Trans Magic

It was a student mixer, in the lobby of one of those dead fancy accommodation buildings that looks like an expensive hotel and is occupied exclusively by young rich white couples, international students and wheelchair users.

I think Issac hadn't arrived yet, or maybe he'd just gone to get me a drink, so I sat next to Morris at the bar. He had one of those faces where you feel like you've met him before even though you know you haven't. I spotted an opportunity.

"Hey, it's funny to have sat next to you, I actually had a question to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Well I was talking to my friend Shenia, you will have seen her she's on the course, about how she really fancies a boyfriend, and we were talking about what her ideal man would be like, and she mentioned you... So I don't know if goth banshees are your thing, but I thought I'd mention it in case you were interested. She was definitely looking for a partner, not her next meal. Or that was implied, at least."

"Unfortunately goth or not, women aren't really my thing, so I won't be of much help."

"Ah shit you know I never normally presume? It's so rare for me to do that. It's just literally everyone here I've spoken to so far is bisexual so I'd started to presume it was an entry requirement."

He smiled in a friendly, undeterred way. I liked him. He looked like if two of my exes had combined their bone marrow and had a love child. I remember him making a joke in one of the seminars that he had to develop a sense of humour early, on account of being very short and very Jewish. I'd enjoyed that.

"So men?"

"Almost exclusively."

"Out of public curiosity, does that include trans men?"

"Why wouldn't it?" He said this with such casual earnestness that I immediately felt I may be in love with him.

"Good to know."

He turned round to see where Issac was. He was headed towards us, on the other side of the cavernous obstacle course of plush furniture and useless display cases of magazine books and decor items.

He leaned over, voice low, with more commanding presence than I had expected from him. He looked straight at me and said in a low, soft voice, "If that wasn't just a question for intellectual curiosity, but one of personal interest, the answer would still be yes."

Well look, I'm only human. When Isaac came over with my drink I cooed and touched his big muscles and said, "Thank you so much darling! Babe, I'm so sorry, but I've just run into Morris and realised that I really want to finish this conversation we're having. Do you mind if we do our own thing tonight? Maybe I could stay over tomorrow instead?"

He looked at Morris over the top of practically downing his drink, absentmindedly wiped his mouth, and then took my hand in his.

"Of course babe, tomorrow's free, but it's gotta be taco night." He looked knowingly at Morris as if to say, don't be too jealous. And then added, "Nice seeing you mate, have a good one" and fist bumped him, much to Morris' confusion. With a quick kiss, he sauntered off.

"How can he not know?" Morris said, incredulous.

"Oh he knows. He just doesn't give a fuck. He's like himbo of the year from himbo academy and he loves it. He thinks I'm a gift from God because I have good wrist strength and on our third date I sucked him off while he watched the football."

"Yahweh gives us all different gifts."

We spoke for a while. I'd never actually had a proper conversation with him, not really. Maybe a pairing in a lecture or something. I was a girl's boy, my crew was two of the banshees and a pop-princess vampire majoring in witchcraft. Clearly I felt safe surrounding myself with women who were baying for blood. I never felt the need to unpack that, and I won't now.

Morris was funny, but I knew that already. Up close his face had a soft, glowy quality. His pale skin lit up with a constellation of anxious freckles, so eager to please that they had tried to cover as much surface area as physically possible. His hair looked soft, caught in tight brown ringlets, which he'd occasionally brush a hand through and then catch me looking. He was so different to Issac, who aesthetically looked like the kind of guy who would beat up Morris for lunch money. But I liked an underdog.

When he revealed that he lived upstairs, I didn't waste much time.

"Can I come up?"

He didn't look surprised, but he clearly hasn't assumed.

He leaned in slightly, and then seemed stuck between hesitating and not hesitating,

"To, um -" I ran a fingertip softly up and down the back of his hand. "I'm just very interested in the architectural choices made by large housing conglomerates, and I'd like to see the layout for myself."

He grinned. "You're fun."

"I know."

"Let's go."

He took my hand as we went towards the elevator, which felt like a bold move in front of several prominent members of our exceptionally gossipy cohort. I was so horny by that point I probably would have fucked him in the lobby toilets.

When the doors closed, he reached over and brushed his thumb against my lips. I was completely frozen, captivated. Seeing the way my eyes lit up, he moved his face closer to mine, but instead of kissing me, he took my bottom lip between his thumb and finger and slowly squeezed. Then he smoothly pulled his arm away, stepped back, and smiled.

I had underestimated him.

"So it's going to be like that, is it?"

He grinned, raising an eyebrow with genuine curiosity, "Would you like it to be?"

"Very much. How did you know?"

"You wear tank tops to class."

I hadn't ever considered my occasional litter of love bites and bruises would double as good advertising.

When we got to his room, he tried the key card a couple of times and it didn't seem to work. I made sure to show I wasn't embarrassed for him. I found it sweet.

"It's not working?"

"No. Maybe this will help?"

In a smooth motion I was pinned against the door, one of his hands cupped behind

my head, the other lightly pressed against my neck. He was kissing me. My brain went completely blank and my body flooded. Despite being shorter than me, he had such ease of control, such assuredness in his actions and yet a soft kindness in his way, that I felt both very safe and incredibly ready to give him anything he might ask for. He put his hand in mine, holding the key card, and pressed it against the door. It worked first time.

"Ah, that did it." He said nonchalantly, as he gently let go of me, holding me towards him as he slowly pushed open the door.

"Fuck." I said.

"Thank you." He replied. "Come in." He kissed his fingers, touched the mezuzah, and walked into the room.

It was beautiful. He'd put in the work - most surfaces were covered with posters and diagrams, spectral or fauna, charts, inscriptions. There were herbs and bottles and jars and tinctures, and books crammed in every corner of the shelves and ledges. But the desk was immaculate. Set out in a very careful, ordered way with various bottles, implements, and runes.

"How did I not clock that you were a mage?"

"The best magicians are quiet about it." He wasn't wrong. I was impressed.

I sat on the bed and he stood between my legs, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me. We made out for a while. He was meticulous but passionate, holding himself somewhere between composure and a deepening hunger. But he was clearly so quietly comfortable in his body. I remember wondering how that must feel.

"Is there anything I need to know to avoid?"

"My cock is my cock, the dangly bits under them are my balls, I have a hole and an arse, and my safe word is chocolate."

"Succinct and perfect. Is there anything you particularly like?"

"Everything you've already done."

"Winner." He kissed me more. Then he was hesitant. I was starting to pick up on the way he stiffened slightly when he was unsure.

"Can I- can I cast a spell on you?"

I tried not to laugh. "You already have?"

"I mean really."

"I know. What kind? How long will it last?"

"Nothing mind altering. You'll have full agency, and it will last roughly 8 hours, though I could maybe do it for longer another time, if you... It might just make you enjoy this more."

"Cryptic." He opened his mouth to explain, "Do it."

"Do you not want to know what it is?"

"Surprise me. I think I trust you."

He looked quite moved by that. "I'll do my best to earn that. Lie down and close your eyes."

I did as I was told. He took a minute opening jars and muttering under his breath.

Then he lay down next to me, leaning up, and pressed his thumb into my forehead, slowly pulling upwards. I opened my eyes.

"Hi."

"Hi. Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." He kissed me, my neck, his hands on my chest. He took my shirt off and brushed his fingers over my nipples, which I barely felt but enjoyed anyway. I was desperate for him.

Then he slid his hand down to my belly.

"Can I touch you?"

"Please!" I practically moaned into his neck.

"Can you do something for me?" I nodded. "Tell me about your cock. Your perfect cock." He reached to the bedside table and smothered his hand in some sticky, pink iridescent mixture. I decided not to worry about it, as he slid his hand under my boxers and bit my lip. "Talk."

"My cock is perfect. It's boyfriend dick, it's not too big but not too small. It's straight, ironically, and has a beautiful tip that's proper curved. I've got a foreskin - sorry -" he laughed at this, "and I don't have any pain or discomfort, and I find it easy to cum, and what the fuck are you-" in between my legs had become hot. Like, worryingly hot. And sticky. I could feel shoots of pain or pleasure or both, and heaviness. He pressed his face directly into mine, staring into my eyes with urgency.

"Don't stop. Trust me. Think about it. Imagine it." I started right back at him, the

world fell away, and I thought about my cock. I pulled forward all of the longing, all

of the anger, the disappointment, the hope, the trans magic and realistic strap ons

and peeing standing up in the shower, the T growth and the way I smell when I

haven't showered and the feeling of being in someone I mean really, being in

someone, and then I felt his hand going up and down my cock and I. I can't tell you

what I felt. I ripped my trousers off, and there it was, in his hand. A cock. A whole

fucking cock, attached to me. He grinned. I burst into tears.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whipped me up into his arms and held me and rocked

me gently. "I shouldn't have-"

"No no", I tried to explain through gasping sobs,"It's! It's good! It's-", I tried to breathe and cried some more. He stroked the back of my head and pulled me closer. "It's ok, it's ok." He said. "It's a lot."

"I can't, I just, I mean." I pulled back and looked at it. Even just looking at it was a bit much. I cried some more. I felt slightly embarrassed at having completely ruined the vibe, but he started it, and I had no control over the tears streaming down my face, so I let it go.

"I just didn't think I could ever. You can't, I mean. Can I? Can I touch it?"

"It's your cock. You can do whatever you like."

The feeling was immense. Just to pull back the foreskin, just to actually wrap my hands around it and squeeze and feel it. To feel it.

"You don't know what you've done." I said to him with such severity that he looked quite concerned, until I kissed all over his face and flung my arms around him.

"Thank you Morris, thank you thank you thank you."

"I just thought you might, I."

"How did you even do this? Is this a thing?"

"It started with my final project for abstracting matter. I went down this massive rabbit hole and found this random mage in Denver who was using magic to simulate the disappearance of limbs to give relief to those with BID. I figured with a bit of reworking you could use it the other way around. The desire is converted into matter. The stronger the want, the better it works."

"You're amazing."

"You're amazing. I don't need this, by the way." He gestured at my new, perfect, cock. "It easn't for me. I want you so badly, exactly as you are. It's just after what you said earlier, and I overheard you talking about dysphoria once in a discussion group, and I just. Well, I thought you might."

"Thank you."

I knew I didn't love him, but I felt like I could. It was the best gift I had ever been given, and the softness and understanding with which he had held me despite being so completely out of his depth had endeared him to me even more.

I'm always bad with new people, and I think we were both cautious after I had just sobbed uncontrollably for 20 minutes, but it was still the best sex I'd ever had. Mainly it was amazing to experience my cock in a whole new way, and as much as he was a good lay in his own right, getting to feel that would have upstaged anyone.

When I got home I stared in the mirror. I did the helicopter. I tried to have a wank but I was pretty fucking spent already. I took videos. I cried again and did some journalling. And then I went to sleep. When I woke up, it was gone.

I was expecting to be heartbroken, inconsolable.

But I felt it there. I felt its heaviness. As I touched my little cock I felt the way the pleasure from the tip jolted through my hips. I text Morris and I saw Issac and I ate tacos and I was ok.

We kept sleeping together. Sometimes I'd ask him to cast on me, sometimes I wouldn't. But I did get the word around. I was the guinea pig for his final project and he got published in a major journal that same year. Now he's got a nice business going. We have the kind of deep but infrequent friendship you keep with those people who had an undeniably profound, positive effect on the course of your life.

I think he does a lot of good for a lot of people. He says his favourite is cracking the eggs; cis people who have come for a stag gift or a "joke". But he knows to expect the tears now. I think he's going to start teaching classes on the therapeutic magic module soon. It feels good to have been the first.

And before you ask - I go through phases. I'll tell myself I'm done and I'll be genuinely fine for months. Other times he'll find me sat in that same fucking lobby, legs to chest and tears dried, waiting until he walks through the door and knowingly, gently, takes me upstairs and sets about working out just how many days he can make it last this time.

We can't change what we are, and we can. That's magic for you.

Full of hope, obsessed with the colour yellow and in love with all my friends. Illustrator, and Community Minister for Foundation, a radical inclusive church community in Bristol, UK. Poly, trans, AuDHD, chronically ill, etc.

Insta: @humansatsuma