I Hope You’re Happy Too

by petroleum

Tags: #drones #f/nb #microfiction #nb/nb #scifi #hurt/comfort

Finally giving in.

This is a short piece I wrote to deal with some feelings about my transness and kinks, in particular my drone kink, as I often struggle with feelings of guilt, shame and self loathing over both. As a heads-up this is as self-inserty as it gets, I’m even using my actual name and deadname, although I’ve changed the surname for safety. It’s not particularly nsfw, in fact I’d say it’s more sad than anything. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

CW for mentions of self harm, suicide references, internalised transphobia, use of a slur, deadnaming and dronification

“…and all the parts of you that you don’t like will be swept away. A clean slate, so to speak!

-Any questions?”

I couldn’t look-

Her?

Them?

It?

-in the shiny black void that passed for a face.

“Will it hurt?”

Digging my nails into my forearm, I was perching so close to the edge of the chair I was in danger of falling off. Enough knots were forming in my gut that if you’d opened me up then and there it would have looked like the mass of cables behind my battered old television.

“It depends what you mean by hurt.” came the androgynous metallic purr.

“In terms of physical pain, there may be some slight discomfort during certain stages of the procedure, but emotionally, that all comes down to you.”

Looking up, I stared at my face reflected in the drone’s visor, warped and distorted by the curvature.

“Warped. Yeah, that’s fitting for you.” said a part of me that I wished would stay buried.

It began to rise to a cacophony.

“Sick little boy”

“Fundamentally broken”

“You think real women want something like this?”

“No, it’s just mongrel trannies like you, James”

“Honestly you should just walk out of here and straight into the roa-”

“Miss Shelley?”

I was dragged from the sea of self hate by the drone’s concerned tone.

“Oh! So sorry, miles away!” I try to sound cheerful. It doesn’t land.

“I can tell you have some doubts about this. You are under no obligation to proceed with this if you do not feel you can consent fully at the present moment, and we would welcome you back with open arms any time!”

Looking away at the utilitarian office around us, I felt like I was starting to float out above myself.

I think back to telling people about my decision.

Tears

Confusion

Anger in some cases

They didn’t understand why I wanted to “Throw my life away”, albeit often said in far more colourful language.

And in truth neither did I, not really. I’d finally come to some semblance of peace with being Jamie, whatever that entailed, but I knew deep down that something was constraining me, holding me back from truly being myself. Whether it was good ol’ gender dysphoria or my malfunctioning traumatised brain adding two and two together and making five after a lifetime of trauma, mental illness and running the gauntlet that was life under capitalism, I didn’t truly know.

Yet the desire was always there, thrumming away in the back of my mind like a half-remembered song from years ago.

The desire to be held down by a group of drones

The desire to see my own body clad in latex, a visor pushed over my head as my struggling faltered

The desire to no longer have to think or worry

To feel that warmth and connection

To belong

It felt beautiful

It felt transcendent

It was disgusting.

It should be anathema to every human impulse-

So why did I want this so bad?

Most of the time, the meeting ended with me standing up and quietly saying goodbye, stumbling out the door as the sobbing began to distract the other coffee shop patrons from their overpriced lattes.

I looked back at the drone, staring hazily up at it as it sat on the edge of its desk waiting for my response. It was the peak of androgyny in black latex, freed from the shackles of gender, the suggestion of what might have been muscles and breasts under the dark shining material, thick heavy duty boots on its feet, visor reflecting my bleary-eyed face back at me, almost as if I was looking out from within.

God it was beautiful.

…When had I started crying?

“While you have signed the contract, it will be voided if you turn back now. You are perfectly free to do that. But if not…”

Its voice trailed off and it extended a black-clad hand towards me.

“Come with me.”

Here it was, the moment of truth. I could go back to my life, back to being Jamie, crawl back to those I’d run from with my tail between my legs asking for forgiveness and for this all to be forgotten. Fill my life with minimum wage jobs, tense phone calls with parents far away, the freedom to watch my life go to pieces…

Or I could walk through those silver doors.

And finally feel like I belonged somewhere.

Finally feel at peace.

Finally be Me.

The last guns of my stubborn, rebellious streak fell silent.

Trembling, I took its hand, surprised at how warm it was to the touch, and it gently led me towards the silver doors at the far side of the room.

As we stepped through into the dark beyond, the drone turned to me.

“It really is beautiful you know, you’ll never be alone and scared again, I promise.”

The doors hissed shut.

Thank you for reading.

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