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 Posted: Tue Jul 03, 2012 3:12 pm
Paris’s grin widened at the brief exchange about size and “screwing around,” but he showed surprising restraint and failed to make any other veiled comments or lewd jokes. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have given up the opportunity to say something even vaguely sexual in nature, but he liked to think he was more mature now. That would always be debatable, of course, and there were still situations when he really couldn’t help himself. Usually that ended up being around his boyfriend instead of complete strangers, though.
Not that he and his boyfriend were doing too well at the moment, so maybe it would have been nice to screw around a bit more and just blurt out the thoughts his mind was providing as it traveled some ways down the gutter. Admirably, he resisted the urge and simply followed Jett over to the punching bags instead.
“I started dancing with a local company about a year ago,” he explained in response. “It’s not anything terribly famous, but I was only seventeen at the time so it’s as good of a real start as I could hope for. I was the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker over the holidays last December,” he added, figuring that was one of the more well-known roles even among people who had little experience or little interest in something like ballet.
“Before that it was mostly classes and lessons and kiddy performances at the community center,” he continued. “Pretty soon I’ll be going back to school to get a degree, then who knows. Maybe I’ll try for one of the larger companies after that. Or it might be nice to teach at one of the local schools, or open my own studio and teach whoever I want. I’ve got plenty of options.”
Paris didn’t imagine his story was all that inspiring to someone who was probably only asking to be polite, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take any enjoyment in talking about it.
“But if this is you asking if I’m actually talented, then the short answer is ‘yes,” he added with another wide smile. “No point in modesty there. I wouldn’t say I’ll be dancing with Bolshoi any time soon, but if I’ve been held back from reaching my full potential, it’s not because of any lack of skill. There are other factors involved.”
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Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 9:09 pm
Though Jett had absolutely no idea what the hell Bolshoi was, he had managed to understand the majority of Paris’ words. He had nodded to acknowledge that he was still listening to the male as he finished wrapping up his hands and then rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up a bit.
Jett wasn’t the type of guy who enjoyed stretching in front of other people; throwing some punches was one thing, but stretching just seemed cheesy. He’d worked on doing some stretches while back at the house before heading over, but still wanted to make sure his blood was flowing and his muscles weren’t going to cramp up.
The way Paris spoke about dancing made it clear that this wasn’t just some childhood dream of being a performer and getting famous—Paris had options, and didn’t see only the stage and spotlight.
Which made it a little easier to take the concept of dancing as a profession seriously.
Though Jett certainly wasn’t well educated on the field of dance, he assumed that getting into any company and playing any named role over a background dancer had to be good. “Sounds impressive,” he said, and even if he wasn’t at all impressed, he appreciated a person who had strong motivation.
Just as long as they didn’t get in his way.
Throwing a few quick test blows, Jett’s fists hit the bag in front of him with enough force to make the chains it hung from clink. He didn’t seem to be giving it his all, though it was difficult to make conversation when you were absolutely breathless. “So if it’s not skill holding you back from reaching your full potential, what is?” he prompted, unable to resist sticking his nose into other people’s business.
Most days he had the common sense to manipulate the situation to the topic he wanted, but today, it just wasn’t worth the effort.
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Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 12:10 pm
A younger Paris wouldn’t have been opposed to being famous. Sometimes he still thought it might be nice if more people actually knew his name in the dance world, and while he still spoke quite highly of himself when it came to his talent for dance, his experiences over the last year had humbled him in a way. He didn’t need fame or success in the public eye to find fulfillment. As long as he could dance, as long as he had the opportunity to keep trying to rise higher, and as long as he had options to make a decent future for himself, he knew he could be happy with what he was doing.
Besides, he got enough of fame and fortune with his boyfriend. He was more than happy to leave it at that and focus instead on using his talents for the benefit of others.
“Well, ballet’s a bit more than just being able to dance,” he said slowly, considering how long he wanted to string Jett along. “There’s a lot of aesthetics to it, too. Height, weight, things like that. A male dancer’s usually taller than a ballerina and such.”
Clearly Paris didn’t have much of an issue in the weight department. He was notably thin with just enough muscle tone to make it obvious that he kept himself physically active. His issues in dance usually lied more in height—5’3” was good for a ballerina, but not so much for a male dancer—and subsequently his gender.
“And it’s usually only the girls who dance en pointe,” he continued to explain as he watched Jett take on his punching bag. “You know, on their toes. Some guys do it, too, especially if they plan on teaching both boys and girls. Guys who do it on stage are still looked at as being sort of unique. It’s not that it’s unheard of, but…”
Paris shrugged, a wide smile still in place as he said, “I guess you could say I’m a bit more unique than most. There’s a certain bit of risk involved when you cast a guy in a girl’s role, even if that guy happens to look the part.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 11:00 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 08, 2012 4:36 pm
Paris looked pleased with himself. Very, very pleased with himself, and he didn’t bother to hide it.
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, even as his mouth stretched into the widest grin he’d shown since running into the other boy. “My mother lets me do whatever makes me feel comfortable so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone,” he said, casually lifting one of his hands to feign examining his nails in an obviously disinterested fashion.
It was one of the very few things he could appreciate about his mother, that she’d let him be who he was when other parents might not have been as accepting, and it was that one thing that she’d done for him that he would always defend, no matter what else she did between then and now and on into the future.
“She got a lot of flak for it from some of the neighbors and a few of my relatives, but I don’t really see how my clothes pose much of a problem for anyone else,” he continued. “Except that it confuses people and might make a certain type of person uncomfortable, but if I spent all of my time worrying about that I wouldn’t have any time left to be myself. I don’t do it for the reaction, though I admit it is pretty amusing sometimes. And honestly, there are some people that deserve a bit of a shock.”
Done checking his nails for flaws he already knew didn’t exist, Paris lowered his hand to prop it on his hip, which jutted to the side a bit.
“Why?” he asked. “Is that a problem? I can go off and mind my own business if what I’m wearing infringes upon your delicate sensibilities.”
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Posted: Tue Jul 10, 2012 12:10 am
Jett looked at Paris for a short moment later and then scoffed. He wanted to be mad at the male; he didn’t particularly enjoy being tricked. Though, that expression mixed with that response? That little b*****d.
“You a*****e,” he said, though it hardly seemed like an insult and was leaning more towards a teasing compliment. Of course dressing in a strangely provocative and misleading way wasn’t going to hurt anyone physically, but how many guys had he sent home embarrassed? He certainly depicted no guilt in the matter—and Jett almost liked.
Don’t do something if you were going to regret it.
“I don’t give a s**t how you dress. Now that I know what’s in your pants, at least. You put on a good show, how long did it take you to perfect it?” he prompted, rolling his shoulders a little as he eyed the bag in front of him. It had stopped swinging on its chain, making it a ridiculously easy target. “—and what the hell made you start in the first place? Did you just decide you wanted to look like a girl one day, or did dressing up and screwing with people just sound like too good of an offer to pass up?”
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Posted: Tue Jul 10, 2012 12:48 pm
To try and claim that he didn’t regret at least some of it would be a huge lie, despite the nonchalance with which Paris was currently handling the situation. Then again, it wasn’t as if he regretted it often. When he did, it was typically something big. His boyfriend, for example.
Paris snorted at the blunt questions, both because they amused him as well as because very few people were ever so blunt about it in the first place. He could appreciate Jett not pussyfooting around the issue. Most of the friends who’d asked him similar things before had done so with a certain caution and reserve, as if they were afraid of offending him by asking him something he thought was completely natural to be curious about.
“I didn’t really start to screw around with people, no,” Paris replied. “It was sort of a gradual thing. Started when I was young, probably around the time I started school and decided I wanted pretty hair clips in my hair like all the girls. Then it was the clichéd things. You know, breaking into my mom’s closet and trying on her shoes, experimenting with her makeup when she wasn’t looking. I never really felt comfortable dressed as a boy.”
He was never sure how well other people could really understand that, nor did it really bother him if Jett didn’t care to try, since it wasn’t like it was something Paris always understood himself. There were layers to discomfort—physical, mental, emotional—but, in Paris’s experience, most people tended to focus purely on the physical unless they’d had exposure to the latter two themselves. The issue with his clothes and that manner in which he perceived himself was much more complicated than he liked to pretend. He never felt as if he explained it well enough to satisfy anyone. A lot of times it didn’t even satisfy him.
“I didn’t start doing it to fool people,” he reiterated with a shrug. “I don’t do it to fool people now. That’s more of an amusing side-effect, but kind of a shitty reason. It has much more to do with me and how I feel than it has to do with anyone else.”
And that was turning down too much of a serious track for him to feel entirely comfortable discussing with a stranger he assumed didn’t really care to hear it, so Paris plastered a grin back on his face and struck a playful pose to show off his assets—which, if you asked him, were his pretty face, his lovely fair hair, his clear complexion, the curve of his backside, and his toned legs.
“Besides, you can’t say I don’t make it look good,” he joked.
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Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2012 4:54 pm
Jett shrugged, and while honesty was not always a quality he possessed, he did not bother to deny, “You make a prettier girl than half the ones I’ve seen recently. Which is going to send me home with mixed feelings, I assure you.”
He wasn’t going to go home and question his sexuality just because he’d seen an attractive boy. Why would he, he’d thought Paris was a girl? And judging by his stance on the whole thing, Paris wanted it like that. No, thank you, Jett was content with his very fabulous girlfriend, who he knew for a fact was not just dressing the part.
For as odd as it was, Jett wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to make of the situation. Sure, it was weird; he could never imagine dressing in such a manner. Though Jett was often to keep his charm around women, he often found them to be purely tedious. But Paris wanted to emulate one? He could only speculate as to why. Maybe Paris had some mental disorder or something.
Still, the concept interested Jett. Paris certainly wasn’t shy about exposing himself as a male, and his response implied that he wasn’t weak or submissive. Just some guy that preferred to dress like a girl?
Jett threw a few more punches at the bag while considering. He could define Paris by that, alone—by the fact that he had a ridiculous taste in fashion, or by the fact that, despite dressing like a girl, he was rather ballsy in doing so.
“You’re pretty damn convincing as a girl. Certainly makes you the most interesting person I’ve met this week.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 20, 2012 11:41 am
“Awwww, you’re too sweet~” Paris joked, bringing his hands up to frame his face and mock a gushing manner, saccharine and girlish in a way that he typically found fairly annoying in others due to the fakeness that usually lied beneath it.
Some of his more feminine traits were a little more inherent than others.
The rest were sometimes forced strictly to be obnoxious.
Once he was done imitating a fawning reaction, Paris dropped his hands and regained a more casual disposition, slipping between overly cute and nonchalant in a matter of seconds. The only thing that remained from the gushing was his smile, though it had transitioned more into an amused smirk in the meantime.
“Seriously, though, that’s a better reaction than I usually get,” he observed as he continued to watch Jett at the punching bag. “Usually it’s embarrassment, or people falling over themselves to apologize for the mistake. Sometimes it’s disgust, the ‘oh my god, I can’t believe I was just checking out a dude.’ Once or twice I’ve been slapped or pushed around, even if I wasn’t doing it to confuse people on purpose.”
Maybe a few times he’d deserved it—like when he had been doing it on purpose—but there were still times in which it hadn’t been quite as deserving. Luckily he could take care of himself fairly well.
“I don’t really care what people think of me one way or the other,” he said. “Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve never really thought there needs to be a firm line between the two. People are people. What’s in my pants doesn’t make me who I am.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 20, 2012 5:07 pm
Jett snickered to himself at Paris’ imitation of a girl, and where he should have offered sympathy towards the male’s plight—he laughed. He should have offered condolences for being mistreated or judged for just trying to be himself, but Jett found amusement—and perhaps a bit of admiration, despite how odd this situation was. He had never met someone with the same logic as Paris—girls dressed like girls and boys dressed like boys. There had never been that middle ground, where anyone could be anything they wanted—do anything they wanted.
But to argue with Paris’ logic would be like arguing with his own.
It didn’t matter where you came from, who you came from, what you wore, what gender you were—Jett had long since abandoned many stereotypes. It didn’t stop him from resenting women, or finding them incompetent in many ways, though he was not of the belief that there weren’t at least a few good ones. If they wanted to take up masculine roles and try and forge their way into the world, fine. Just as long as they didn’t get in his way.
If Paris wanted to take the backwards route, so be it.
“I guess you’ll always get people who disagree with what you choose to do. I’ve only known a few people to break…certain stereotypes. There’s a girl I used to spar with, a few years ago. She was one of the trainers’ sister. I was around, she wanted to go around. I didn’t want to fight her. I mean, she was like half my size.”
He shook his head, let out an amused scoff, and then concluded, “She hit. Hard. Proved me wrong. Was a bit of a sore loser, though. Punched me right in the throat.”
…He was an even worse loser, though; he broke her nose shortly after.
“…So I suppose it’s your cup of tea. Frills and ballet,” he nodded towards Paris, “Or gloves and bruises. But. I suppose you do what you need to define yourself.” Boy, girl, pants, skirt—Jett didn’t care. The most important thing to him was how useful someone could be to him. “So. Without getting too personal—” like he hadn’t pried enough already “—What are you, beyond that? You don’t care how people see you, how do you want to see yourself?”
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 11:34 am
Frills and ballet or gloves and bruises, Paris didn’t bother to make the correction and admit that he had experience in both. That particular experience wasn’t exactly something he could so easily share with someone, especially not a stranger. Normal people didn’t always have a good opinion of what he was—and wasn’t that a bunch of bullshit? He was occasionally looked down upon for being as he was as a civilian, nor was he always trusted or liked by people for being a senshi.
Neither of which were things he felt he could easily change, not unless he just… stopped.
If Paris had had it his way he would stick to only frills and ballet, but the world wasn’t really the sort of place he used to think it was. Sometimes the latter was necessary, whether he liked it or not.
“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” he wondered.
His smile faltered just a bit, though he did a remarkable job keeping at least something warm and accepting on his face, even though inside he felt a little… he didn’t really know. Confused, maybe—conflicted? It wasn’t a question he minded being asked, but it also wasn’t one he had a decent answer for. Ladon and Chris had both asked him something similar before. He’d done the best he could at the time, had gone with what he thought the answer was, but the truth was a bit more complicated than that.
He’d come to realize that more and more recently—about everything.
“To be honest, I… I don’t really know,” he said. He felt somewhat uncomfortable, not because of what Jett had asked, but because he didn’t really know what to tell him. Glancing off to the side, Paris tried to shrug it off. “Both, maybe. I’ve never really cared one way or the other. I know what people expect, I know how some other people in my position might feel, but I don’t… know. I know that’s probably not a very good answer, but… I mean, it’s the truth. Should I feel one way or the other? Should I care? Is there something wrong with me if I don’t?”
Paris stopped before he could continue, glancing back at Jett with a rueful smile. “That’s probably a bit more than you wanted to hear,” he said, “but I guess some things aren’t so obviously black and white. Maybe things’ll change for me later, but for now I’m just… I don’t know… stuck in between, maybe.”
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Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2012 7:55 pm
There was no universe where Jett did not like a deep conversation. Of course, he loved when conversations revolved around him—but he also loved the weakness people showed when talking about themselves. He didn’t know much about Paris, but from what he did know, he could at least assume much. And he assumed that underneath it all, Paris was as difficult to decipher in spirit than he was in appearance.
The smile seemed to give something away, though Jett couldn’t tell if it was some internal strife he had unwittingly released or if Paris was genuinely apologetic that he had unleashed such thoughts upon Jett. He offered a contemplative nod as he considered some of Paris’ deeper answers to his question. “You seem like you’d be an interesting person to mull things over with. Most people tend to go with the obvious choice. Or, at least, the easiest one. What’s got you stuck in between?” he prompted, curiosity yet unsated. It seemed like with every answer Paris provided, Jett was more intrigued. “I figure it has to be something important. There’s always incentive to move forward, but you’re letting something keep you back?”
It was a hypothesis, but one that he could at least identify with. He wasn’t struggling with how he should be perceived to the world. “I mean. Not to get too personal or anything,” he said, as though that would take off the social edge of it all. “I guess that sort of thing just interests me. Or maybe I suppose I can relate a little bit to the idea of it, at least.”
Or maybe he just liked to make assumptions and then find out if he was right.
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Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2012 6:31 pm
“Oh, no, it’s not too personal,” Paris said, and then paused to correct himself, “Well, no, it is personal, but it’s not something I’m against talking about. I just… don’t really think I ever do a good job of explaining it.”
He didn’t know if that meant there was something wrong with him, or if it really was far more difficult than it seemed in his head. He liked to think he knew himself better than anyone else, and for the most part he did, but there were instances when he questioned himself, when he challenged himself, and when he wondered if he really knew what he was talking about. He was only eighteen. He didn’t have to make any decisions now. He didn’t have to have all of the answers.
But it’d be nice if he did.
“It’s not that something’s holding me back,” he continued slowly. “I guess it’s just that I don’t understand myself as well as I thought, or maybe I’m still figuring it out, or maybe everything just gets a bit convoluted when I’m put on the stop like this,” he added with a laugh.
Paris didn’t mind it. He’d opened the door for Jett to ask him these questions. He’d widened that door when he’d answered and exposed himself and decided to be honest. For the most part, he liked being honest. Discussing it wasn’t such an adverse notion when the person he was discussing it with seemed moderately interested—for whatever reason. He had no idea what Jett was thinking or why he wanted the information, but he’d asked and so Paris felt obligated to answer.
Besides, sometimes it was nice to just let loose with a total stranger.
“Issues of gender are pretty complicated to begin with,” he explained. “What does it mean to be a guy? What does it mean to be a girl? Those are things we’ve given meaning to ourselves. I’ll settle with both for now, I think. At the moment, I see myself as both. Maybe that'll change later, maybe it won't. If it does, I'll deal with it then. In the meantime, what everyone else chooses to see me as is their prerogative. If they’re nice about it, I’ll be nice back. If they’re dicks, well… I’ve got enough moxie to handle that.”
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Posted: Wed Sep 19, 2012 2:22 am
That Paris seemed to be in a good mood despite the rather deep nature of the conversation left Jett pleasantly surprised. He had expected that one of these questions was going to result in either a bashfully mumbled response, or an angry word vomit or something. Instead, Paris had responded with tact and grace.
Which was as pleasing as it was disappointing. While Jett remained genuinely interested in the topic, a part of him always enjoyed seeing people slip up and lose their cool. By the end of Paris' words, Jett decided that he was happier that he'd gotten to hear the whole of it.
He wasn't sure where he stood on the whole stance—particularly when it came to genders. He'd always assumed he had a strict view of it gender—boy and girls and no in-between. Heterosexuality was good, anything else was weird.
…But seriously, what the hell did he care who or what you were? Yeah, girls were typically whiny, bratty, and downright weaker than guys, but beyond that? There were some girls that weren't half bad. He couldn’t understand wanting to be both genders, but there was more than one way to be an opportunist, and if Paris got his kicks by playing off both genders—what the hell, good for him.
"Pretty radical view of the world," he noted, though not negatively. It just wasn't a belief you heard every day. It certainly wasn't one they prepared you to deal with, either.
"But you seem to be doing all right," he said, nodding to Paris. "And you pull off a girl very well. Wearing that outfit, I'd like to know how many people you send home to question their sexuality." He threw a few more punches, intent to keep up some sort of practice. "—Seems like you can get the best of both words with your arrangement." Charm a guy with a pretty face, charm a girl with a pretty face. Hell, Paris might be onto something here. Not that Jett could ever steep so low as to impersonate a woman, but the whole deal was starting to sound a little more appealing to him. At least he could understand why Paris would be doing it—if he was getting something out of it. If it was just for aesthetics, way less interesting.
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Posted: Wed Sep 19, 2012 11:23 am
The only thing Paris got out of it these days was a sense of comfort all his own. It used to be that he used it to his advantage, tricked people, used people, pushed them perhaps a little too far. Back then it had been a sort of entertainment, keeping people in the dark or making them feel uncomfortable. Now he didn’t see much point in that anymore. This, who and what he was, shouldn’t be about anyone else. All it should be about was him.
“I honestly don’t know how many people go off and question things about themselves,” he replied, “and I’m pretty satisfied with the guy I’ve got now…” An understatement, and liable to fail with the state their relationship was in at the moment. “How anyone else chooses to respond to it is their business. If it opens their eyes, great. If they’d rather stay in their own little bubble of perceived normalcy, good for them. So long as they don’t try to be an a*****e about it, I’m not too concerned with what other people think.”
He was, however, somewhat curious as to what Jett was thinking. Paris couldn’t decide what angle he was coming from. A few of his comments had seemed mostly accepting, but then there were others that seemed to be the result of a skewed perception—a typical tough guy trying to understand but not quite managing it. Paris figured it could very well be because he hadn’t explained it as well as he might have wanted to despite his best efforts, or else Jett was a bit too set in his ways to really get it.
That was alright. He was a decent guy, regardless—or, at least, he seemed to be about this. As decent as Paris could hope for, in any case.
Movement beyond Jett and the punching bag caught Paris’s attention, and he watched as a gaggle of women began to trickle out of one of the side rooms where the aerobics and yoga classes generally took place. He noticed his mother among them, staring around the remainder of the gym looking for him, and Paris decided he’d much rather end this encounter himself, without his mother coming to shove her nose in.
Talking about himself was relatively easy, but bringing his mother into any of it? Still quite the touchy subject.
“Looks like I’m being missed,” he observed, tossing another smile Jett’s way as he prepared to make his exit. “Maybe I’ll see you around? Never got the chance to try my hand at the boxing thing. Maybe next time, if I haven’t imposed too much already. You’re a pretty okay guy.”
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