Engineering Moon Forth and Doctor Beam

Chapter 12

Here's the next one. For some reason, this fiction is getting convoluted, but hey, it just means there's more to come, right? I don't know if this fiction will ever end, because I'm really running out of idea and my imagination as well. I'll just write until the muse shoots herself in the head to escape agony.

Onward, brave comrades!

So, you know how time stands still when you lock eyes with the love of your life? I hear that's supposed to be good, like the two of you are in a world of your own with sparkles and singing birds whirling around. Well, with me, 'supposed to be' and 'actually is' do not share a resemblance.

For instance, let us talk about this scene right here. I am in a skirt, hairy legs and hanging package and all, standing frozen, my eyes wide in horror and disbelief, staring at Beam who is looking at me with.. surprise? Terror? I can't decipher anything because my brain has ceased all its operations. However, one thing is clear.

I am so fucked up.

"What.." Beam clears his throat a couple of times before he could even get anything else out, "what the hell?"

That's my line, man. (Just pretend that you didn't see me)

"You are dressed like a girl."

I can only give a rictus of a grin at that, because I can't talk. Seriously, had I any faculties left, I would have run away, P'Prem's plan be damned, and found a hole in the ground to hide in until Armageddon. Of all people in this world, Beam is the last person I wanted to see me like this! But no, I'm standing still as Beam peruses my form from head to toe, his eyes twitching and his fingers drumming an incessant beat on his legs.

"You make a very bad girl."

Is that a compliment? Insult? Do I even care?

"Why are you here?"

Finally, the part of my brain that controls speech sparks to life, but the neurons that send messages to my legs, still missing.

"Ying's on the volleyball team, so I'm here to see her." Of course, how could I have forgotten that as a dutiful boyfriend, Beam is obliged to show up to his girlfriend's activities. "I got here early, so I was wandering around.. and then.."

Yeah, and then. Me. I hate you, P'Prem, do you hear me? I will hunt you down before Nicky can ever get to you and fucking kill you, mafia style.

"This is not what it looks like!" I manage, "I don't do this often. At all, really. This is so not.. you know?"

Beam backs off a few steps and eyes me like he's going to call security and have me shipped off to the nearest jail cell. I don't blame him, how can I, I am pretty damned suspicious looking in this get up.

"What is it supposed to look like?" Good question to which I have no answer. "From where I stand, it looks like you're in women's clothing, and you don't know your own size."

Okay, fine. Criticize me because the uniform I'm wearing is not tailor made for my masculine figure. It's so not my fault that I had to hold up the skirt with a couple of safety pins since the zipper refused to go past my hipbone. Not my fault that the sweater is loose around the chest (rightfully so, no manboobs for me) and tight around everywhere else. And anyways, why am I rhapsodizing on the fit of the damned outfit? Beam really does make me into a raving retard, doesn't he?

All that aside, fact remains that I can't let him think that I do this regularly, like cross dressing is a hobby of mine or something. No, that is not acceptable, and I will blurt out whatever I need to in order to make him understand that I'm not what he thinks I am.