Spare Wood
written for Flash Fiction Friday Prompt #359, event hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial
Story: Original Work (Ao3 Link)
Tags: LGBT, Transgender, Transman, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Queer
Rating: Teen and up
Word count: 952
Spare Wood
The winter sun shone coldly in a steel-blue sky. Trigg stood up to wipe the sweat off a dusky forehead. It was not there because of the sun, which barely warmed, but because of the exertion. Working the farm and land by oneself can be a draining job, with little reward.
The chickens had been fed, the last of the summer crops harvested, and the field newly plowed in preparation for the winter crops. Trigg had only just begun to chop up some wood to stock the hearth. Things were going fine the first few blows, the split pieces falling onto the ground with a satisfying thump. It was when the axe came down the third time that the problem happened. The axe blade did not go through the log, but cracked upon impact, causing Trigg to lose balance momentarily.
This is no good, Trigg thought, examining the chipped blade in the bleak light. A blunt axe was a useless axe.
There was already a lingering chill in the days, along with wilting trees, and sickly suns—all signs that winter was just over the horizon.
They needed the wood for warmth, and to boil water and food.
Trigg did not like spending what little money they had on what could be gotten from the land, but a ride to the blacksmith would be far and would take all day. Why go there, when another place existed which was much closer? A little shop that a friend had mentioned once, which sold logs for burning.
Trigg decided there was nothing else for it but to purchase some wood from that shop to last the day.
After storing the day’s work in a dry place, the horse was brought out, with some oats to entice him, and hitched to a little wagon. Then they were headed south.
_
It was a small shop, and the sign above it read: Spare Wood.
Trigg dismounted and began walking up the steps.
The inside of the shop was filled with the smells of fresh bark. There were several short, metal racks on which were stacked piles of firewood, all lined up on either side of the walls.
The light inside was a warm yellow that poured out of more than one oil lamp that hung in the rafters.
Two of these lamps sat on the counter, illuminating a figure which almost went without notice.
She was so still, until Trigg’s eyes followed the movement of a shadow, and she came into focus.
“Hello,” said the girl in the sweetest tone for miles round. Trigg merely nodded acknowledgement.
She was a young woman, in a long, mustard-color corset dress pleasantly draped over a curvy body. Her hair was a warm blond in the lamplight, and her eyes a pale amber against her glowing white skin.
Compared to her, Trigg felt so plain, still in the farmer’s clothing, stained from the morning’s work and likely not smelling like any flowers.
But the girl didn’t seem to mind, as she stepped out from behind the counter and approached closer.
“Would you like some help choosing?” she asked in a tone that, were they at a tavern, Trigg would have thought of as bordering on teasing. She looked close at the farm clothing, that Trigg had often been told gave a distinctly masculine image. The difference, unlike the others who had made comments, was that she seemed as though she understood something about it, without a word passing her lips.
The girl stepped closer to the wall, and motioned to what looked like a wardrobe covered by a thick blanket. She took up one end and pulled it down smoothly to reveal what was inside.
Trigg was shocked, for on those racks were some strange objects, and not the type of thing one would burn in a fireplace, though they too were made of wood.
They came in all the colors of the trees they were carved from, in different sizes, with a polished surface to give each of them a smooth feel.
“I… I do not use these,” said Trigg, feeling an uncomfortable burning of the cheeks.
The girl put on a curious expression, like a little confused pout, then something lit up her eyes.
“Ahh. I know,” she said. She turned and scampered off into another room at the very back of the store. Trigg stood there feeling out of place for some minutes. Then she was back.
“Here,” she said, motioning for Trigg to move so that she could slip on what looked like a harness around Trigg’s narrow hips and waist. She kept it unbuckled so that she could try out putting different wooden parts into the metal ring in the strap, holding it up against Trigg’s crotch to see how it looked.
“Which color would you like? Something matching your skin tone, or something entirely different?”
Trigg was at a loss for words, simply trying to remain still while the young woman carried on in her fittings. In the end, she seemed to choose a dark cherrywood phallus. It was large, but not so much that it felt entirely out of place…
After tightening the strap, the girl led Trigg to a mirror, to show it off from different angles. The mirror combined the new look with the old—boyish hair cut, bound chest and all.
Trigg felt a strange feeling that had never occurred before in all the years of being on this earth—a feeling of completeness.
“Will you buy it?” asked the girl.
“Yes,” said Trigg without a second thought. “Thank you… um…”
“I’m Sherrie,” said the girl, and Trigg thought that was the prettiest-sounding name that ever fell on the ear.
