Chapter Fifteen
“Mason, wake up.” A couple weeks had passed, and we made love and fucked more. We couldn’t get enough of each other. But it seemed the only time he had energy was when we had sex.
“No,” he mumbled into his pillow.
“If you don’t get up now you’re going to be late for your one o’clock class.”
He pulled his covers over his head. “I’m too tired.”
“Maybe we need to cut back on the exercise. You’ve been pushing yourself a lot these past couple of weeks.”
“Maybe because nothing is seeming to help. My gut is getting bigger, and my chest has gotten larger.” He tossed off his covers and looked over at me.
“So you’re packing on some extra pounds. Just goes to show you’re not that skinny teen anymore.”
“I suppose, but these,” he said, pointing to the two peaks protruding out from his T-shirt.
“Have you researched it? I’ve been telling you that you need to call a doctor.”
“And my nipples are sore.”
Unintentionally, I let out a laugh. It just sounded so weird. “Why the hell are your nipples sore?”
“Don’t ask me. Hold on one sec. I’ll be back. Oh Jesus, do I have to pee. I’ll be back in a second.” He got up and darted out of the room.
When he came back, I sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop. “Look at this.” I pointed to my computer screen.
“Not another kitten video.”
“No, it’s puppies. I’m joking, but this could be you.”
Mason sat down next to me and looked at the images on my computer screen. All of men and older boys with breasts of varying sizes. I tapped on one in particular. It looked just like his body. Thin arms, tiny waist with a flat stomach and a set of small breasts. Well, he no longer had the flat stomach, but the rest.
“It’s called gynecomastia.”
“What?” he asked, leaning in closer to the computer screen.
“It’s pretty much when dudes grow boobs. See, it’s not just you.”
He touched his chest. “Holy crap. How in the heck do I get rid of them?”
“The only option seems to be plastic surgery,” I said, pretty much summarizing what I had read while he was in the bathroom.
He looked up at me with his eyes bugging out. “What?”
“Yeah, but maybe yours is caused by something else.” I squeezed his shoulder.
“So, if this is what I have, going to the doctor won’t help me at all,” he said, his voice dripping with melancholy.
“But what if it’s something else?” I asked because I was worried it was nothing good.
“Does it say what causes it?” He scooted in closer to me on the bed.
“It says it could be a hormonal imbalance during puberty. Maybe you are finally going through puberty.”
“But would I still need to get plastic surgery?”
“If puberty is the case, they’ll go away on their own, but it can take up to two years.”
“But that’s still better than having to get them surgically removed.”
“It is, but if it’s not that it could also be caused by hyperthyroidism, a testes disorder, or something called Klinefelter Syndrome, or some medicines cause it, too.”
“I’m not on any medicine, so that’s out. What’s the Klinefelter thing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.
I bit the corner of my lip, reading the screen. “Mason, this sounds a lot like you.”
“What?”
“Low testosterone,” I said.
His face fell. “We don’t know that yet.”
I looked right at his chest.
“Okay, maybe.”
“Reduced muscle mass, reduced body and facial hair.”
“I have facial hair,” he said, placing his fingertips on his jaw.
“Some, yes. Learning disability, no. You didn’t have a speech or language delay, did you?” I asked. Maybe there was something from when he was younger that’d give us a clue because I didn’t meet him until we were thirteen.
“No.”
“And you don’t have a lower level of intelligence. But look,” I said, once again, pointing to my computer screen.
“Undescended testes, gynecomastia, delayed or incomplete puberty. I’m gonna be so pissed if the whole incomplete puberty is my case,” Mason said with a grumble in his voice.
“But this sounds a lot like you.”
“Unusually small penis.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn’t exactly packing.
“It’s not that small that it can be called unusual,” he said, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest.
“It also says micropenis.”
“No. That sounds even smaller than something unusually small.”
“What about quiet, sensitive, and unassertive? You’re kind of quiet,” I said, wrapping my arm around his waist.
“But I’m not sensitive.”
“You kind of are. And unassertive describes you pretty well.”
“Well, thanks. So, I’m pretty much a wimp.” He pulled away from me.
I tightened my grip around his waist and pulled him back. “You are not. You’re wonderful and kind. But so much of this describes you.”
“But not all.” He sighed and lay his head on my shoulder.
“When somebody has a disorder or illness, they don’t have every single symptom. It varies from person to person.”
“Well, it also says, wider hips and long legs.”
“Stand up,” I said, tapping his elbow.
“Do I have wide hips?” Mason asked.
“Probably be easier to tell without your clothes on.”
“You’re just trying to get me to strip.”
“I am a medical professional in training.”
“I’m not sure if physical therapists tell people to strip.”
“You gonna show me?” I asked, wanting to see if he had one more thing we could check off the list and also because he looked adorable in just his underwear.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen them or touched them or held me down by them.”
“So you gonna show me your hips or what?”
He stood up and pulled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans. He tugged them down and tossed them to the side with his foot.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to tell because of that gut of yours.” I teased, poking at his stomach.
“Shut up,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Mason, baby,” I said, getting up off the bed.
“See, I’m not sensitive at all.”
I swiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb. “Turn around.”
“Okay.”
“Your waist does kind of curve in here.” I ran my finger up his side and touched him where he gently curved in.
Mason let out a shaky breath.
“See, both sides.” I ran my hands up over his hips and held him around the waist. “You are tiny. Even with the weight you put on.”
“All in my gut.”
“But here,” I said, squeezing his waist. “Is a lot thinner. So I’m going to say yes to the wider hips thing.” I ran my hands back down his hips, and his chest rose up and down.
“What about my legs?”
“Take a few steps forward.”
He did and looked over his shoulder.
“I don’t think they could be qualified as long legs, but they’re really nice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, your arms, too.” I walked over to him and took hold of one of his biceps. “Not everyone has to be big. You have delicate muscles.”
“And now we’re adding delicate to the mix.”
“But I like you delicate. You’re beautiful.”
“Well, thank you, but I wish I had a chest like yours.” He traced my pectoral muscles and made his way down to my abs. “And those abs. Any hope for mine has disappeared under all this.”
“It’s just some stomach fat.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“But maybe you should talk to someone about the rest of the stuff,” I said, brushing his hair off of his forehead, looking into his eyes.
“It’s not going to help me much. They’ll say this is what you have, and I’ll go okay and then life will go on.”
“It also said low energy levels. So maybe a doctor could help with that. You’ve been so tired lately.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I pinched his chin. “You should.”
We both went to our afternoon class, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Mason.
Whether we wanted to admit it or not, my best friend/lover had a feminine figure.
But I loved how we contrasted in every way possible. He was small and delicate, and I was large and the only way to describe myself really is ripped. I might’ve stopped playing baseball, but I was still built. He was sweet and bookish, and I was outgoing and liked to socialize.
But we worked so well together.
He was the yin to my yang.
The salt to my pepper.
The other half of me.