I lean in, just a little, letting him get a whiff of the vanilla. “It’s the name my mom gave me,” I lie, smoothly. “You got a problem with it, honey?”
I look in the small, cracked mirror above the mop sink. The mascara is a little smudged. The wig is still perfect. The lipstick is faded from smiling. I look at the person staring back. She is not a parody of femininity. She is not a kink. She is not a joke to be laughed at by drunk frat boys.
His smirk widens. “I’ll have an IPA,” he says. “And… what’s your name, sweetheart?”
He knows. Or he suspects.
There it is. Not a fetish. Not a trick. A recognition. I let my mask slip, just for a second. I let him see the boy I was—the one who used to stare in the mirror and feel nothing—and the woman I am becoming. The me that exists in the hyphen between genders.
I cap the pitcher. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I text back: “Tired. Pretty. Yours. 30 mins.” SissyPov - Jackie Femboy Hooters Hottie - POV-
The end of the shift is just the beginning of the dream.
He shrugs. “You move different. You’re… sharper. More confident.”
The Night Shift at the Crossroads
“Jackie.”
The tension is delicious. It’s a rubber band stretched tight. The other guys look confused. The groom just stares at my legs. The best man backs down, laughing. “No problem at all. Jackie it is.”