Know Your Place

— …and like I seriously have no idea what the hell this is, Kevin, no joke, I was literally just walking from the parking lot, and then — BAM! — and everything went fshhh-whoosh-clang and now I’ve got tits, a skirt, flip-flops, holy shit! It's me, Dylan, goddammit! — she was rambling, but the words started to blur together like a radio catching two stations at once. — …and then I was like, “uhhh no-no-no, I don’t wanna be some Barbie-slut, I’m a dude!” but now I’ve got nails, bracelets, this stupid croco-print purse, and...

I could hear her going on, but my brain was only catching random, meaningless fragments: "tits-skirt-fuck-fuck-babe-insane" — like a cartoon on fast-forward. The only thing I could focus on was her breasts, so tight under her top you could almost make out the shape of the purple lace underneath.

— …Kevin? — her voice suddenly sharpened, turned harsh, almost masculine — for just a split second. — Are you seriously staring at my tits, you dumbass?!

I flinched. My eyes slowly peeled away from her cleavage and met her face.

— Look, Di… — I hesitated. Saying “Dylan” felt… off.

— Yeah, like, I’m listening! — she said, striking a pose Dylan would never strike. Hands on hips, waist twisted, ass sticking out in a full-on influencer stance. I involuntarily stepped back — the gesture was so... girly, so provocative, that something in my brain short-circuited again.

— Uhm… — I began, my throat suddenly dry. — Are you… are you really Dylan?

— Oh my god, of course, fu—... — she paused, rolling her eyes. — Fu… frickin’ yeah! Why can’t I… say that word properly?! — Her voice suddenly turned into a sultry, almost purring coo. — Ugh, this is sooo damn frustra-cute… mmm, frustra-cute? What the hell am I even saying?! — She frowned, then immediately puffed out her lips, pressed a finger to them, and with a cutesy squeak blurted: — Why is everything so unfai-i-i-ir?

I opened my mouth to say something, but the moment I saw her face, I shut it right back. She was looking up at me with wide, round eyes, her lips pouting in that dumb duckface way, eyebrows pinched, chin trembling like she was about to cry. It was… too cute. Way too cute to be Dylan. My college classmate. The football team captain I hated with every cell of my body. The guy who shoved my head in the toilet for three days straight because I forgot to wear our school jersey on team spirit day. The guy who called me “Kev the creep” and stuffed my sneakers in the freezer for a whole week, who...

— Keeeevin, come ooon… — she sang, like she was about to yell at me, but there was this weird, almost purring undertone in her voice. — Are you, like, totally brain-dead? Need me to remind you who the fuck I am?! — She stepped forward, clenching her cute little fist as hard as she could, and for a second my heart clenched. I took a step back, eyes shut, suddenly overcome with that same fear I used to feel when Dylan would grab me by the collar outside the campus café. But instead, a few seconds later, I felt… warmth.

Her hand, so soft, manicured, with long glossy nails, touched my cheek and gently slid across it — like a caress, almost… intimate. My eyes flew open and met hers.

The look on her face was furious, tense, like someone about to punch you in the face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips tight. But her pose was unmistakably feminine, her hand still stroking my cheek, nails lightly tickling my skin. She probably thought she was punching me — or more likely, grabbing me by the collar?

— Listen here, smartass, — her voice was shaking, like she was trying to swallow her anger, but what came out sounded... cutesy. — You’re supposed to be the biggest nerd around, right? So be a dear, Kevvy, and help me out before I… I’ll… — she clearly meant to say something threatening, but instead her tone turned sultry — …spank your little butt, hehe…

I froze. So did she. Like some internal alarm had just gone off.

— Dang… what did I just say? — she whispered, staring at me in horror. But her hand didn’t move away — quite the opposite. She slid it down my cheek, now using her whole palm, fingertips tracing along my cheekbone. And the other hand… it landed on my chest, right above my heart, through the T-shirt. Warm. Way too intimate.

— Di… — I hesitated again. I could almost feel her fingers tighten slightly, like they responded to my confusion. — Are you okay?

— I’ll be totally fine the moment you stop acting like a dummy and tell me what the heck is going on, got it, bunny boy?! — she pressed her nails slightly into my chest, but then… her eyes started to sparkle. Her lips parted, a tiny smile curled at the corners — innocent, almost flirty. — You’re… my knight, right?.. mmm?

I stepped back like she’d just zapped me with a taser.

— Wait… — I threw my hands up. — Knight? What are you even talking about? I...

She frowned, looked away, like rewinding the tape of her life back a few seconds and watching the clips play. It only lasted five seconds or so, while I was still trying to process the fact that this girl was really that Dylan — the one I hated, the one I got stuck with for a college museum project, the one I apparently turned into this. Or rather, not me — that weird stone from the museum. The one I landed on after Dylan grabbed me by the collar for the hundredth time and shoved me around, and I fell and muttered that he should “know his damn place,” calling him a “dumb bitch.”

And now...

— No! No-no-no! I mean, I didn’t do anything, I... — Dylan — or whatever he'd become — was rambling nervously, jerking her head around, and looked like she was about to start sobbing.

And then her phone rang.

I jumped as the high-pitched glam ringtone blared — it sounded like some kind of "pop-kitty hit" full of squeals, squeaks, and club beats. She jumped too, staring at the little shiny purse hanging from her shoulder. As if seeing it for the first time. With a sharp motion, weirdly precise for such a tiny hand, she unzipped it and pulled out a pink iPhone in a shimmering case with a heart-shaped charm dangling from it.

— What the... — she muttered, frowning and blinking at the screen. — "Marianna from the salon"? Who the heck is Mari—

She tapped the screen. Everything went still for a moment.

— Hiii? — she purred suddenly, and her face twisted in horror at the sound of her own voice.

A woman’s voice chirped through the speaker, cheerful and confident:

— Oh honeyyy, I’m so glad you picked up! I thought you were hibernating or something! Listen, it’s an emergency — can you cover for me tonight? — both our eyes were getting wider and wider as the woman kept talking in the same sugary tone — The client is amazing, you know him, the one with the yacht. He adores you. Just wear something purple and then—

— Wha… whaaaat?! — she barked into the phone, trying to fake her old scratchy baritone. But what came out… sounded more like a kitten trying to hiss. Her voice cracked into a squeak, full of flirt instead of fury.

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. Then a giggle, and the next second — a slow, syrupy female voice:

— Oh, Lolly… you’re such a cutie when you’re mad. Don’t pout, sweetheart, everything’s already set. The client is pure honey, and you’re his absolute favorite.

— L-Lolly? — she rasped, as if the word had electrocuted her.

I saw her fingers tremble. She didn’t even notice the phone nearly slipping out of her hand.

— Just… be yourself, kitten. You know how it goes: the look, that little head tilt, a kiss in the air — and he’s yours. You are Lolly, our best girl, remember? — the voice purred through the phone, then added with a cloying sweetness: — And don’t forget — he loves it when you start by just… teasing his cock with your tongue, and then go deeper, like last time. You were such a good girl then…

— Wh-what? — she breathed, so quietly it wasn’t even a voice anymore, just a soft squeak. — I… I was gonna say daaa— — she tried to swear, but instead of “damn,” a pitiful “daaa…” came out, and her lips automatically twisted into a pouty, whiny “what a meeeesss…”

I froze, watching her face lose the last trace of masculinity. She was staring into nothing — into the reflection on her phone case, at that glossy, sparkly image — and I saw something inside her just… snap.

— I’m not… I’m not doing that, okay?! — her fingers were trembling, but they wouldn’t let go of the phone. — I’m a guy! I’m the freakin’ captain of the football team, for heck’s sake, I—

But she stopped. Blinked. Her tongue ran reflexively over her plump lips. I noticed her holding her breath for a split second… and shuddering. Her legs squeezed together, her thighs tensed like she was trying to… stop something.

— What the… — she muttered, glancing at me — and her cheeks flushed instantly. — I’ve got… like… a pulse between my legs or something?.. — She looked down, then suddenly exhaled sharply: — No-no-no! This is all fake, this isn’t me, this isn’t—

— Di… — I began cautiously, but she instantly shot me a look filled with terror and rage.

— I’m not “Lolly,” okay?! — she spat, but even that shout came out with a weird sugary melody to it. — I… don’t… want this!

The voice on the phone was still talking:

— Baby girl, don’t be such a brat. The client’s paying double, and you know how well he treats you. Want me to send you pics of the new shoes? Purple, just like you love. Twenty-centimeter heels… absolutely stunning.

— Oh my gosh… — she whispered, and for a moment, I saw an expression cross her face… desire? Embarrassed, guilty… but definitely real. She squeezed her thighs tighter, leaned forward slightly, like her stomach hurt… but I could tell — it wasn’t pain.

— Di? — I breathed, but she didn’t hear me anymore. Her breath had quickened, her eyes were hazy, and then she whispered to herself:

— N-nooo… I don’t want this… but it feels… mmm… weird… so… mmm…

I saw her gently bite her lower lip, her fingers clenching the edge of her top, her breasts rising and falling heavily. A wave of feelings — feelings she clearly didn’t understand — swept over her completely. She shut her eyes and… let out a soft little squeak.

— Daaamn… am I, like… dripping?

I stepped back, stunned, unable to believe what I was seeing. And she… she slowly lowered the phone, dropped it into her purse, and without opening her eyes, whimpered:

— Kevin… do something… I can’t take it anymore… I’m all… mmm… wet…

— Are you… are you really okay?

She opened her eyes. Big, sparkling. Smiled. And then, with unexpected tenderness, whispered:

— Save me, nerd… before I end up on that… damn yacht.