My Awkward Phase

“We do nothing, go nowhere.”
“Got a plan?” Quinn looked up from his scribbling.
“Marta and I will cross-dress, Barb and Anne dress butch and lipstick lez. Double role reversals to parody Sadie Hawkins.”
“Glad to be the odd man out,” Quinn said.
Barb looked up from her computer screen.
“Will a gangster chica like Marta go along with this fandango?”
I texted Marta, she replied “OMG I’m so in”. She would sew Potter-inspired costumes, mine as Hermione and hers as Harry, at her father’s tailor shop.
I passed my phone to Barb.
“Truth or dare.”
Anne and Barb had a whispered colloquy and then they each shook my outstretched hand.
“A sensational send-up. We’re in,” Barb said.
I prepared for my detour into dating and possible seduction by stopping my Spiro. My erections and fantasies intensified as my testosterone rebounded. I tried to imagine myself fucking Marta, but to reach orgasm my dream reverted to becoming a gangbanged, submissive cum-bucket for a sneering, abusive crowd of gangsters.
In my morning shower, as I scrubbed the crusty remnants of my masturbation from my belly, I wondered whether I could ever banish the secret slut who was gradually taking over my life. Was my Sadie Hawkins drama parody, or wish-fulfillment? Was Marta cosplaying with me or laying an ambush to out and humiliate me for the gratification of her gangster friends? I was both terrified and transfixed.
Date Night
My mom was so delighted that I had my first date that she overlooked Marta's modest background. I placated her worries about our gender-bending costumes by explaining our wardrobes as satire and extracted a promise of secrecy from my father.
I picked Marta up at her family's apartment, a modest walkup in the bad part of Venice: a sink full of dirty dishes, a harried mom, a screaming baby brother, and a gaggle of homeboys playing a shooter on the PlayStation. They flashed gang signs which I couldn’t return and returned to their game, blasting away with renewed ferocity that I felt sure was intended for me. She introduced me to her dad, back bent, eyes squinted, and fingers calloused by long days of measuring and stitching. His gaze revealed skepticism of the callow youth who was taking his daughter away from her home.