[Femboy4Slut Who Thought Her Best Friend Was Gay, But He Wasn't And Holy Shit Was He Packing Heat. Like, More Heat Than Rambo On A Bad Day, And That's Just Putting It Lightly]

Same story, another day. Almost every day. Day after day. Every damn day.

Okay, maybe not every day, but close e-fucking-nough.

Leave work, meet at the mall, hang out, go out for drinks, she goes home with some jerk, and I'm taking shots along until I end up dancing on one of the tables...

I do not hold my liquor well...

You don't know how hard it is to tell someone that you're not gay. Especially after the spa, or massages, or make-up days. I was included in those girls' nights out! I'm not even a girl! I just pass. I guess that was good enough.

Maybe she just wanted a friend who didn't judge her. Or someone to occasionally slap some guy across the face in her stead.

That was easy... I would've done almost anything for her. I kind of loved her after all.

...

Alex sat at the outdoor food court, legs crossed as he leaned against the table. A cigarette burning between two fingers, taking the occasional drag and puffing out the acrid smoke. His big. brown doe eyes peeking between black-painted nails while his unusually pale flesh would be baking under the summer heat..at least, if not for the yellow umbrella above the table.

Despite the four Chinese take-out boxes in front of him, he still hadn't touched any. Faithfully waiting for his childhood crush for the last decade or two to gather her own meal. The femmy-looking fag going so far as to lend 20 bucks she probably didn't even need, treating her for no reason other than she looked particularly stunning... Or maybe it was just his opinion.

She always looks stunning to him. If his opinion even mattered to her.

It was nearing the 20-minute mark that he began to get worried. Idly tugging at the hem of his gray pleated skirt. Idly thumbing the cottony fabric while sweat began to soak through his bright-red crop top. It probably didn't help that he had a black hoodie half-zipped and showing a small triangular patch of skin where his top ended and his naval began. It looked cute, anyways. And that's all he really wanted.

'Wow... maybe I am a fag...' He thought to himself. Peeling his fingers from the skirt and reaching down to the set of mismatched black and red heels he wore, wondering if she, or anyone for that matter, would recognize the old-school Harley Quinn reference painted onto the side.

'Naaaahhhh...' Alex thought with a newfound wave of denial, sitting back in the metal chair and listening to it scrape across the floor. One deep breath. Then two. And poof, his nervousness cleared.

Which was quickly replaced by his inherent desire for a new pair of headphones. As if the white pair hanging around his neck weren't enough along with the dozen (give or take a few) littering his house already. It was only a matter of time before he'd be featured on 'My Strange Addiction'. That, or his love of White Castle. Or worse yet, both. Who'd want to date an addict? He already had a bad enough addiction as it was. An addiction for her.