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Summary
Every time someone else touched him, Ricky ran for the shower, wishing the water could boil his skin off and he’d emerge as a creature worth something, a puzzle piece with all the right curves. He’d scrub and scrub until his skin was blotchy and pink, erasing any memory of wrong.
Ricky isn’t quite a man; but not not a man. He’s definitely not a woman.
“You’re just Ricky!” Gyuvin had said many years ago. Like it was simple.
Maybe because it is.
Or: Ricky's never had penetrative sex with anyone before, but he knows Gyuvin is the only one who he'll have it with.