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Oz had had sex before. He didn't always love it, but he had liked it, some of it.
That was before. When he had never had thought long about wanting to be a man and he'd certainly never realized he was allowed to do it.
It was one thing to know that he was attracted to women, and once he'd gotten over his hangups about being on top, it had become a lot more obvious why so many people enjoyed sex. One of the girls he'd hooked up with had commented on it, the way he “acted like a man” in bed. She'd thought it was hot. She was into butches, she said.
He could be a butch. He liked the way that the girls at the Bronze looked at him when they saw him on stage from a distance. He liked it when they thought he was a man, and he liked trying to look like one, too. He had the right bone structure for it, and he never had much breast tissue to cover up.
It was the werewolf thing that changed it for him. He hadn't known that he was a werewolf, at first, but he'd known that something was up. He'd had a bit of a mustache before, a small one that his mom recommended he bleach, but looking in the mirror a week after Jordy was—
Well, it was nice. It was good. His mustache was getting darker and there was hair on his chin. Hair on his chin. Only a little, but it was there, and that made all the difference.
When Willow met Oz, she thought he was a boy. Oz wasn't a girlish name, and none of her friends had classes with him, so he supposed it wasn't a stretch. The real surprise was that everyone else thought the same. Even his bandmates, who'd known him since before he came out as a lesbian, called him a man.
Later, he'd think that there was more to it. In a town like Sunnydale, was it a stretch to think that maybe the same thing that masculinized his body had made everyone else forget it had been feminine in the first place?
And then they'd found out about the werewolf thing, and he'd found out about the werewolf thing, and suddenly there were more important things going on. He'd take it, really—a couple nights in a cage, in exchange for what was starting to look like an actual dick between his legs? Life was good. Better than it had ever been.
But then there was Willow, and she made it all the more complicated. He'd meant to tell her, really, but whenever he got the courage, she'd smile so cutely or lean into him and he'd forget everything he'd been planning to say. He had a girlfriend.
Besides, that alternate dimension vampire Willow had hit on normal Willow, and she hadn't even seemed that bothered. Angel had even confirmed that her sexuality wouldn't have changed when she became a vampire.
It was fine. He'd tell her when it was time, and for now, there were issues far more pressing than Willow's attempts at sexy date nights. Like the fact that his voice still cracked when he tried to sing with the band, and there was nothing manly about that, no matter what the other guys said. He could be her boyfriend, and he could be shy about sex, and maybe, by the time he told her, she'd even be bisexual.
Hey, a guy could dream.