Chapter 2
2003
Steph skipped the rest of her school day, coming home three hours early. She snuck in the backdoor, tiptoeing across the warped parquet floors, praying her mother was sleeping.
"Stephanie Grace Rogers," Sara Rogers snapped.
Steph stopped dead in her tracks, and turned slowly to face her mother. Her nose gave a tell-tale drip onto her shirt, and she clapped a hand over her nose, hoping Sarah wouldn't notice.
Sarah just sighed. "Oh, honey. Another fight?"
Steph starting crying and Sara crossed the room to embrace her. "It wasn't my fault."
"I'm not mad, sweetie. I'm just worried about you."
After moving from DC, Steph promised that she'd really try to make it work this time. They'd moved five times in the last two years- and it hadn't always been Steph's fault. Sometimes it had been Sara's job, too. But they'd run out of school districts in DC, and Sara had run out of second chances. So they moved back to Sara's hometown, even though there wasn't any family there to move back to.
Steph wanted to tell her mother that she was trying, but the words were stuck in her throat.
Sara stepped away and made them both some tea to calm her down. Steph took her medicine, and when the school called to report her absence, Sara lied and said that Steph had gotten sick and she'd come to pick her up, and she was so sorry she'd forgotten to give a note to the receptionist.
Sara had pretty much given up on trying to discipline Steph, but she told her she was grounded for the rest of the day, just for the principle of the matter. Then Sara went back into her bedroom, which was really just the couch in the living room. Steph had the only real bedroom, which barely had enough space to move around her twin sized bed. She laid down for a moment until she thought her mother had gone back to sleep, then snuck back out of the front door. This time, Sara didn't catch her.
Although she hated school, home was only slightly better. Sara was always sleeping now, because the only job she'd been able to get was third shift, so Steph was always alone. The windows were all painted shut, and it smelled like sickness and reminded Steph of the multiple days a month she was sick enough to miss school, and she'd spend hours sweating the fever out on her bed. The AC didn't work, either, and the hottest days of the year were yet to come.
Steph followed a little dirt path behind the duplex, away from the one-way street, and down the hill from the train tracks where there was a little creek. Or, at least, when the water was high there was a creek- right now it was just a dusty little ditch. Steph hopped down the embankment, scuffing her bare feet on a sharp rock. It was better to get herself dirty rather than her shoes, because she could be cleaned and her broken body could heal, at least.
She found a few pretty rocks, following the twists and turns of the creek further from home. She passed by a clearing where sometimes teenagers would come and take beer. Surveying the area and seeing she was alone, she climbed up the edge of the creekbed and gathered some beer cans, popping the tabs off and saving them in her pocket for later.
A crunch in the woods made her startle like a deer, turning to see the source of the sound.
It was a teenager. She went to leave, annoyed her afternoon had been ruined, but then she saw it was the same boy who'd saved her from the bullies the other week. He hadn't seen her yet.
She took him in for a moment. He was attractive. Probably a football player. He probably had a pretty girlfriend who was just behind him, and they'd probably starting making out up against a tree any moment.
But he was alone, too. And he didn't have any beer in his hands or anything else to indicate that he'd come out here for any particular reason.
"Hi," Steph called out, eyes on the ground, preparing herself for the possibility he might pretend they hadn't even talked the other day, even though there wasn't anyone around to see them.
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there," Jimmy responded, giving her a warm smile, and maybe her heart skipped a beat or two.
"Do you live near here?" she asked.
"No, I live… I'm closer to the high school. I just thought it was nice out, and all of my friends are busy getting ready for that dance."
"You're not going?" Steph asked, surprised. She'd forgotten it was even a Friday.
"Nah. You're not either?"
She was confused for a moment, but remembered she'd lied and told him she was 14. In fact, her 13th birthday was in two months. He thought she was a freshman.
"You kidding? No one wants to go with me. They all laugh at me," she admitted. She wanted Jimmy to think she was cool, but he was going to find out soon enough, and then he'd treat her like she was a social disease, the same way everyone else did. She wanted to get over with.
"I don't see anything funny about you," he responded.
"I'm short," she started. "I get sick all the time. My family is poor and I can't make friends and everyone likes to pick on me."
"I'll be your friend," Jimmy told her.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. She'd had a few crushes on boys, but she knew exactly what would happen if she would ever admit it to any of them. Ew, gross, the freak likes me. There must be something wrong with me, she could imagine them saying. Then they'd catch whatever social disease she had.
"Steph!" She heard her mom calling from far in the distance, and she whipped her head around.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, checking her watch. It was almost 6 pm. "I have to go."
"But-" Jimmy started.
"I'm sorry. Meet you here tomorrow?" She called, and ran off without waiting for an answer.
The next day, Steph waited in the clearing, nervously checking her watch every ten minutes. She was trying to relax, sketching in her notepad, but her interior monologue wouldn't shut up.
He's not coming. You're stupid to even wait for him. Or worse, he's coming, but he's brought all his friends to point and laugh at you for thinking you actually made friends with someone. Just give up. You're never going to fit in anywhere.
"Whoa, that's good," Jimmy said of her sketch, startling her from her thoughts.
"It's called a plein air," Steph told him. "It means you sit down and draw what you see."
"Do you draw people?" Jimmy asked, sitting on the log beside her.
"Sometimes." She flipped back in the notepad, past math homework she'd only half done, to a sketch of her mother. It was one of the best she'd done, capturing her kind smile, her tired eyes, her messy hair.
"Is that your mom? You look like her."
Steph scrunched her nose. Sara was a beautiful woman, but she hated being told she looked like her. She thought she resembled her father more, although she'd only seen him in pictures from before her birth.
"Can you draw me?" Jimmy asked.
"Yeah, sure." Steph flipped to a new page. "It might be boring, though."
"That's okay." Jimmy pulled a bag of chips out of his backpack. "I brought snacks."
Steph's tummy rumbled, and she realized she'd forgotten to make herself anything since breakfast.
Wordlessly, Jimmy titled the bag towards her so she could take some. The gesture touched her more than she could say.
They chatted while Steph drew, and after a while she showed Jimmy the portrait.
"You're really talented," he told her.
She felt herself blush and hoped it didn't show. The artwork always came out better when she felt strongly about the subject. It had taken her years of drawing her mother to get her face just right, and she still couldn't make self-portraits that looked anything like herself. Yet somehow she had captured Jimmy- the mischievous glint in his eyes, his confidant smirk- on the first try.
"My mom thinks I should go to art school, but I want to be a firefighter."
"You know, I don't know what I want to be," Jimmy admitted.
"Don't you graduate in two years?" Steph asked, guessing his age.
Jimmy shrugged. "Everyone expects me to have my whole life planned out. I guess I'll go to college, but I don't know what for."
Steph could never go to college. Her mom hadn't gone, and wouldn't have the money to pay for it even if she worked three jobs, and her grades weren't good enough for scholarships. "What do your parents want you to do?"
Jimmy frowned, and she wished she hadn't brought up his parents. "My dad's a doctor. He wants me to go to SUNY because he got his degree there."
"Well that wouldn't be so bad. At least you'd have money, right?"
"I'd rather be poor and do what I want," he answered, but Steph disagreed. Having no money sucked.
Her tummy growled again, but Jimmy had finished off the last of the chips.
"Hey, do you want to come to my parent's for dinner? I bet they'd love to have you."
Meeting Jimmy's parents meant that eventually he might meet her mother, or god forbid their parents might meet each other, and the truth about their five year age gap would be out.
"I have to get back home," she lied. "But I'll meet you here tomorrow."
He didn't keep her waiting the next day, already there at 5:30 with a full picnic spread. Her wide array of food allergies prevented her from being able to eat about half the items, but she was grateful for the food, and even more grateful he hadn't pressed the issue about meeting his family.
The next week was the last week of school, and Jimmy couldn't hang out much, busy working on homework and turning in last assignments. They met the last day of school, and Jimmy gave her his summer sport schedule. There were at least two week days and every weekend they could meet up. Steph had summer school from failing two of her classes, but they were in the morning, so Jimmy didn't need to know. He was her only friend, anyway, and she'd rather have no summer break than be held back a year. In two years, when she went into 9th grade, Jimmy would be a senior, and they'd actually be in the same school. Maybe they could date then, she thought, as long as Jimmy still wanted to be seen with her.
2023
Steve had just finished filming a video. It had been a pretty successful stream; he'd gotten a sizable tip from one of his regular customers, and a new viewer he'd seen a few times had shown up again. Maybe the promise of a new regular. Her screenname was MommyInRedLeather, which was unusual. Steve tended to attract a gayer audience, but he wasn't complaining. He'd been spanking himself for her, with one of his wooden paddles with the word "SLUT" cut out, so he had little SLUT shaped bruises all over his right asscheek. He changed into more comfortable clothes, and took his phone off silent to check his notifications. He had two from Bucky.
Bucky: 5:15 pm. Hey, Steve. It's Bucky, your neighbor. There's a movie coming out tomorrow I wanted to know if you wanted to see, and maybe we could walk around the mall and grab sushi after.
Bucky: 8:37 pm. Or anything, really. If you don't want to see that movie or don't like movies we could just get some dinner.
Steve had seen the initial message, but he'd choked and hadn't opened it. Which wasn't fair to Bucky, he didn't want to freak the guy out. He'd asked him out after all.
But the thought of going out in public made him nauseous. If they left their apartments then Steve would have to explain his chronic pain and mobility aids and he didn't want to get into all that. It had been a good week, so he could always leave without the aids, but then if he burnt out too quickly he'd be stranded. There was just so much pressure on going out in public, walking around a mall, seeing if the sushi place accommodated his many food allergies, the list went on. He'd much rather just have their first date in, but he worried that would be too intimate and Bucky wouldn't be ready for that. Or too boring. Steve's last relationship hadn't lasted long. If a partner was willing to look past him being trans, then there was the sex work, the disability, the borderline agoraphobia, and it all almost seemed like more trouble than it was worth.
And Steve could have just thanked Bucky and bid him a good night and shut the door, and he wouldn't be in this predicament.
But Bucky was just so goddamn attractive. He was Steve's type to a T- taller, older, and bigger. Both with muscle and with fat. Bucky looked like he was in his mid-to late thirties. It was hard to tell exactly with his beard. He had a good three or four inches on Steve, but at least a hundred pounds on him. Probably closer to 150.
Steve mostly filmed BDSM and feminization content for the mass appeal, maybe sometimes he would do some more niche fetish if a viewer requested it. He'd done breeding kink, intoxicated, dumbification, oviposition, even worn diapers for the right client. There wasn't a lot he wouldn't do for the money-not that he needed it terribly, but because he had a dedication to his customers. He cared about them, in a transactional way, and the way they'd entrusted him with their secrets made him want to be the person to fulfill their fantasies. The job had started out as a guaranteed way to make money, but even after he'd saved enough to try and find a different job, he liked sex work. It was convenient for his disability, and his gender identity was embraced. He'd been able to hit every transition goal so far, and he could even afford phalloplasty, if he wanted to.
He'd cast a wide net and collected loyal customers that had funded his life for the last ten years, and he was grateful for that. But if he was making the content he really wanted to, he would be encouraging gainers. He worried there wasn't enough money in it to work with feedism alone, but if he dabbled in feedism content with his main platform, he might lose his audience. Sure, he was gay and liked beards and fat men were pretty well accepted in his corner of the internet, but not the way he wanted to do it. Whenever he was watching porn for himself he'd browse his favorite gaining content creators and fantasize about feeding a boyfriend. It was the gaining that did it mostly for him, and that was what had caused feedism to fail in any relationships he might have tried before. Most people he'd been with he hadn't even trusted enough to open up about his secret kink. If he was being honest, most relationships didn't even last long enough for them to learn about his normal secrets. Most people would assume that since his entire job was spanking himself on camera and calling strangers 'Daddy' that he must not have any hidden kinks.
And he'd dated fat men before, sure. He preferred them, even. And feedism was a big combination belly kink and caring for his partner kink and food as love and stuffing and feeding, but weight gain was the biggest part (pun intended) and no one had ever been willing to do that for him. His last boyfriend had gained about 30 pounds, healthy relationship weight he'd put on after already being on the large side, and he'd made it clear that he didn't like the way he looked then and had lost it all and then some. Then he'd broken up with Steve because he couldn't deal with all the meltdowns, and Steve didn't even blame him.
He could almost see a few months down the road, Bucky would be avoiding Steve's texts and then tell him he just couldn't handle the emotional rollercoaster anymore, and then it would be even worse because they'd still live next to each other.
Steve picked up his phone and swiped away Bucky's notifications.
Two weeks later, Steve's food delivery arrived. He waited until after he received the picture of his front door, and waited a few minutes more to ensure the driver was gone. Then he went and stepped out to pick up the bag, and as he bent over, met two gorgeous grey eyes.
"Bucky," he gulped nervously. Bucky was picking up his food delivery too, and it only made sense that the driver would have dropped off both their orders if they'd been placed around the same time.
If Bucky was offended that Steve had never responded to his texts, he didn't show it. "Steve! Hey, by the way, did you get the noise reminder email from the property managers? It was worded so vaguely that I couldn't tell if it was directed at me, or just all the tenants."
"No, I got it too. I think you're in the clear."
"Well, that's a relief. I was worried my yodeling practice had disturbed someone," he joked.
Steve laughed, despite himself. "That was a person making those sounds? I thought there was an exotic zoo that had opened up in one of the apartments."
"Don't ditch that idea yet. There's smells that come from 1105 sometimes that make me wonder."
"Oh, that's just Mrs Carter. She has some really blind old dogs that just pee all over the place. Don't let her corner you in the hallway, or she'll make you pies every night for a week."
"Please, more dessert is the last thing I need," Bucky chuckled, patting his tummy. Steve felt his mouth go dry and he couldn't help his eyes from going to the large bag of food Bucky held, at least three times the size of Steve's humble delivery. "The pandemic fifteen really hit me hard."
"You wear it well," Steve replied, before he could stop himself, and was Bucky blushing? "Listen," he stammered on. "I'm really sorry I never replied to your texts. I…"
"It's no big deal. Really. I've been kind of busy with work, to be honest. But no pressure." Like Steve hadn't been the one to ask in the first place.
"I appreciate that. But I shouldn't have left you hanging. I hardly leave my apartment at all, to be honest. I was hyper-vigilant back when the restrictions were really bad, and I haven't readjusted since."
"If you want to stay in, that's totally cool with me too. As you can tell, I love delivery, and well, I love food too. I thought maybe you'd want something public or more upbeat for the first date, but Netflix, and, uh, whatever, is perfect."
Steve grinned. Had Bucky been about to say Netflix and chill? "Are you doing anything tomorrow night?" He asked, because he wasn't letting himself flake out this time. He needed to commit to concrete plans without giving himself the chance to isolate and self destruct. He owed it to himself to try again.
"I am now," Bucky responded with a grin.