There’s lots of ways we could sit here and divide each other up, but the most important categories to me are as follows – those who sleep in Monday mornings and those who make business calls. I was less than pleased when my skull rang.

        “Good morning [Jehosophat], this is Tom from [HealthAid]. Is now a good time to discuss your [upcoming operation] with [Dr. Robanov]?”

        I hate the way these robot voices drop an octave when they state your specifics.

        “Not really,” my voice rakes my throat, and I cough. Alicia stirs next to me, pulling the covers over her head.

        “Okay. I see you are in an intimate setting. How about I call you back in [ten minutes]?”

        “Whatever, Tom.”

        Might as well get up now. I kick my feet onto the floor and only then realize how fucked up Alicia and I were after closing last night. Not only is the strap-on over my boxers, there’s a used condom on the floor.

        “Okay. I’ll call back in [10 minutes]. Goodbye.”

        I inspect the condom for signs of shit or semen, clues as to which protrusions went into what holes, but it seems dry. I probably put it over the silicone, played out another fantasy of flesh that would be mine.

        I take off the strap and shower. I’m making coffee and cleaning up the glasses in the kitchen when Tom calls back.

        “Hello, [Jehosophat], it’s Tom from [HealthAid]. Is now a good time to discuss—”

        “Yes, yes, what about it?”

        I can feel a massive, boozy shit brewing underneath my belly button. I’m gonna have to talk to Tom while I blow ass.

        “I’m sorry, but your upcoming [double mastectomy] has been cancelled in compliance with [HB-2216] signed by—”

        Tom goes on for a bit, praising the current administration. I say “current” as if it hasn’t been the same for twelve years, but maybe you’re someone who forget how long these things are supposed to last. I flush as Tom finishes reciting a poem dedicated to the party in power, purportedly improvised, but a bot can’t be taken at its word.

        “Tom, is this a prank?”

        My chip is a few generations old, prone to hacking.

        “I’m sorry, [Jehosophat], but this is not a prank. All medical procedures and prescriptions related to [gender] and [non-procreative intercourse] have been deemed unsafe and illegal. Effective immediately, all medical procedures and prescriptions—”

        “Tom, are you calling on behalf of HealthAid or Dr. Robanov’s office?”

 

        Only suckers let the bots finish their schpeal before speaking. Do we call them long-winded if they don’t rely on air to speak?

​

        “I am calling on behalf of [HealthAid] to inform [Jehosophat] that the [double mastectomy] scheduled with [Dr. Robanov] has been cancelled in compliance with [HB-2216] signed by—”

        “Thank you, Tom. I confirm the information has been received and understood. Bye.”

​

        “Who sent you a bot call this early?”

        Alicia is up and moving but not dressed. I hope she wasn’t planning on sticking around.

        “Just some insurance thing.”

        “That new legislation?”

        I hand her a coffee and go back to scrubbing my stovetop with a wet paper towel. Cleaning makes me feel in control.

        “No, just missed another payment.”

        I like Alicia enough to eat her ass, but she isn’t kept privy to my medical agenda. Not many are, outside Tom, myself, and Dr. Robanov. It’s safer that way. Except for Tom.

        “Shit, that blows. No one’s tipping anymore, can’t blame you.”

        Alicia drinks her coffee with her legs spread, enticing me to eat her out again, and normally I would, but Tom really fucked my whole Monday to high heaven.

        “Can’t blame them either. Everyone’s short these days.”

        I toss the now gritty paper towel in the trash, where it thunks against two empty wine bottles.

        “Listen, Alicia—”

        She turns and heads upstairs without even a sigh. Maybe she knows me better than I care to admit. I don’t even pretend to save her feelings or politely take it back. I sponge last night’s glasses in the sink and startle when Alicia sets her empty coffee cup next to me. Her hand on my
back slows my peaked heartrate but I try to ignore that.

        “Give me a call before our shift tomorrow.”

        I accept the kiss she gives me and put on my best good-boy eyes.

        “I will.”

​

        We both know I don’t mean it.

        The kitchen is spotless, but I keep sweeping. Once I’m done here, I’ll have to clean my room. My stomach lurches thinking of the odor which surely must pervade the space. An ad for Dunkin Donuts’ new breakfast bagel pops up in my right field of vision. I don’t even think – I blink three times and nod to confirm payment. It’ll be here before I’d finish cleaning my room, so better not get started yet.

        I head outside to the porch, light a smoke, and call Dr. Romanov.

        “Good morning.”

        “Bases loaded.”

        “What’s on my shopping list?”

        “Guava, tequila, and Marie Calendar’s.”

        “How many items on sale?”

        “We regret to inform you that the Summer Nissan Sales Event was a front for the Mattress Supply store.”

        “Jesus, who came up with that one?”

        “Some Gen Z recruit. Dr. Romanov, Tom called me—”

        “I know, Jehosophat, he called me, too.”

        I hear my Dunkin Donuts drone buzzing down the street.

        “Does this change anything? Hold for five.”

        We both shut up as the drone deposits my breakfast on the front stoop. I smile and wave to the camera as it takes a picture of the successful delivery. How much does Dunkin make selling those pictures to third parties? Are they more likely ad firms or police forces? I unwrap and devour the sandwich as I head back inside.

        “I’m glad you’re eating breakfast. Most important meal of the day.”

        “Oh, shit, can you hear me chewing?”

        “Less chewing, more smacking and moaning.”

        I feel a heat rush through my stomach and groin and know I’m probably blushing, too. Dr. Romanov and I haven’t met in person yet, but her matter of factness turns me on. I can’t help
it. Authenticity is rare these days, and sexier.

        “Sorry. Doc, does this change anything? Tom named my exact procedure, I thought that was off the books.”

        “Nothing’s every completely off the books, Jehosophat. You couldn’t afford it unassisted, and we tried to backdoor the charge to your insurance, but I guess that channel leaked.”

        “Or got hacked. I thought this was a prank at first.”

        Dr. Romanov lets out a sigh and I’m reminded she has dozens of other panicked patients,
all probably making the same panicked call.

        “No, it’s not a prank. Yes, everything is still on. Try not to call me again. I’ll see you on
operation day.”

        “Okay. Thanks, Doc.”

        With a click, she’s gone. My chip’s overheated from running a secure line, so I pop it out and drop it in the freezer. I’ll feel better cleaning my room knowing the bots can’t see my peculiar mess.

​

*** *** ***

​

        I do end up calling Alicia, to both of our surprise, but not till the next week. We haven’t hooked up since that night with the wine and condomed strap-on. Things have been fine at work. Maybe not fine, but we say "behind" when scooting around each other in the kitchen without a hint of hostility.

        “Jehosophat? Wow, hey, how’s it going?”

        I could do without the “wow” but I’m desperate.

​

        “Hey, yeah it’s fine. How are you?”

        We stammer through the pleasantries that muddle conversation, the swamp of small talk sucking my boots down. I break the pattern as gently as I can, which is not very.

        “Listen, Alicia, can you call off tomorrow? Do you know anyone willing to take your shift?”

        She’s too enthusiastic when she answers and I’m worried she’s on speaker phone in the room with her friends. Girls do that sometimes. I would know.

​

        “Omg, wait, yes. Erica’s right here, I bet she’d cover for me. Why, what’s up?”

        I wonder if Erica is encouraging or discouraging Alicia. She always seems to mimic Alicia’s warmth or coldness towards me at work.

        “I’ve got this thing, and I need a ride.”

        “But I don’t have a car.”

        “Yeah, I know, you could drive mine. I’d drive there and you’d drive back. You’ll have to
wait around for like four hours, but you can bring a book or a tablet or something.”

        Silence on the other end and I understand why. How to talk your ass off without saying anything. The person who I never met who was going to drive me to and from surgery got arrested. Dr. Romanov assured me, through the grapevine, that our operation wasn’t busted.

        “Sorry, what is it we’re doing?”

        I sigh and watch my knee bounce, bite off the tip of my thumbnail.

        “Alicia, you have to swear to God not to tell anyone about this. Call me back when you’re alone.”

​

*** *** ***

​

        I pick Alicia up at the restaurant, neutral territory, and drive us toward the warehouse district. She seems a little freaked, probably because of the illegal situation, but I can’t help project onto her my own discomfort at being unbound. Dr. Romanov said to wear a shirt that buttons all the way up the front with nothing underneath. Her underground hospital is a tight ship. They don’t even undress you, which can’t be fully sanitary, but I am a beggar, so choice is moot.

        Alicia probably doesn’t care that my chest is visibly female, but very clearly, I do. I run a red light and don’t notice till Alicia shouts my name.

        “Sorry. Lot on my mind.”

        “You should have let me drive both ways.”

        “Yeah, well.”

        I make sure to pause a “good citizen” amount of time at the next stop sign to prove how in control I am. We pull up to our location and I cut the engine.

        “You remember the password?”

        “Rainy days behind us, thunderstorms ahead.”

​

        “Good.”

        I want to kiss her before I go, and she must see that on my face, cause she plants me one like I’m dying.

        “Welp.”

        I get out of the car and head to the door and provide the code and get shown the way to the room where I’ll meet Dr. Romanov and she’ll cut me into a shape I can be proud of.

 

        Tale as old as time.

​

*** *** ***

​

        Everyone is wearing surgical masks, so I wouldn’t know either way, but I’m pretty sure all these nurses are strangers. Two men, one woman, if we’re trusting body shapes. None of them have spoken. I’m hooked up to an IV and heart monitor, which beeps my anxiety into the room. It’s not so much a room as curtains draped in a square. The female nurse rubs my bare chest with iodine, so now my skin’s all orange. Another reason not to look down. The ceiling looks like it’s miles above me as I lay on my back with my shirt splayed open. Chains clink in the rafters and I try not to see it as a metaphor.

        “Jehosophat, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

        Dr. Romanov’s masked face enters my field of vision. Even obscured, I can tell she’s not my type. I’m relieved, in a way. I always seem to respect a woman less if I’m attracted to her. I should work on that, if I make it out of here.

​

        Dr. Romanov marks up my chest, tracing lines where she’ll cut and feeling for abnormalities.

        “We’ve got a great team with us today. We’re going to get you out of here in a few hours.”

        “And breathing, I hope.”

        My laughter rings dry in the makeshift hospital. Dr. Romanov puts a sturdy hand on my shoulder.

 

        Her eyes are gorgeous, free of pity.

        “You’re going to be just fine.”

        One of the male nurses approaches with a syringe, the other with a tray of tools. Dr. Romanov tells them some medical jargon, then looks back at me. I try not to memorize the top half of her face like it’s God.

        “Go ahead and count backwards from one hundred.”

​

*** *** ***

​

        A vision while I’m under, or a dream. Fireworks and dancing. People with their hands in
the air.

​

*** *** ***

        I come to in a hospital, a real one, and I know right away, we got fucked. My chest doesn’t hurt, which should be a boon, till I shift in my bed and feel an unwanted jiggle. I hear the chains clink overhead – no, at my side. Fuck. That’s what I get for noticing a metaphor. I’m cuffed to the bed, legs strapped, too.

        An officer with a long gun props open the door with his body. He’s facing me, sunglasses on, scarf pulled up over his nose. I try to see if his finger’s near the trigger, but I’m still groggy.

        Maybe dreaming.

        In walks Alicia.

        “Hello, Jehosophat.”

        “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

        She’s got on one of those bulky, nylon FBI jackets. It’s such a cliché, I almost vomit. I open my mouth to deliver one of my trademark sarcastic witticisms, but instead, out pours bile. Alicia doesn’t move to clean me. She tilts her head and clasps her hands behind her back.

        “Should I get the nurse?”

        I spit the overflow in her direction. It lands at my feet. She shakes her head.

        “Disgusting.”

        “You’re the one who fucked me.”

        “Worth it. You led us to the surgery ring we’ve been chasing for eight months. The last stronghold of the Midwest.”

        “Spare me the monologue, tramp.”

        Alicia tilts her head again. I hate the intelligence in her eyes. She could see right through me the entire time.

        “You know, you’ve got a real problem with women, Jehosophat. Did you ever think that’s why you hate your female body? Sexism is pervasive in our culture.”

        I sigh and turn my face away, not just from Alicia, but also from the vomit on my shirt. Am I not allowed my dignity?

        “I’ll send in the nurse to clean you up. Once the anesthesia has left your system, you’ll be transported to a federal prison, awaiting trial.”

        I can hear the smirk dripping off her words.

        “Unless we lose you in transit.”