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He forged his own body, blow by blow, against the anvil of the world. Two months before his 30th birthday, he referenced a worn copy of Lou Sullivan's Information for the Female to Male Cross Dresser and Transsexual and stabbed his own thigh with a needle. He knew he would do this every two weeks till he was too old for it to matter. Seven and a half months later, after calling his mother and coming out, he received a box from Aitken with his scant belongings and papers from home and a note saying never to return. He had anticipated this response in his cost-benefit analysis. It surprised him how little it hurt, to have no mother. Still, he figured it was more than enough reason to let loose for one night, which is how he found himself at Jackie's Place on Thanksgiving night in 1997.
He'd come here many times before. It wasn't his favorite bar, but it was Ed's bar; he wouldn't admit to himself that he hoped he'd be there that night. Izzy could have called him, but usually when he did he got Ed's answering machine, and he hated the very idea of recordings of his voice. He and Ed had known each other for a long time, going on about 10 years at this point. They’d met first at the gay union in college, then again after Ed had dropped out when Izzy took a risk and replied to a personals ad Ed had placed. That had been when he was still calling himself a butch. Those days, he’d played with his fair share of gay men; they would pretend they hadn’t fucked when they saw each other out. But Ed had become his friend, too, and then his client when Izzy basically just came to his work and went through his terrible attempt at keeping books.
When he saw a man in black leather at the bar, nursing a beer, black hair tumbling down his back, Izzy ignored that his pulse ratcheted up about 20 more beats per minute. He got annoyed at how much he needed sex or some kind of release, and how his desire sprang on him more frequently now. That rumor about T was true.
"Hey, Ed," he said, unwinding a yellow wool scarf from his neck. His girlfriend from college had knit it for him; it was another object from his past that remained when the giver did not. He hung it on the purse hook under the bar and sat down on the stool next to Ed. He kept his leather jacket on.
Ed tipped his beer glass at Izzy in greeting. He looked gloomier than usual. Izzy pulled out a ten dollar bill and placed it on the bar in front of him. Without a word, Jackie brought him a glass of water and a neat well whiskey, then made his change.
They sat like that in companionable silence. Bell Biv Devoe played from the tinny sound system and again, Izzy wilfully ignored how his heart was beating almost in time with the bounce snare. Ed got up and retrieved a cribbage board and cards. They cut; Ed got the lower card and started dealing.
"What brings you here tonight?" Izzy ventured. Ed just shrugged and discarded two cards in the crib.
Like any formerly Lutheran kid from the Iron Range, Izzy was more than competent at cribbage, but it often felt like Ed anticipated his every move. Ed laid down a 5, which brought the count to 15. He moved his peg. "It's a stupid colonizer holiday," Ed said. "Fucking racist."
Izzy nodded and laid down a queen. Ed countered with a king, and Izzy, with a little thrill, put down a 6.
"Mom sent me all my stuff," Izzy shared, "Told me not to come home again."
"I'm sorry, man," Ed said. Izzy thought briefly of how he had held Ed in his arms as he sobbed when he learned his mother died. They had reached show, so they revealed their hands.
"One for the nob," Ed commented, advancing his peg.
Izzy dealt the next hand and ordered another round. They chatted about Ed's business, Ed's quarterly tax payment, Ed's new fuck buddy who lived in St. Paul. "I'm spending the night too much because I don't want to drive or bus home," he said dryly. "He's getting attached."
"Break it off before winter gets colder or you'll stick around till April."
"Good point," Ed said. "Also, muggins."
"Fuck," Izzy said. He couldn't even keep track of his own points when playing with Ed. And he was Ed's fucking accountant.
Ed chuckled and put his free hand on Izzy's leg. He smiled at Izzy, and all he could do was stare at Ed's lovely mouth and the neat, short beard he could pettily admit to himself that he envied. That pretty much ruined any chance of him winning. He decided to play to lose, and he lost fairly quickly after that. Ed smirked as he pegged the game hole.
"Let's go back to my place," Ed offered.
***
Ed's apartment was a wreck, as usual. It was part of his charm. He was busy, always home late. His apartment was a crash pad. Sometimes their game was for Izzy to clean. Sometimes it wasn't even a scene and he'd find himself washing dishes.
Ed hung up their jackets and Izzy's scarf. Izzy took off his gloves. "What do you want to be called tonight?" Izzy asked.
"Just Edward. You?"
Izzy laughed a little, a bit giddy already. An Edward night was less predictable. "The usual," he answered. "But not my given name." He wanted to keep that particular tool of humiliation out of the toolbox tonight.
"Have you been fucking anyone raw at all?" Ed asked.
Izzy bit another laugh back. He hadn't been fucking anyone else at all recently, and he knew needed to start looking, or he'd be in Ed's bed until April. "No, you?"
Ed shook his head. They had gone to two funerals this month. "Do you want anything in particular tonight?"
Izzy always blanked at this question. He took a breath in and out. Ed was patient for once. "I'm feeling sad. I'd like to stay over after, in bed," he said.
Ed nodded. "That would be nice. Cold night. Same system as usual?"
"Yes, Edward," he said.
"Go get ready. Give me about 15 minutes."
Izzy went into the bathroom. He pissed, washed his hands, then his face. He stripped to his underwear–a nylon binder sewn by a friend and black cotton briefs with a homemade packer in the front pocket. He looked at himself in the mirror. Same cross under his eye from one particularly interesting night with Edward. Same wiry arms. He hadn't really examined his changing face yet, so he pored over his chin, neck, and upper lip for any new hair growth. It looked about as dark as before. Inexplicably, his body odor had radically changed, taking on a scent that he could only describe as citrus and burnt rubber. His throat felt thick and kind of sore, which he should have told Edward about, but he chalked it up to the T and the cold, dry air and the dust. They probably wouldn't kiss anyway, but he decided not to brush his teeth with Edward's toothbrush.
He took a deep breath, held it in, and released it. He already felt exposed, so he started the process of removing the binder. From the living room he heard Edward setting up a chair. His heart leapt as he pulled the binder over his head with great difficulty (it was always hard and sometimes he slept in it solely to avoid the bother, even though he knew it was bad for him). He also removed his briefs. He folded all his clothes neatly and stacked them up. Before opening the door, he called, "Edward? Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Izzy opened the door and walked out. He put his clothes on the table.
Edward was wearing his original clothes, a black T-shirt, leather pants, and a gold coin on a chain. He had also put boots back on, boots Izzy knew were for inside only.
"Sit in the chair, Iz," he said.
"Yes, sir."
Edward laughed gently, with a hint of disdain. "Already breaking rules? 'Yes,' or 'Yes, Edward,' please. No need for 'sir' tonight."
Izzy felt a thrill run down his spine. "Yes, Edward."
He sat in the chair, putting his hands on his knees and his feet on the ground. He looked over to the couch, where Ed had laid out some items. Smooth black nylon rope lengths. Safety scissors. A Wartenberg wheel. Condoms, gloves, and lube. Six 20 gauge, 1 inch hypodermic needles, unwrapped but capped, on a small tray. The needles being out made his gut drop. He'd gone to the U to see a talk about Catherine Opie's self-portraiture awhile ago, and it haunted him. The intensity of the portraits had come through even in their remediation as a transparency on a projector. Izzy had brought the bag of those needles over himself a long time ago, some leftovers one of the boys had given him. They were too small to draw up T and too scary for his friend to use for injection once he got some smaller ones.
"Look at me," Edward said. He studied Izzy, and Izzy returned the gaze. Edward was as inscrutable as ever, dark eyes wide, his expression oil on troubled waters.
Izzy admitted to himself that part of the pleasure of their play was having Edward's undivided attention. The man was scatterbrained and flighty. He was Izzy's most difficult client. He lost receipts, forgot to charge cancellation fees, forgot to pay bills. His address book was a mess–crammed with lovers, clients, friends, and family from all over. He wasn't a great listener, though he was deeply loyal. Izzy often felt like a vessel for Ed's feelings, while–
Edward snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Where did you go, space cadet?"
This was a mixed signal. "Edward, are you stopping?"
"No," Edward said. "I apologize. I didn't mean to confuse you. You weren’t paying attention."
"I am now.”
"Checking in."
Izzy scanned his brain and body. "Very green."
Edward nodded, smiling a bit, a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Simple ropes tonight," he said. "Look forward and relax." He took the lengths of rope. Then, he spread Izzy's thighs with his hands; Izzy automatically aligned his feet with the legs of the chair. Edward efficiently tied his ankles to them. He stood and positioned Izzy's arms behind the chair, then tied them together, checking that he could insert two fingers into the restraint.
"Move a bit."
Izzy wiggled his shoulders, lifted his arms backwards a little, and rotated his legs slightly.
"Good. Can you snap, Iz?"
Izzy snapped his fingers.
"Sorry again for the snapping earlier."
Izzy made a little moue; he wanted to move on, not break the flow with unneeded apologies. Edward laughed at him, catching the drift.
Edward retrieved the Wartenberg wheel. He tested the pressure he wanted to use on the back of his hand. He kneeled in front of Izzy, so that they were both at face height. He rolled the wheel horizontally over Izzy's collarbone. Izzy opened his mouth and his breath began to stutter. The tiny points on the wheel left pricks of sweet pain that quickly faded as they moved linearly in the wheel's path. Ed made passes, moving slowly down Izzy's chest, stopping almost above his nipples.
"Color?"
"...Green. Yellow-green."
"Remember to snap if you need to. I'll watch you carefully."
Izzy watched Edward contemplating his next move for a brief moment. He was studying Izzy's chest in a way that was transformative. Already, he felt like he could see his body through Edward’s tattoo artist eyes, like a workable object, not just a short, scrawny man with soft breasts. Instead of being a heavy physical and existential weight, in this space, under Edward's scrutiny, his chest was a expanse of possible sensation. Via Edward's work, he could breathe.
Ed started with his left nipple, rolling the wheel over gently. Izzy cried out, trying to choke in the sound so the neighbors wouldn't complain (Edward got a lot of letters from the apartment manager). The tiny pricks over his nipples were bright, almost hot, and didn't fade as quickly. The hairs around his nipples, soft but coming in darker, stood on end. When Edward moved to his right nipple, his brain halted the undercurrent of worries and undone tasks. The relocation of the pain short-circuited him. His breathing was labored, and tears streaked his cheeks.
Edward put the wheel back on the sofa. He watched Izzy for a moment, gauging him. Then, he bent towards his left nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He worried it with his teeth for what felt like several lifetimes. He brought his hand to Izzy's right nipple, pinching it in similar preparation. Izzy was going to die right here, right now, if Edward didn't–
Edward bit down on Izzy's nipple hungrily. He opened his mouth and sucked more of the nipple in, then drawing it out between his teeth. The pain was brutal and excruciating. Izzy wanted to scream, would have if they were somewhere that he could. Briefly he was furious that he couldn't. He could feel how wet he was against the seat of the chair but was too far gone to feel any shame or worry about it.
For symmetry's sake Edward repeated this on the other side. The pain abating on one side and blooming on the other slid Izzy into a raw, red space. His voice cracked with one of his moans; Ed looked up at him when this happened, but Izzy eyes were shut tight, tears streaming from the corners.
Izzy felt wet and wrung out all over when Edward finished his ministrations. "Checking in," he said. "I'd like to try the needles."
Izzy shuddered. "Green."
Edward nodded solemnly. He took a hair tie off his wrist and pulled his hair into a bun. He put on the gloves. The white latex looked wan against Edward's brown wrists and arms in the light of the living room floor lamp. He placed the tray near Izzy's foot.
They looked at each other for a moment. Izzy's breathing was still irregular. Edward leaned in and kissed Izzy gently on the corner of his panting mouth.
"Yellow-red," Izzy said. "Orange."
Edward nodded and Izzy looked at a spot on his hairline to avoid whatever expression was passing over Edward's face as he waited a beat for things to level out.
“Color?”
“Green.”
"Ready now?" Edward asked.
"Yes."
Edward again considered Izzy's chest again. The wheel had left a few lines of scattered dots. Izzy’s skin was blotchy, pink, and sweaty. He pinched the skin of Izzy's chest several inches above his nipple, just enough for the right depth. He inserted the needle swiftly; a sharp swift pain on entry and exit. The orange plastic needle hubs looked almost decorative. When he looked down, he could see the shaft of the needle through the raised skin. At the exit point where the bevel emerged, a dot of blood oozed.
When he had told a friend he'd done some needle play with Edward, Izzy's friend had blanched and said it was a bridge too far. Compared to the wheel and the biting, this pain was negligible. After fifteen shots Izzy was already a pro at self injection. It didn't really hurt. The real pain was mental–breaking through the idea of a needle going in and out, like you needed something hemmed or mended on your body. You had to admit to yourself you could do with some editing. Most people weren't tough enough to think about that.
Edward arrayed three needles on each side of Izzy’s chest in a neat vertical line. He sat back on his ass, knees up and ankles crossed, and admired his work. "Do you want me to get a mirror?"
"No, Edward. I can see them fine from here."
"I'm going to get a glass of water."
When Edward returned, he had a glass of ice water with a straw. He offered Izzy the first drink. Izzy drank a third of the water in greedy sips. Then Edward sat back again in the quiet, looking at Izzy as if he were a portrait for several minutes. He drank the rest of the water.
"Well, I'm about done. What do you say, mate?" Ed asked.
Izzy nodded. Ed carefully removed the needles and capped them. He rustled a sharps container from the jumbled box of sex supplies and dropped the needles in, then took off the gloves and threw them in a small trash can nearby. Adroitly, he untied Izzy, who wiggled and stretched. Ed threw everything from the scene except one condom and the bottle of lube into the box as well.
"Want to fuck?" Ed asked.
"Yeah. Let me put my binder back on."
"You'll get blood on it."
Izzy rolled his eyes. "I know how to get bloodstains out."
“I’m sure you do.” Ed laughed, shaking his head. "Ok, but take your binder off before we sleep."
When Izzy joined him on the bed, Ed now naked, they fucked quickly and efficiently. Izzy kind of hated fucking, though he liked that Ed liked it, and he liked that Ed had never blinked about him being a man even though they do this sometimes.
When they were done, the world tried to overtake Izzy, but it was held at bay for just a little while longer. Ed helped him pull the binder over his head, and they settled into bed next to each other, side by side on their backs. "Fuck, Ed," Izzy said sleepily, the afterglow still washing over him in subtle waves.
"Yeah." Ed let out a sigh. "Wish I had some smokes." Ed hooked his foot under Izzy's ankle.
"Well, I'm glad you quit."
Ed laughed. "Every minute you spend in Jackie's is basically smoking one cigarette." He turned toward Izzy. “Hey, face me.”
Reluctantly, Izzy flipped onto his back. He crossed his arms under his chest and stared at the ceiling.
“Close enough,” Ed says, “Let me touch you a little bit.”
Izzy relented. Ed touched his soft stomach, grazed the aftermath of their time tonight, touched Izzy’s cheek. Izzy nuzzled into his hand.
“You got some whiskers coming in,” Ed said softly.
“Not more than I could have already grown,” Izzy replied. He turned on his side. The magic Ed could weave around his chest had faded. He felt the wrongness of his body acutely in the comedown and usually just wanted to go the fuck to sleep.
“We could throw a party at Jackie’s to raise money for your surgery,” Ed said. “I already asked her, and she said anytime.”
Izzy shrugged. “I’ve got a lot of work to do on that still. Stupid rules about “real-life experience” I’ll have to lie about and at least 5 more months on T. But that’s a good idea, when it’s time.” He ventured a hand to touch Edward’s face. Ed kissed the palm of his hand. “There’s a guy who just started doing them in the Twin Cities last year. So at least I won’t have to go all the way to Chicago.”
“You’ll let me take care of you after, won’t you?” Ed asked.
“Sure,” Izzy said. “I’ll put a schedule together and you can be on it.”
“It will be different after,” Ed said. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes, Edward. I suppose it will.”
Ed sat up, and rustled in the drawer of his bedside table. “Hey, I know it’s not Christmas, yet, but I might as well give this to you now before I lose it. Spent 10 whole dollars on it at St. Vinnys. Real silver apparently. A treasure.”
Izzy sat up to face him, leaning a bit against his shoulder. Ed handed him a claddagh ring, a crowned heart held by two hands.
Izzy tried to put it on, but it wouldn't go over the first knuckle of any of his fingers. “It’s too small.”
“I got it more for the symbolism,” Ed said, pushing Izzy a bit. Izzy swung back and laid his head on Ed's shoulder. “Don’t you know what it means? It’s supposed to be one of those things from your people. A claddagh.”
“I’m Cornish or English if anything and my family's mostly just stupid white American now. This is an Irish thing.”
“Meh, all the same to me,” Ed said, mostly joking. “It’s a heart for love, a crown for loyalty, and hands for friendship. Put it on a chain. Or you can wear it with your cheeky little neck bandanas, like a bolo tie.”
Izzy turned the ring around in his hand. Love, loyalty, friendship. He could accept those things from Ed.
Ed switched off the lamp and settles under the covers. He didn’t move to hold Izzy, because he knew better. Ed turned on his side. Izzy tucked himself into a ball facing the other way, his chest smarting. He was not a cuddler but he could deal with their backs touching.
"Night, night," Ed said.
"Goodnight, Edward."