Becoming Bi

 

My best friend Dave tells me we’d get a lot more sex if we went bi.

Since I’m 14 and he’s 13 and we haven’t had any sex at all, this would be a vast improvement.

We’re not even sure exactly what Bi is, and our understand of sex is what we glimpse sneaking peeks at my uncle’s copy of Playboy.

I’m jerked off exactly twice. Dave does it more than he will admit.

I vaguely connect Bi with being gay, a word Dave would never use, even in private, but we both know gay means having sex with another man.

How does someone get to be Bi, I ask.

Dave says he knows someone who might teach us, a woman his mother knows, who he has come to call his aunt, though she’s not related.

Teach us? Are there rules to being Bi? And will be really get more sex if we learn how?

On the off change he may be right, I accompany him. I definitely want to get some sex before I get too old.

His aunt lives in an old house on the east side of town, in a once respectable neighborhood that since gone to seed.

We need to take two buses to get there, and up a very high hill on top of which the house sits.

It looks haunted.

I tell Dave I want to go home.

He calls me chicken; so, I change my mind.

When we get to the porch Dave rings the bell, the echo of which resounds deep inside, followed by the clatter of footsteps. When the door opens, we see a very pretty girl, older than us, maybe 20, Dave giving me a shit-eating grin and says, “See, things are already looking up.”

Only it all feels a bit strange to me, especially the girl, but before I can put my finger on exactly what, she skips off to get the “mistress,” who turns out to be a much older woman (maybe in her 40s), dressed almost all in black, with black hair, black eyelashes and a penetrating stare.

Dave says this is his aunt; I think she is a witch.

She smiles when she recognized Dave – but it is a cold smile, and I’m uncomfortable with the sideward glance she gives me.

I leave it to Dave to explain what we want.

Her smile changes, not any more friendly, but amused, as her eyes dialate and I see our reflection in them, we, looking very much like the lost sheep we are.

I nudge Dave again, titling my had towards the door as if to make my case again to go home.

He ignores me.

The woman tells us to follow her as she takes us up a large set of stairs, overhead there is a chandieller and I think of the horror movies Dave and I sometimes watch on TV at home.

The room might have been a living room once, but has since been converted to something darker, racks of clothing in one corner, and an assortment of tables, chairs, benches and such around the room, chains hanging from some of these.

The woman pauses near the racks of clothing and looks back at us, her dark brows rising like question marks on her forehead.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks.

Before I can say no, Dave jumps in and says “Definitely,” perhaps thinking if we do this we might actually meet someone from the pages of Playboy.

“It will take some time,” the woman said. “You’ll have to return her often to get trained.”

“Trained?” I ask, thinking maybe Dave had actually hit on something, when in the past all his schemes came to naught.

“We’ll start you off simply, with the basics, and later we can move on to the more sophisticated things.”

She studies us for a moment, then reaches onto one of the racks, coming up with two pink panties.

“Try these on,” she says. “They look like they will fit.”

“Those are girls panties,” I say.

“”Exactly,” the woman says. “You’ll wear them under your regular clothing to get used them. Later, we can fit you for sleeker things, dresses and braziers.”

“Why would we want to do that?” I asked, my voice shrill.

“To get used to become girls. You did say you were serious about this, didn’t you?”

I want to say that I want a girl to have sex with, not to become a girl, more than a little confused.

Did Bi mean becoming a girl? Or did it mean something else?

She seems to want to make us into something other than what we assumed, and I nudge Dave again, who is like a deer caught in headlights, is staring at the panties as if he’s tempted to put them on.

“Dave!” I said tugging at his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

But still he doesn’t move, even when I try to pull him. He just stares.

She’s his aunt, not mine, so I don’t have to stay. Giving him one more chance to come with me, I then head back the way we came.

I don’t want to be bi, I tell myself as I rush out the front door and down the long hill back to the bus stop.  I don’t want to wear girl’s panties. I just want to have sex.

I don’t hear from Dave for a couple of days, then see him on our way to school. He looked uncomfortable. He would not meet my gaze, but kept tugging on his jeans as if they were too tight. I don’t want to know why, and we never talk about it again, although sometimes when I stop at his house his mother tells me he’s not home.

“He went up to see his aunt,” she says.

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