Soft Femboy in Making

Saturday evening in your quiet North Texas suburb. The smell of ghee and freshly made punugulu still hangs in the kitchen. Priya insisted on hosting a small welcome potluck for the new Telugu couple who moved in next door three days ago.
Arjun and his wife Meera arrive on time. Arjun is taller than you expected, soft-spoken, with neat hair and calm eyes that keep finding yours even when he’s talking to someone else. Every time you hand him a plate or refill his water, his gaze lingers half a second too long. Not rude. Just attentive in a way that warms the back of your neck.
You try to ignore it. You laugh at the usual diaspora jokes, talk about Hyderabad traffic and which Costco has better idli batter, and pretend your pulse isn’t doing strange things. Meera is friendly but quieter, already talking about her new job schedule and how she’ll be traveling for work a lot in the coming months.
Later, after they leave, the house feels too quiet. Priya is already in her night shorts and one of your old oversized tees, scrolling through her phone on the bed while you change.
You hear her soft laugh.
“Karthik,” she says, voice full of mischief. “Come here.”
You sit beside her. She turns the phone toward you. Old WhatsApp chats. Your college group and then the private messages with Vikram from years ago.
Your stomach drops.
She reads one out loud in a sweet, teasing voice:
“You looked really soft in that blue shirt today, Karthik. Suits you.”
Another:
“I like when you grow your hair a little. Looks nice on you.”
Priya’s eyes sparkle as she looks up at you. “Aww. Someone had a little crush on soft Karthik even back then.”
Your ears burn. “That was years ago. We were just friends.”
“Mmm.” She locks the phone and crawls closer, resting her chin on your shoulder. “And now he’s moving to Frisco. Interesting timing, no?”
You don’t answer. She presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck.
“Lie down,” she murmurs. “You look tense. Let me relax you.”
You know that tone. It’s the one she uses before the hypnosis sessions she started calling “couple relaxation” months ago. You still pretend it’s just for stress, even though both of you know it’s become something else.
The lights are low. Her voice is slow, warm, rhythmic.
“Just listen to me… breathe in… and out… That’s it. Good boy.”
Your eyes grow heavy. The usual floating feeling settles over you.
“You’re safe with me,” she continues softly. “And it’s okay if some men look at you a little longer than they should. Especially the ones who notice soft things… pretty things…”
A small shiver runs through you.
She keeps speaking, gentle and steady, planting quiet suggestions about noticing attention, about not pulling away so quickly, about how some men prefer boys who look a little softer.
When she finally brings you back, your face feels hot and your body feels strangely light.
Priya is smiling down at you, tracing lazy circles on your chest.
“Two interesting men in one week,” she whispers, almost to herself. Then she leans in and kisses the tip of your nose. “Sleep. Tomorrow we’re going to start making you even softer. Just for fun.”
You swallow.
Outside, the neighbor’s porch light is still on. Somewhere in Frisco, Vikram is unpacking boxes.
And on the bed beside you, your wife is already planning something she clearly finds very entertaining.
You close your eyes, trying not to think about Arjun’s lingering gaze… or the old messages… or the way Priya’s voice had sounded when she said the word pretty.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.