In only a few short months, I'd lost my best friend. Goddamned globohomo agenda, turned my friend into a fucking — Ben was a good guy; emphasis on 'was' and 'guy'. We'd been best friends for as long as I could remember catching bullfrogs by the pond, long nights of playing videogames and staying up until the bird's welcomed the morning — and had shared more memories than I cared to count. He'd always been there with me through thick and thin, and we told each other everything. At least I thought we did.
Ben took the summer to spend time with his mom out in California, a rare occurrence since their relationship had been somewhat estranged during the length of our friendship. 70 days. I hadn't seen or talked to Ben in 70 days; apparently that was all it took.
When 'he' returned, my scrawny little buddy — a Warhammer 40,000 spaz and 3-year running President of the high school 'videogame club' — had traded in his baggy t-shirts and sweatpants for skin-tight crop tops and short, plaid skirts. I almost hadn't recognized him. Hell, it was hard to with the small entourage of doting jocks, dweebs and loners alike who had mistaken him for a new girl. It wasn't that Ben was ducking me. On the contrary, he made it quite clear that he wanted to catch up; a wave across the hallway, a casual hello at lunch... but I never requited it. I couldn't stand to see what Ben had become, even if he 'appeared' to be happy. It just wasn't natural! The smoothness of his slightly tanned legs, the fullness of his glass-covered lips... he looked like some sort of fucking drag queen. And yet, somehow he managed to look completely feminine without any makeup whatsoever; even the popular girls were envious of Ben's wiles. His long, dark hair had grown out past his shoulders, and he'd let it grow wild. Perhaps Ben had always — no, I refused to accept it.
A week into the school year I got a text, from Ben: 'Hey, come thru after school. Kinda weird not talking. Cya whenever'. My blood boiled at the prospect of seeing Ben again, at least as he was now. How could my best friend be a fag? Why did I even care? Of course I felt betrayed, that was a part of it at least, but I also felt jealous and angry. He was receiving so much attention. Ben was MY friend. Even if it was the last time we'd ever speak, airing out my feelings and getting some answers was all I could think about; after school I made my way to Ben's house.
I knocked at the door to Ben's, a knot tightening in my stomach as I prepared for the worst. What was I expecting? I didn't know, but when Ben opened the door my jaw nearly hit his doorstep. The ensemble was so scandalous that I had to remind myself that this was the same person who never used to care about how he looked. Well, I guess he still didn't, but now I hated him for it. Ben was wearing a pair of tight jeans that hugged every curve of his ass and thighs, and a white button down shirt with a black tie that fell loosely around his neck. A pair of pink converse sneakers completed the outfit. He had obviously done his hair; his chestnut locks were tucked back into a messy ponytail. Ben's face was flawless, save for a few stray strands of hair that clung to his forehead and cheeks. I felt hot, my palms sweaty and cheeks flushed. Was this rage? Or was I actually turned on by my best friend's transformation?
"Hey, man." Ben smiled, a smug grin that reminded me of a cat. "You gonna stand there all day?"
I swallowed, unable to find words, but complied. As Ben led me into the house, my eyes were glued to the slight bounce of his toned ass. Ben was a fucking faggot, but I'd give anything to get a piece of that; so what did that make me? I hated the question. Hated these feelings.
"So..." Ben began, walking me into his room. "How have you been?"
I shrugged, trying to ignore the throbbing erection that was growing in my pants. "Not bad, I guess."
"Good," Ben replied, his smile widening. "I'm glad to hear it. So, uhm, things are...different, aren't they?"