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Authors Note: This one is a bit longer than usual, but expect plenty of story before the dirty bits. There are DDLg themes, Transgender characters, Interracial couplings, and a fair bit of romance. If any of this is unappealing, I’d suggest another story. As with a some other stories I’ve written in the past, this includes lyrics from a song. I included a citation in case you’d like to listen along.
Suggested listening: “Bilingual by Jose Nunez”
Part One:
Malik wasn’t a chart-topping twitch streamer. On the contrary, he was considered to be exceedingly mediocre. His regular viewer count was in the hundreds, though at any given time he rarely had more than a dozen people watching. Every single day, without fail, I was one of those dozens. You see, Malik and I grew up in a little town on the east coast, next door to one another. He was my neighbor, though at eight years older he was more of an older brother than a friend. His younger sister, Akilah, was my only friend.
Unfortunately, when I was ten we had to move away.
Dad died and mom tried to remarry to any guy who could support the two of us. We jumped from town to town as she burned through a list of suitors. It’s hard to blame them, as who would be eager to take in a single mother and her constantly sick child. I knew I was a burden and had come to accept that.
I’ve had an eventful life, to say the least. I’ve been in and out of hospitals since I was a kid, for various reasons. This was particularly true in my middle school and elementary years. While bedridden, the one bit of solace in my day was watching my neighbor’s new ‘Let’s Play’ video on iTube. It was one of my few connections back to my hometown, and while I had trouble making new friends with our constant moving, it was nice to know I always had a friend in him.
Malik and I didn’t actually talk much. I could hear the pain in his voice when I talked about things at home, eventually, I started lying about my day or ignoring the topic altogether. Unfortunately, we drifted apart. Perhaps it was the age gap or the physical distance, but our conversations became strained until we stopped talking altogether. Once every couple of years I still got texts from his number, but gutless as I was I never responded. Instead, I was content to share his company anonymously through his streams.
A few years back, about when I turned seventeen, Malik hit it big. His channel blew up for some reason, and I started seeing his face everywhere online. He went from a handful of daily viewers to hundreds of thousands. I could not have been more proud of him, though a part of me ached that our special bond had become a little less special.
I was halfway through my senior year, just a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, when I got the call that changed everything. A guidance counselor pulled me aside at the end of the day, as I was getting ready to go home. I could see the pity and fear in her eyes. She led me to a room with a few other people, where they dropped the bomb that my mother had killed herself. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to go home, so they asked me if I had anywhere to go.
Now I have a couple aunts and uncles, no one I know that well, but I’ve got family. Part of my problem was that, in the Midwest, finding a family willing to take in a sickly little transgender girl like me wasn’t going to be easy. That’s right. Not only am I anemic, constantly ill, with tragic luck of Shakespearean proportions, but I was cursed with this stupid body.
Which brings us to the issue of my new residency.
It was hard enough getting my mom on board, let alone convincing my estranged red-hatted family. With nowhere else to turn, I dialed the only other number saved in my phone. I paced back and forth in the empty counselor’s room, as they had given me some space to figure things out. Equal parts fear and hope dawned on me as I heard the other line connect.
“Hello?” Came the familiarly deep timbre from the other end of the phone.
“H-Hey,” my response came weakly, my voice breaking under the strain of my emotions.
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”
Right. He’d been on the cusp of adulthood already the last time I’d seen him in person, and through his streams, it was easy to feel as though I never lost contact. That wasn’t the case, of course, as he’d hardly heard of or from me in the better part of a decade. Not to mention the sheer degree to which I’d changed. I was far from the chubby boy he’d know eight years ago.
“I-It’s Asher… kind of,” I explained, stumbling over my words.
“Donut!” Malik exclaimed, causing me to wince. It had been an affectionate nickname in my childhood, which many used to tease me, making it a bitter-sweet to hear. “What do you mean kind of?”
“It’s h-hard to explain,” my voice wavering as I clutched to the quickly dissipating fragments of strength I still had. “M-Mom’s gone… I need a place to stay.”
“Shit, Ash,” he murmured, his tone turning serious.
As soon as the words fell from my lips, I could Kartal Esmer Escort feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “I-I really need a p-place to stay,” I stammered, whatever calm exterior I managed to maintain crumbling as I sniffled over the line.
“Of course, yeah man I can make room for you. How are you going to get here?”
I hadn’t thought of that. There was an extended silence as I panicked over how to proceed. Malik was halfway across the country, how exactly was I supposed to get to him? What was I thinking of calling him?
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out. I can take care of the plane tickets and we can figure out the rest later.”
But what about my home? All my things? What about the school, or my mom? The panic began to manifest itself as a lump in my throat. I was beginning to regret calling him without thinking it through. “A-actually,” I started, interrupting him to tell him I changed my mind.
“I said we would figure out the rest later, alright?”
I took a moment to breathe, collecting myself. “Okay.”
“Send me your information, I’ll have you here tonight.”
True to his word, he did take care of everything. I stayed with the counselor at school for an hour or so while he booked a last-minute flight. We made a brief stop by my house, so I could pick up some basics, and then I was driven directly to the airport. It was a strange whirlwind of emotions to be caught up in. Grief was the most overwhelmingly prevalent, of course, along with a sense of fear at meeting Malik. Still, a part of me was excited to see him and return home.
A car was waiting at the airport to bring me to his house. Apparently he was doing well for himself, with his new gained popularity, and had moved to the upper city limits to one of the nicer neighborhoods. As neither of us had come from money, it was a strange thing to see. Malik’s house was massive for my standards. Though only one story tall, the building was sprawling and expansive. It was strange to think that this would be my home, at least for the time being.
I approached the door, ringing the bell. I waited nervously, clutching my backpack and belongings with clammy hands. The door swung inwards as Malik rushed to greet me, but he froze half a step out of the frame. “D…Donut?” He asked incredulously.
Clearly he was in a state of shock, though I couldn’t blame him. The last we’d met I had been some chubby little runt, the annoying boy next door who clung to him because he had no friends. Far from fat, on the contrary, I was now fairly skinny for my size. My height was still diminutive, though now it played more to my favor, as did my slight and feminine facial features. My straight, jet black hair fell at about my shoulders, though tucked into a ponytail as it often was.
Having come right from school, with only a brief stop at home, I was still wearing some of my more masculine clothing. My sweatshirt hung loosely from my lithe frame, the baggy garment hanging to almost my knees and making me look like a girl wearing her boyfriend’s clothing. Below I wore comfortable slim fit jeans, and a pair of black converse scuffed all to hell. I looked up at him, my pale blue eyes stained with tears as I clutched the hem of my sweatshirt nervously.
“H-Hey,” I croaked, my voice breaking before breaking to an all-out sob. It was hardly the way I imagined our reunion, but I had been holding my emotions in since we had talked on the phone now hours back.
Malik ushered me inside, carrying my things as he murmured comforting words to me. Once we were both inside, he dropped everything and gave me a hug. I was a little shocked. He had always been the type, and it was common enough for him to hug me when I was younger, but it was surprising from him as an adult. He had grown to a towering six-two, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. There was no wondering how he got big online, though I was sure his humor and gaming finesse didn’t hurt.
His arms wrapped around me, the deep chestnut hue of his skin sharply contrasting my pale alabaster complexion. At only five-foot-four, I was dwarfed in his embrace. Not that I was complaining.
There was a bit more to our distance than only our physical proximity, and our difference in age. You see, I was totally in love with the guy.
It happened young, and at first, I figured it was just some childhood crush. As I got older, however, the urge only became stronger. Even given the events of my day, it was hard to focus on anything other than his Adonis-like form, and it made my knees weak. Weak enough, it turns out, to give way beneath me entirely, leaving me to crumple like a sack of potatoes as he released me from his hug. Malik apologized profusely, of course, helping me to my feet and urging me to sit down.
After he brought what few belongings to my room, Malik joined me on the couch. I felt small, both due to the cavernous living-room and the giant man next to me.
“You’ve, uh, changed,” he observed stiffly, causing to giggle. It was so Kartal Eve Gelen Escort unlike him to be so awkward, it was refreshing to see.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied, managing a subdued smile.
“It is,” he assured me, his eyes flickering downwards to take me in again. “It definitely is,” he repeated.
Malik was a striking guy, from his clean-cut beard to his professional fade. He had classically handsome features, with hazel eyes that I found enrapturing. Those deep emerald pools, cast with amber rays like rich veins of gold, were easy to get lost in.
“You’ve changed a bit too. I hear you’re famous.”
“Ah, I dunno about famous,” he chuckled. “I’ve been doing well for myself.”
“I-I know, I watch your channel.”
“Since when?”
“Since I moved away,” I admitted
“Oh shit, that long?”
“I’m a big fan,” I replied, absently plucking at a loose thread on my sweatshirt. His hands reached down, resting on mine and ceasing the nervous tick. There’s plenty of them, as my hands just can’t seem to sit still when I’m anxious. Did he actually remember that?
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to,” he said suddenly, giving my hand a squeeze. “You got a short fuckin’ stick in life, but you’re like a little…” He paused, catching himself and turning to me for help.
“Sister,” I managed timidly.
“You’re like a little sister to me,” he began again with a beaming grin. “I’ll take care of you.”
As nice as it was to hear him refer to me as his little sister, it was also mildly disappointing. I didn’t want him to think of me as a little sister, though the constant tears and less than tantalizing apparel didn’t help her case.
The next few days were an adjustment period. I woke up the following morning, jet-lagged and emotionally exhausted. I went on to spend the next two weeks or so in intermittent sobbing fits as I can’t to terms with the loss of my last familial ties. Malik was always patient and did not push me to return to school before I was ready. This was a blessing, as I was terrified to go to school at my new home. I was never one for socializing, and the thought of diving into a new school halfway through the year, or God forbid repeating a year, scared the shit out of me.
Understanding my situation, Malik worked with my old school to agree to allow me to complete the last of my degree online, earning my high school diploma.
Over the first few weeks of living with Malik, I grew to think of it as a home. Of course, he was constantly busy filming new videos, a process that I was fascinated by. I tried not to get in his way too much, though it was too intriguing not to watch. A few times I got caught in the camera frame, including one time which made it to publication without being caught. I thought the swarm of speculative comments about a woman’s shoe at 7:32 were funny, and it was a strange rush to be included in his videos, if only in such a meager way.
Malik did not find it quite as funny as I did, and banned me from being in the room for his videos from that point on.
As I became more comfortable living with Malik, and thanks to a generous allowance he provided me despite my objections, my wardrobe began to quickly diversify. Sure, I still wore my baggy sweatshirts every so often, but more often than not I trended towards shorts and tank tops. I also collected quite a few dresses, as well as a sizeable amassment of lingerie. I didn’t get out much, or care to, so wearing these clothes became a daily affirmant of my own femininity. So did Malik’s glances, which lingered longer and longer.
At first, I assumed I was mistaken, but there was no misunderstanding the look in his eye when I wore a short summer dress around him.
Malik didn’t date, at least not so far as I knew. He didn’t bring partners of any gender home and never alluded to having any romantic prospects. My guess was he was too busy to date. As simple and fun as a job streaming games might seem, the work he put in behind the scenes was grueling. He put in long hours, often sequestering himself to his room. I took it upon myself to begin cooking his meals, as he struggled to eat properly otherwise.
We fell into a strange but comfortable routine, with me as his acting housewife and caretaker. It was a strange relationship but I cherished it.
Around five months after I had moved in, I earned my diploma, receiving a digital copy a few days later. Malik was so proud of me. Though I maintain that graduating highschool is not some Herculean feat to be celebrated, he insisted on a small party. Apparently, in his mind, a small party was himself and I staying at home and eating pizza, drinking alcohol, and smoking weed. The last bit surprised me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be my guardian or something? You’re supposed to catch me smoking and lecture me or something.”
It had been a bit of work, but Malik was legally my guardian now. None of my family cared to claim me, which eased the process. Fortunately, with Kartal Evi Olan Escort him as my guardian, I was able to start hormones, something I had dreamed about for the last few years. It seemed out of reach, but with his consent and funding, I was able to get there.
“You watch too many after school specials,” he chuckled. “I was drinking by your age anyways.”
“Whatever you say, old man.”
“Is that any way to speak to your elder?”
I rolled my eyes, suppressing a giggle. We took our seat on the couch, eagerly gorging ourselves on pizza and beer. Lightweight that I was, I tried to take it easy on the libations. A couple of hits and a bottle or two later and I was in a comfortable place, and curled up under Malik’s arms. It was a strangely intimate situation, but it had become a regular occurrence and now felt natural.
I found myself musing about the oddity of our relationship. He treated me as a little sister more often than not, though he was technically my guardian and to an outside observer he seemed more like an adoptive father. In private, our relationship was slightly too intimate to be that of a brother and sister, with glances and touches which idle on the body a little longer than is proper. I giggled at the strangeness of it all, slightly inebriated in the arms of my guardian-brother-boyfriend.
“What’s so funny down there?” He inquired, briefly glancing down before turning his attention back on the television.
“Nothing. I love you.”
The words slipped so naturally from my lips that I hardly felt the weight of them, which became obvious as I felt Malik tense against me. There was a moment of excruciating silence before he responded.
“I love you too, Donut.”
The addition at the end seemed to carry some significance as if he was clarifying his stance as an older brother expressing his affections than a lover. I felt my heart drop. Though I knew it wasn’t possible, a part of my was still disappointed to know he didn’t see me amorously.
“H-Hey, I, uh, gotta go lay down,” I quickly dismissed myself. His arm seemed hesitant to let me go, though that was likely wishful thinking. “The alcohol and weed went right to my head, thank you though.” I flashed him a false grin. “I’ll be out a bit later did dinner.”
I knew I had to block out the part of me that pined after him, but at that moment I was tipsy, a little high, and horny beyond belief. I just wanted to masturbate to the thought of him one more time. I left the door open knowingly as if daring him to peer inside.
I was wearing a pair of loose jogging shorts and a tank top, with only a pair of green lace panties underneath. Green was Malik’s favorite color and happened to comprise the majority of my wardrobe.
While I enjoyed one last self-indulgent fantasy, I imagined Malik watching me from the door. I slid my shorts down in an exaggerated manner, lingering with my pert backside thrust out towards the open door. Though I was fairly skinny and lacked the curvaceousness of some natural-born women, I was reasonably proud of my ass. Growing up as a fat kid, I was determined to change my image before coming out. By the time I hit high school I was in relatively good shape.
I straightened out, taking a minute to watch myself in the mirror. I wished I could see the door, but part of the fun was imagining him there when he almost certainly wasn’t. I ran my hands along the sides of my panties which hugged the soft curvature of my hips. Most of the exercise I did was aerobic or cardio, which lent to a lean muscular build, particularly in my lower half. As excitement built, fueled by my exposure and my fantasy, so did the small bulge between my legs.
For a moment, I wondered if Malik would find it off-putting. It was never a part of myself I hated. It wasn’t large, veiny, nor masculine, so it didn’t trigger too much dysphoria. As most of my body was, particularly after hormones, my sex was hairless, for which I was grateful. I ran my fingers delicately along with the lace package, teasing myself. Would he see that part of me as feminine, or would he be like so many others who find it repulsive?
I quickly stopped myself, as my incessant doubt was killing my own mood.
Instead, I removed my shirt. I crossed my arms, peeling the cotton garment from my body in slow, seductive motion. My hips began to sway instinctively. I don’t know if it was my inebriation, the mood, or my dwindling reason, knowing I would need to muffle my voice, but I decided to turn on music. I had a playlist built for fucking, not that it had seen any use outside of my own endeavors. It was full of booming bass, catchy beats, and crass language. All my favorites. I cast my tank top aside, skipping over to the Bluetooth speaker on my dresser in only my immodest underwear.
Also in my dresser was another product of Malik’s allowance, a sizeable seven-inch rubber phallus, sporting veins, and a bulbous head, with a suction cup at the base. In the past few months of living there, I learned to pad the back of my headboard. That way, I was able to attach the dildo directly to the wooden base and fuck myself as I pleased, which was often. I was a young girl with no outlet, nor possible prospects, other than silicone companionship. Needless to say, I was pent up, though I usually had the decency to be quiet and discreet.
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