacon as he stood, hands on his hips, rolling his eyes again, yet still grinning at Helen. "Tonight, my unconventional conventionalists, you are going to dance. If you can dance in heels, walking in them becomes less of a problem."
Luke looked down at the shoes dropped in his hands. It felt different from when he tried on the glass-like shoe in the shop. This was an opportunity to wear the shoes properly, something he had only done while dressed and only Helen had seen that. Not including those men that had ... he stopped that train of thought. The day had helped push that incident out of his mind and he didn't want to revisit it. Not yet.
Both Helen and Deacon watched him for a second before Deacon tapped Helen's arm, turning away. Somehow Deacon knew that this was a bigger step than Helen had anticipated. For her, no doubt, that first time putting on shoes was probably not that big a deal. He could imagine her putting her first pair on and tap-dancing in front of anyone she thought might care, just to spite them. Luke wasn't like that at all.
With a glance out of the still-open door, he sat down against the wall, unfastened his shoes, took them off and then tugged off his socks. He held one of the shoes in his hands, feeling the material of the suede under his fingers, tracing the short, slightly wide heel with a finger of his other hand. Then, trepidatious, he put the shoe over his toes, wiggling the upper until it passed over his heel to sit on his foot proper. It felt tight, crimping his toes together, not sitting as well upon his foot as the glass-like shoe had. Regardless, he put the other shoe on and rose to his feet.
"Very good. Now, I'm going to need you here, facing the mirrors." Deacon held out his hand, urging Luke forward. "It's okay, I promise. Even if anyone comes along, I assure you, no-one will even blink at what you're wearing."
Hesitant, Luke stepped forward, passing Helen, who had turned away from the mirrors, looking over her shoulder to look at her own backside, her jacket lifted over her waist for a better view. With no ceremony whatsoever, Deacon pushed Helen away to the side, giving her backside a slap for good measure. She seemed to enjoy that, but ended up against the wall, watching, her hands behind her, palms pressed against the wall's surface.
With Helen out of the way, Deacon manoeuvred Luke into a position he wanted him and then stepped to his side, looking down at Luke's feet. Luke also looked at his feet, though for a very different reason. After a second, Deacon moved again, standing in front of Luke, his hand lifting Luke's chin. Deacon tilted his head, lines creasing his forehead before he looked over his shoulder at the mirrors.
"Get on with it! More dancing, less flirting! Oh, that fucking phone of yours!" Blowing air from her nose, Helen bent down to where Luke had left his phone that had buzzed once again. She switched it off, putting it back down. "You're busy. How much does anyone need to talk about fucking football? Carry on. Don't mind me."
She waved a hand, as though giving Royal assent, and returned her hands to the wall. She looked as excited about the entire enterprise as Luke should look, but he couldn't feel excited. The shoes felt too tight and he didn't have the slightest idea how to dance and those mirrors seemed to taunt him. He still couldn't look, and only saw the concern on Deacon's stubbled features.
"When was the last time you looked in a mirror?" Luke could only shrug his shoulders at Deacon's query. "I mean, really looked."
"I don't know. I guess I look when I'm shaving, or brushing my hair." In truth, Luke couldn't remember truly looking in a mirror at himself. "I look when I'm dressing. You know, to make sure I don't look too horrible."
"Why? What do you see in mirrors that make you not want to look at yourself." Deacon had moved, turning Luke as he did so, until Luke had his back to the mirrors. "Take a second. Think about it. I know why, I just want to see if you do."
Luke did know. He'd always known. For as long as he could remember, mirrors had shown him something that he didn't want to see. Who he didn't want to see. There were times when it hadn't mattered so much. Times where looking in mirrors weren't important, or times when other things, other people occupied his mind and didn't remind him of the thing he had always known. Elaine had helped with that, but she had never known. He could never have told her. Now, he knew he needed to say it out loud.
"Because it was a lie. Because it was wrong." He felt tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he said the words for the very first time. "Because mirrors always showed a boy looking back and I'm not a boy! I'm a girl! I'm a girl."
Deacon's arms pulled Luke in and Luke could hear the howls erupting from his mouth as though coming from far away. Years of frustration flooded out, not only about how he saw himself, but about Elaine and about the night before and about Andy. It felt as though everything that had added weight to his shoulders now came falling away as his tears flowed and, right now, he wanted to go home. Where he felt safe. But, perhaps, safe wasn't what he needed.