Gender Neutral

written by Sylvia Lorianne Leong
published with Literature Undressed

Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral

“Heather meets the androgynous Finn in a coffeehouse and is determined to figure out whether the fashion model is male or female. But after a series of dates, she only comes to realize how differently men and women are socialized in our society, and how that’s affected her own assumptions.”

From that first glance, I had no clue whether Finn was male or female — just a breathtaking six feet of grace crossing the crowded coffeehouse in search of an empty chair. Sapphire-blue eyes met mine; my heart drop-kicked my throat.

“Would you mind sharing your table?” The tone was silken and smoky, and could easily belong to a man or a woman.

“Oh, of course,” my voice cracked. I yanked my bag onto my lap. I’d been so engrossed in admiration, I’d forgotten the empty chair beside me.

Lithe legs covered in soft jeans folded into the chair, the movement confident. Male? A ceramic mug and saucer landed soundlessly on the table. Female? Wait. No! Where had that come from? Girls could be confident and boys, gentle. Why would I think otherwise?

Chocolate-coloured curls brushed his … or her ivory sweater. A matte-black sketchbook was pinned under one arm. “Hi, I’m Finley, Finn for short.”

A gender-neutral name, telling me nothing.

“I’m Heather.” I shook the proffered hand and Finn gave the tiniest squeeze. Many men would squeeze too hard. Many women wouldn’t offer their hand at all.

My gaze flicked to my watch — next patient in eleven minutes. “I have to get back to work anyway.”

“Around here?” Finn didn’t have a lick of makeup, or a prominent Adam’s apple.

“A block down, at the gym,” I said.

“A trainer?”

I shook my head. “Physiotherapist. I rent a room in the back.”

“That’s unusual, right? Physios mostly work in clinics?” A polite smile, a courteous interest.

“I’m kind of short —” I gestured to all five foot four of myself “— and not great at manipulation of joints and whatnot. So I’ve strengthened my assessment skills and help my patients fix themselves in the gym.”

“That’s great.” The polite expression morphed into genuine interest. “Making the best of what you have.”

I grinned. “What about you? On a break from work?”

“No. I just dropped my aunt off at the doctor. She doesn’t drive. I told her I’d wait for her in here.”

Slowly, I slid my book and cell phone into my bag. It didn’t make any sense; I’d just met Finn. But there it was. The pleasure of instant affinity — two souls meshing — along with the heat of chemistry, as though I’d been injected with double hits of dopamine and serotonin.

I sensed the attraction might be mutual.

A pocket inside my wallet held my business cards. I slid one across the table. “In case you ever need physio.”

Elegant fingers took up the card, turning it over, head inclining. Long eyelashes feathered onto high cheekbones that angled into full lips. “Mmm, healthcare professionals aren’t allowed to date their patients, are they?”

I blinked. “Uh, no.”

“Could I interest you in a date instead?” An anxious smile.

Me? A thrill raced up my spine. This stunning beauty wanted to date me! I cleared my throat. “Yes, colour me interested.”

Finn fished out a cell phone from a back pocket, lengthy fingers danced on the glass face, and after a moment, my phone chirped. “There. Now you have my number too.”

Reluctantly, I said goodbye, waving over my shoulder.

The tall, glass door of the coffeehouse was heavy. I held it open for an elderly Chinese lady bustling along the sidewalk and waving at someone through the window. She bee-lined to my vacated chair and a piece of the puzzle fell into place: Finn’s striking features told the story of a half-Asian and possibly Caucasian heritage.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching my patients closely, picking out the telltale physical characteristics accompanying male and female, apart from the obvious hairstyles, makeup, and clothing. Women tended to be rounder and softer. Men were more angular with squarer jaws. But not always.

Each time I showed a patient an exercise in the gym, I took more note than usual of the gym-rats. Male: buzzed hair and thick necks, ballooning muscles and package-enhancing tights. Female: false eyelashes and hair extensions, breast implants and lip injections. All overdone caricatures—as if they’d gone a hundred miles out of their way to ensure there was no doubt as to whether they were male or female.

Finn was the opposite, and sexier by far.

I’d always held gym-rats in amused contempt, the way one thinks of miseducated family members with silly ideas. They reminded me of home.

I grew up in a backwater town where my three brothers learned chauvinistic ideals, while I learned housewifely duties; where my brothers roamed free, while I was limited with a strict curfew.

When I realized being just a girl came with restrictions, I abandoned my dolls, fairy tales, and princess dresses. I reinvented myself in my brothers’ images and demanded equal treatment.

Only years later, did I understand how misdirected my defiance had been — swapping one box for another, and worse, giving the boxes value. Whether I did boy-things or girl-things wasn’t relevant, eradicating the definitions altogether was.

“Heather? Is everything okay?”

I met my patient’s concerned eyes. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“You looked angry for a moment.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. Try that half-squat again while keeping your shoulders relaxed.”

When I’d told Finn about my assessment skills, I hadn’t been exaggerating — both the scientific and intuitive were exemplary. I was renowned for them. Hell, I could even tell if a patient needed to use the bathroom by the way he shifted his feet.

Yet, Finn was a mystery.

Vancouver Aquarium

Gender Neutral, Vancouver Aquarium
Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral, Vancouver Aquarium

On the east side of Stanley Park, Finn waited, shoulder leaning against one of the angled poles decorating the entrance, wearing a leather jacket over a jade and aqua plaid shirt, paired with black jeans. Not tight enough for a woman. Not baggy enough for a guy.

I’d never tire of admiring Finn’s unique beauty.

My parents would be scandalized. My brothers would start a fight. With Finn; with anyone. Anything to assert their “manhood”. I winced. Finn didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserved that.

When I’d moved to the West Coast for university, I’d banished the patriarchy from my life. I did as I pleased, exploring each fascination as it confronted me: snowboarding, mountain biking, and rock-climbing.

I hadn’t yet had a serious relationship — vulnerability wasn’t my strong suit — but I dated both girls and boys. Finn seemed to possess a combination of both, possibly the best of both.

“Heather.” Finn’s arms uncrossed. “Thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure.”

Finn pulled open the towering glass door and waved me in.

Wandering the exhibits of sharks, stingrays, and tropical fish, we talked lightly of little things. Finn’s comments revealed a deep connection to the animals and concern over their confinement. The more we spoke, the more obvious it became how philosophically aligned we were—two ships sailing side-by-side—searching out a kinder approach to the Earth.

“I’ve always despised zoos,” I said. “When you asked me here, I did some research.”

Finn smiled.

“The Vancouver Aquarium rehabilitates marine mammals, then releases them into the wild. In some cases they can’t go back, so the Aquarium provides a home.”

“While that’s admirable, it doesn’t explain the monkeys.”

Good point. Why did the aquarium house monkeys?

I’d forgotten about the outdoor section, hadn’t dressed appropriately, and shivered as we watched the sea otters play and a bellowing walrus beach himself on the concrete lip of the pool.

Warm arms circled my shoulders from behind. I tingled, inhaling the earthy toffee of leather. My back pressed into the flattened bumps on the front of Finn’s torso; they could be small breasts as easily as developed chest muscles at rest.

The jellyfish were my favourite. Especially those undulating in a vertical tank, a black light making the water a vibrant blue, and the pale jellyfish glow.

“These are gorgeous.” I brushed my finger along the glass.

Finn smiled as though loving how much I loved them, and snapped a picture of me. “Check out how the black light makes your blonde hair glow and the water brings out your blue eyes.” A long thumb flitted over the screen until my phone pinged in my purse. “There. Now you have the photo too.”

Fromme Mountain

northern rainforest scene
Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral, Fromme Mountain

Hiking Fromme Mountain had been my idea. We navigated a narrow trail into a world of ferns and plumy fronds, forever stretching towards a leafy ceiling luxuriant enough to block the clouds.

Silvery rills sang silver songs as they bubbled and leapt through the foliage on their way down the mountain. Established streams gushed over messes of fallen logs and mossy boulders. We crossed cautiously, Finn’s warm hand holding me steady. A guy thing? No, just a bigger person helping a smaller person.

Standing atop the far bank, Finn dug into a backpack, and pulled out two stainless-steel water bottles. “I hope you like grapefruit. I put a slice in each.” A girl thing?

No, just the infinite courtesy of Finn’s gentle soul. My heart swelled.

Then my stomach dropped. While there was no harm in being curious about Finn’s sex, jumping to society’s gender constructs as clues was not okay. I knew better. Hadn’t I gone to great lengths to escape those little boxes myself?

“Uh-oh, you don’t like grapefruit.” Finn’s dark brows furrowed.

“No, no, I love grapefruit. You’re so thoughtful. Thank you.”

That earned me a glorious smile.

We sipped from the bottles.

“You know,” I said, “we haven’t talked about what you do for a living.” At the aquarium, we’d torn past any talk of ourselves, to animal welfare, and the environment.

“Mmm …” Finn seemed sheepish all of a sudden, eyes flicking over the dark pillars of trees partially shrouded in wraiths of fog. “I’m a living hanger. They dress me up in whatever and take photos.” Finn shrugged. “My aunt sent my picture into an agency when I was fourteen. They signed me immediately.”

My insides solidified. Of course, all that symmetrical beauty. Who was I to date a fashion model? “Wow! Since you were fourteen?”

Finn nodded. “It’s a living now, but nowhere near as glamorous as you’d think. Mostly waiting around in hot clothes.”

“Can I see some photos?”

“Sure. I’m agented at IMG, Wilhelmina, and Elite Toronto. Check online.”

Wouldn’t you know it. All three agencies featured Finn on both the male and female sides of their websites.

A couple of days later, Finn Kyteler, Artist followed me on Instagram. Kyteler. An Irish name? Of course, I followed back and poured over Finn’s account — mostly modelling photos — but like the agency websites, all were meticulously androgynous.

Dinner at The Gull Bistro

Gender Neutral, The Gull Bistro
Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral, The Gull Bistro

The Rusty Gull — or The Dirty Bird as locals called it — was several blocks away from my Lower Lonsdale condo. We sat at the bar.

Finn’s leather jacket hung over the back of the stool. A black, sleeveless T-shirt revealed sculpted arms, easily those of a mesomorphic female, or an ectomorphic male. I sighed. I’d assessed for tennis elbow on smaller men and bigger women.

I narrowed my eyes. Was I going to do this all night, knee-jerk assignations of male and female? Assumptions make an ass of you and me, as the saying went.

Finn slowly ate the chilled beet salad with honey apple and hazelnut pesto. I devoured the beef Zabuton with roast vegetables and kale chips. If Finn were a man, I’d feel like a pig. If Finn were a woman, it wouldn’t matter. I realized the difference came down to me.

I was such a hypocrite.

In my vehement belief that biological sex shouldn’t influence freedoms or choice, I’d convinced myself that when I chose a life partner, it would depend on the person, not the sex. Naïve of me when I’d never had a serious relationship. A date required a few hours commitment. Choosing a life partner was, well, for life.

Admittedly, my initial draw was Finn’s looks, and to a lesser degree, the lure of mystery. But now, I was attracted to Finn’s gentle nature, casual grace, and courteous manners.

I’d lost all interest in dating anyone else. That terrified me. I knew Finn the person should be most important, but with the growing seriousness of our relationship, dizzying on its own, I was confused. How would I feel if Finn was male? How would I feel if Finn was female? Would it affect my fierce attraction, the fragile bud of love?

It made my head ache. But I needed to know. I needed to ask.

The bartender took away our plates, leaving us with our wine.

“So I checked out your work,” I said. “Should I call it your work?”

Finn nodded. “That’s how we say it in the industry.”

I took a deep breath. This was the moment I’d been waiting for: a segue. “I couldn’t help but notice each photo is carefully androgynous.”

“Yeah —” a wicked grin “— it’s kind of my shtick. With their coaching, I’ve worked hard on that. Even with my movements for commercials or the runway. Androgyny increases my demand, which raises the dollar value I’m sent out for.”

I opened my mouth to ask the question.

But Finn continued, “At first I was self-conscious, always feeling like I was in costume, pretending, you know. But as I became more comfortable, androgyny became fun. Everywhere I went, people didn’t know what to make of me. I didn’t fit beneath the labels inside their small minds.”

I’d witnessed the truth of that at the aquarium. People staring too long, trying to discern the impossible: Finn’s sex.

“Except for you.” Finn smiled. “You drank me in, loving it, and I was a bee buzzing towards honey. That’s part of the reason I asked you out.”

I sat back, stunned, unaware I was so readable. “And the rest of the reason?” My question: another knee-jerk reaction.

Finn’s voice lowered, the silk receding, leaving the smoke. “I like the way you look. And we have chemistry. Not even science can explain that.”

Something fluttery erupted in my stomach.

“Can I freshen your drinks?” The bartender’s meaty hands splayed on the granite bar top.

I shook my head, wanting with every ounce of my being for him to go away. I still hadn’t asked the question.

“No. Thank you,” Finn said. “But I’ve enjoyed this particular pinot noir. I’ve forgotten the name?”

The bartender slid over the menu and Finn snapped a photo.

“It amazes me how different pinot noirs can be,” Finn said to the bartender. “I’ve learned the hard way to ask for a taster first.” The two of them launched into a short conversation about wine and the moment was gone.

Dinner at Finn’s Condo

Gender Neutral, Finn's Condo
Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral, Finn’s Condo

Finn opened the door of the fifteenth-floor condo wearing a plush jade robe, dark hair a mess of glossy curls, and face painted with a considerable amount of makeup — thick eyeliner artfully drawn to uplifted points.

I forgot to speak, staring like an idiot.

“Heather, thanks for coming.” With a knowing smile, Finn stepped back, ushering me in, taking the bottle of pinot noir from my hands.

Adjacent to the tiny foyer, several cloth bags of groceries sat on the kitchen’s tile floor.

“Sorry, the photo shoot ran over. But I was excited about you coming and didn’t want to cancel, or push back the time either. I mean, we both have to work tomorrow.”

“Your face. The makeup. You look amazing.”

With a quick grin, Finn’s gaze flicked behind me, glancing into the foyer’s mirrored closet doors. “Check out my favourite photo from today.” Lengthy fingers snagged the cell phone from the marble countertop.

A firecracker detonated inside my heart. Sapphire eyes smouldered back at me. Massive black feathers draped the shoulders of a dramatic black coat, against a rich mahogany background.

I licked my lips and croaked, “So exciting.” I cleared my throat. “So glamorous.”

Finn’s lips quirked to the side. “Everyone assumes that. I assure you it’s not. I waited in costume most of the day, was told where to sit, stand, whatever. I mean, it’s like any form of art, there’s a plan, but things go awry.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Mmm, I need to wash this off or I’ll get a rash.” Finn waved a hand, implying the painted face. “Sorry, I had a different meal planned, but it takes a couple of hours to cook. I bought lots of vegetables. Would you mind making a salad while I shower?” With an elegant foot, Finn meekly toed a cloth bag. A hairless leg. Female? No, during knee and ankle assessments I’d noticed many Asian males had hairless olive-toned skin.

“Of course. I don’t mind at all.”

Finn’s shoulders softened. “I appreciate that. Look through whatever you want —” hand gesturing at the cupboards “— everything’s where you’d think it would be. I’ll cook the steaks when I get out.” A guy thing?

I growled inside. I was doing it again. There was no biological reason I couldn’t cook a steak.

I found a wooden chopping board, a sharp knife, and set about making a Greek salad.

Subtle sounds came from behind me of Finn moving between the bedroom and bathroom. Then the shower started.

I had spent hours analyzing how I’d feel if Finn were male, how I’d feel if Finn were female, but for all my theorizing, I still wasn’t certain. I should’ve asked immediately, in the beginning. Now, whenever I organized the sentence in my head, it sounded offensive. With my silence, Finn probably thought I knew.

Regardless, I needed to ask the question before this relationship went further, before we became intimate. Butterflies took wing. That could happen tonight.

In a bottom cupboard, I discovered a pedestal bowl, arranged the remaining produce, and set it on the kitchen-end of a trestle table. The other end I set for dinner, lighting three beeswax candles with matches found in a drawer.

On the other side of the trestle table, a large window overlooked the twinkling lights of Lower Lonsdale and downtown Vancouver across the harbour.

“Everything looks great.” Finn was behind me, warm hands landing on my shoulders. “Thank you.”

I perched on the edge of a chair watching Finn sear the steaks. Wet hair, scrubbed face, and textured grey sweats paired with a pumpkin and grey plaid shirt.

Dinner was a simple and delicious — clean eating. I supposed Finn had to be careful never to gain weight.

“I should tell you about my aunt.”

I blinked. “Okay.”

Finn hesitated, as though deciding where to start. “She’s had Type 1 diabetes since childhood. Now with age, she’s developed health complications and needs someone close by. I mean, I don’t want to live with my aunt —” upturned palm waving towards the front door “— so we compromised. She sold her house, bought these side-by-side condos.”

Finn slid to the edge of the chair. “Anyway, I haven’t checked on her today and it’s weighing heavily. Do you mind? Will you wait?”

“Of course.”

“Leave the dishes, you’ve done enough. I want you to see my drawings.” With a smooth rising from the chair and one stride, Finn flipped a toggle. Two lamps illuminated the living room in cozy light. “There’s a stack of sketchbooks beside the armchair. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in no time.”

Finn’s drawings whisked me away. Detailed sketches of the rainy streets of London, Paris, and San Francisco, and more than a few of Lower Lonsdale and Gastown. All tall, thin people walking with umbrellas, or sitting on chairs at tables under awnings. They reminded me of the artist, Kal Gajoum.

Finn stepped back into the living room with a wide grin. “My aunt shooed me away. She knows I invited you here tonight.”

“I’m glad she’s okay.” I gestured at the sketchbook in my lap. “You’ve travelled.”

“Yeah, the agencies used to send me all over the world. I took as many photos as I could to draw from later. Now I stay closer to home for my aunt.”

“You don’t post your art on Instagram.”

“That’s the plan, eventually, when my art is ready.”

“But they’re fantastic.”

Finn shrugged. “It takes ten-thousand hours to become proficient in anything. I’m still developing my style.”

I sighed. What did I know of art? I had a master’s in physiotherapy, the accompanying student debt, a mortgage, and the stress of building a practice. What time did I have for creative pursuits? Not ten-thousand hours.

Our worlds were so different. Finn’s was full of creative spontaneity; mine was all scheduled appointments and medical science.

Finn moved closer to me. “I want to kiss you.”

I jolted, gazing up, immediately anticipating the warm touch of that shapely mouth. My smile answered for me. I lifted from the chair, my pulse beating in my temples.

Finn’s hands slid into mine, threaded fingers, arms by our sides. Not wanting me to touch elsewhere?

Soft lips lightly groped as they puckered. The slightest touch of tongue. Desire rushed through my veins; giddiness swelled into my every thought.

Finn stepped back, squeezed my hands, and let go, eyes liquid with affection.

I couldn’t bear it any longer: the confusion, the not knowing. Shoving aside the fear of being rude, the fear of Finn taking offence, I blurted, “You know, all this time I’ve been trying to figure out your sex.”

A wicked grin. “All this time I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

My fingers splayed. That I hadn’t anticipated.

“You know, I thought.” Finn seemed to deflate a little. “I mean, neither of us knows where this is going —” a hand flicking back and forth, indicating our blossoming relationship. “But soon, we might be more,” the whisper filled with smoke, “physical and …”

My legs softened into paste. I pressed my fingertips on a side table for support. I was ready now. Right now.

But Finn stepped back. “I mean, when we’re ready.”

I narrowed my eyes. Why was the physical aspect of this relationship moving so slowly?

It hit me like an icy spike through my insides. Until now, I’d never considered a third option. My eyes swerved to Finn’s crotch. Then I cringed at my reaction, at my obvious speculation.

Finn winced and glanced at the ceiling, muttering, “You just looked at me like I’m broken.”

Boy-oh-boy was I readable. My cheeks burned. “Is your sex something you need to keep a secret?” I forced the words, not wanting to waste yet another opportunity. “I mean, for your career?”

Another step back. “No. It doesn’t matter who knows.” Smoke sifted through Finn’s quiet sneer. “You know, I’ve endured a lot of insults, but never dreamed of that one.”

I frowned. “Actually, I never said anything.”

“You didn’t have to — your expression — you assumed I was broken.”

“No, Finn, it’s not like that. I’m a healthcare professional. It’s my training. My considerations jump that way. With the emotion of the moment, it must’ve shown on my face.”

With a contemptuous puff of breath, Finn’s arms crossed. “I thought you were different.”

I am different,” I barked, not meaning to, my hands fisting on my hips. Then rubbing the back of my neck, my cold hand surprised me. “I am different,” I whispered.

Finn was still and silent, and in the lamplight, I thought I saw the glint of welling tears.

“Are you okay?” I angled my head.

Finn’s focus retreated to the floor, dark curls sweeping into a veil.

Why the overreaction? This was ridiculous. I inhaled deeply, audibly. “I should go.”

Finn only nodded, gaze seemingly pinned to the grain of the hardwood.

My condo was a couple of blocks away and by the time I’d walked home, my mind was dense with the fog of a full-blown panic. I’d screwed up. I’d lost Finn.

In a nonsensical voice message, I explained myself. Then immediately regretted my haste. But not enough to keep me from sending a couple of text messages over the next few days.

Finn ignored all three attempts.

Some say time heals.

Instead, a chronic prickle burned behind my eyes, leaving a clarity that assaulted me in pieces: Finn’s elegant fingers holding the stem of a wineglass, eyelashes fringing against an olive-toned cheekbone, graceful strides down the sidewalk. I wanted to feast on that beauty every day of my life.

Finn’s chiselled arms around me warming my chilled skin; tipping the wine bottle, wordlessly offering more; a silken voice dishing-out compliments. I wanted to bask in that attention every day of my life.

Finn’s amazing foresight to take photos to draw from later; the perseverance to solidify an artistic style; the self-possession to develop and maintain androgyny. I wanted to support those endeavours every day of my life.

I wanted to create joy in Finn’s gentle soul.

So I did the only thing I could; I bolstered enough courage to leave myself vulnerable.

Strolling the Spirit Trail

Gender Neutral, The Spirit Trail
Sylvia Lorianne Leong, Gender Neutral, The Spirit Trail

The autumn day was teasingly warm, as though the season was reversing, taking us backwards into summer. Finn sat on the edge of the fountain in Lonsdale Quay’s waterfront square, leather jacket bunched alongside. Sunlight glanced off espresso hair, forearms rested on dark jeans, and a sleeveless pumpkin shirt revealed sculpted shoulders. Finn was grinning, eyes glued to several children playing tag.

I went unnoticed as I approached, my heart leaping painfully. “Thank you for coming.”

Finn stood, escalating the simple move into a form of art. “Thank you, Heather. It’s not every day I open my mailbox to find old-fashioned stationery full of beautiful script.”

I’d spent two weeks sorting my feelings, thoughts, and beliefs, and perfecting my apology, a proper apology.

“Shall we?” Finn motioned.

We strolled to the seawall path, tracing the shore of the windy ocean. Both of us remained silent, uncertainty wedged between us. I stole a glance at Finn; dark curls whipped against sharp cheekbones.

“Did the letter make sense?” I finally burst out. “Do you understand?” My already jittery stomach clenched.

“About your family,” Finn said, “how a healthcare professional considers without judgment, and that you didn’t mean to be insulting? Yes. And I appreciate the apology. But what really got me —” Finn smiled “— was how you feel about me. About us.” A hot hand slipped into mine. “I’m a sucker for vulnerability.”

I wilted with relief.

“Androgyny is a sensitive topic. I hate the assumptions, the insults.” With a rueful expression, Finn squeezed my hand. “But I was out-of-line for overreacting. And I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Me? Forgive Finn? With that, two weeks of emotion thrust upwards and burst forth like uncorked champagne. I laughed, howled really, bent over, one hand braced on my knee and the other, wiping away tears. A couple steered around, giving us a wide berth.

Finn grinned, rubbing my back.

When I regained the ability to form words, I accused, “You knew the entire time. You knew I didn’t know.”

We resumed our walk, our hands clasped.

“I watched you struggle with it,” Finn said. “But you never asked. So I watched how you handled the not knowing.”

“On that last night at your place? Poorly. Do you forgive me?”

“Water under the bridge.” Finn pulled me down to sit on a bench and cuddled me against the pumpkin shirt. Another champagne bottle uncorked, overflowing with joy.

Finn’s thumb rubbed my shoulder with affection as we admired the row of houseboats across a canal of emerald water, picking out my favourite, Finn’s favourite.

That ease was back between us, yet hung with expectation. It was still up to me to ask.

“I don’t need to know anymore.”

While my meaning was a delicate tap to the shoulder, the underlying realization made the difference. I loved Finn the person and the person wouldn’t change because I discovered what was hidden beneath the clothes.

Finn gave me a sideways smile. “You’ll find out eventually.”

We burst out laughing.

“I think the not-knowing enhances the mystery between us.” Finn’s blue eyes brightened with desire. “Escalates the sexual tension. I thought when the time comes,” a smoky whisper, “you can undress me, and find out.”

A moan escaped; I slapped my fingers over my mouth.

Finn chuckled. “I mean, we’ll never have another chance at such an electric beginning.”

The truth of that washed over me.

“But, I don’t want to be unfair. We can enjoy the tension now. Or I can just tell you.”

“No.” I melted. “I want to wait.”

THE END

Literature Undressed Issue #2
Literature Undressed Issue #2

GENDER NEUTRAL was published in the February 2022 Romance issue of Literature Undressed literary magazine. Finn Kyteler has gone on to play a prominent character in my novel, THE UNWICKED WITCH.

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without prior permission. Copyright 2022.