little t&a

sittin', drinkin', superficially thinkin'

He sat there on the mattress for longer than he needed to, staring at his hands, gaze traveling up his wrists to his forearms to his shoulders, sloping down dully from there to his cleavage. Assessing the same damages he'd gotten accustomed to over the last seven days. But it was different now. It wasn't an effort at calming himself down the way it had been at first, a bizarre sort of compare and contrast. Reassurance that he wasn't completely unrecognizable, if only to himself. He hadn't been male model material as a guy; he wasn't Playboy material as a girl. Same moles, same scars, same bad chin. Top-heavy like he'd always been. Basically devoid of a waistline like he'd always been. All the old hated imperfections had carried over, right down to the microtia. It had been a cold comfort then, but now he was ticking off each flaw as another demerit, another reason he might get turned down at the pass.

Intellectually, none of that was going to make a difference. It didn't take much for girls, if they wanted it. Not looks, not money, not anything. It wouldn't take much for him. He could get laid. It wouldn't even be the first time he'd fooled around with another guy.

It wouldn't even be the first time he'd fooled around with another guy while he was like this.

The door opened without warning. Paul jerked back on the mattress, scrambling unsteadily to his feet, expecting it to be Carol standing there, come back to throw another couple bitter words his way, or a drunken VIP.

"Paul?"

Instead, it was Ace. He was sweaty, with his shirt disheveled, belt and fly undone, hair slightly matted. No underwear, which wasn't surprising, but the sum total wasn't a sight he'd seen in awhile. He must have been in one of the other rooms earlier.

"Hey."

Ace did a bit of a double-take at the sight of him, eyes lingering on his chest before he seemed to right himself again, stepping fully into the room.

"Hey, listen, I saw a chick with freckles coming out of here crying, was that her?"

That sounded about right. Paul's stomach curdled.

"Yeah. I just talked to her."

"But you're not back." Ace had his hands out, gesturing towards his own imaginary breasts as if he needed to. Maybe he thought Carol had cursed him into thinking he was normal again. "She didn't turn you back."

"No kidding."

"What the hell did you tell her, man?" Ace paused. "What the hell did you do to her, anyway?"

"Nothing."

"'M not buying it. She's got Paul Stanley, Junior in the fucking crib at home, and she's mad he ain't got your eyes."

"There's no baby." No use explaining it to Ace. He wouldn't understand. Paul didn't think he got it himself, not really. Or maybe he just didn't want to.

Ace tilted his head.

"Whatever. Her husband leave her after she fooled around with you, then?"

"There's no husband, either. I just hurt her, that's all."

"Real specific. Well, if you won't tell me..." Ace drifted off idly, yanking a hand through his hair. Paul was oddly grateful that Ace hadn't bothered zipping his pants back up, not because he wanted a look at his dick, but because it was a weird bit of normalcy. A sign Ace actually saw him for who he was. "Do you wanna have me go after her? Fuck, Paulie, if she didn't think you were gonna pay her enough to fix you, then I'll—"