Alright, I swore I wouldn’t start this until after I finished Destined to Die?, but Me ans JessieBee have been talking about it constantly, and I just HAD to get started!

This is a bit like a modern day verion on Promises and Lies, but you DON’T need to read that first. It’s a completely separate story.

Chris and Wyatt are not brothers in this story; Piper and Leo are Chris’s parents, and Wyatt’s last name is Ramsey (as in, Wes Ramsey). In PaL, only second-born sons were able to conceive and carry children, but over the years, it began to appear naturally in random boys. They are technically male (they have the whole XY chromosome thing going on) but they have all the extra lower bits of women, allowing them to have children. It’s very rare, though; about 1 in 150 boys are born dimales.

WARNINGS: Slash! Cross Dressing! Shonen-ai! Mpreg! You have been warned.

ANYway, Wyatt is 17, Chris 15. Let’s get on with it, shall we?

Chris loved to sleep. There was nothing like waking up on a Saturday morning, all warm under the comforter, and realizing you can sleep in.

Unfortunately, today was Thursday, not Saturday. So, needless to say, Chris was not happy when his mother started knocking n his door at 7:00 am.

“Chris? Sweetie, time to wake up!” she called, giving the thick wooden door a few more loud raps.

“Urghm!” Chris groaned, turning over and burying his head under his hunter green bed spread.

“Chris!” Piper’s shrill voice carried through the walls, as loud and clear as if she was under the covers with Chris. “Get up now or I’m sending the dog in!” she threatened.

“Wha’ver.” Chris groaned, pulling the thick, warn blanket closer around his slim body. He must have drifted back to sleep, because they next thing he was aware of was their 65 pound Border Collie planting his paw directly in Chris’s stomach.

“Uuf!” he gasped, the air rushing from his lungs. “Rayzor! Get offa me!” But Rayzor just smiled in the strange way dogs do and licked the inside of Chris’s ear, quite happily.

“Hm! I told you I would,” came Piper’s amused voice from her spot leaning at Chris’s doorway. Chris glared at her through barely-open eyes.

“Alright, alright! I’m up! Just call off the dog!” he begged, trying to shield his face from Rayzors enthusiastic hello.

“Rayzor, come!” Pipre called, and the black and white dog immediately obeyed, jumping down from Chris’s bed.

Chris sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He hated mornings, especially mornings that happened before noon. Reluctantly, he abandoned the warm cocoon of his bed and the back his covers, grabbed his towel from the back of a chair and plodded towards to the bathroom with his eyes closed (he only ran into one wall, and immediately called out “ ‘M Okay!”)

His eyes finally focusing, he fiddled with the knobs in the shower, turning it as hot as he could stand. Soon the bathroom was filled with hot, thick steam. Perfect.

He stripped out of his t-shirt and sweat pants that served as his pajamas, pulled back the curtain and eased under the almost too-hot cascade if water.

He let the scalding water run down his back, enjoying the heavy pulse and trying to wake up, though he knew his brain wouldn’t function right until at least second hour.

He washed his hair and his face before reluctantly turning off the faucet before his cousins could yell at him for using all the hot water.

He stepped out of the tub and squeegied his long, dark hair out with a towel before wrapping it around his waist, gathering his clothes and going back to his bedroom.

Feeling slightly more awake, he dumpd his pajamas on the chair he always dumped his clothes on until laundry day and turned his radio on. He turned it up loud enough so he wouldn’t hear his little cousins Ruby and Melinda, who wereAunt Phoebe’s, giggleing and squaling. They were 10 and 7 and very bothersome. Aunts Paige’s children were all girls as well, and she had SIX kids! Which is exactly why he insisted that they get a BOY dog, so that he wouldn’t be outnumbered.

Not that he was actually a boy, of course…

Chris Halliwell was a dimale; a male who was born with traits of both men and women, including the abilty to conceive children. It was rare; less than 1 in 150 boys were born dimales. But That didn’t bother Chris much. What DID bother Chris is how everyone treated him and people like him.

In a word; like shit.

Most people despised boys like Chris; the religious marked them as damned, the naïve labeled them inbred, and the rest? Just thought they were unnatural freaks.

Chris could say it didn’t bother him, but that would be lying to himself. He hated the way kids and even some teachers looked at him in he hallways at school, whispering behind their hands. He hated the looks he got at the mall from the clerk when he paid for something with lace or ribbon. But most of all, he hated he people who were stupid enough to open their mouths, because what they had to say was usually both hurtful and blatantly wrong.

He dug a pair of slim black jeans from his drawer and chose a royal blue shirt from his mess of a closet. The jeans were plain, but the shirt was close cut and slightly feminine.

It didn’t matter what people said to him, though. There was nothing anyone could say that would make him ashamed of what he was. And for that, he thanked his parents.

His mom and dad had never made him feel different for what he was and, most importantly, never tried to hide it, like so many parents did. Some parents, seeing what their new-born son was, would abandon him, even kill him. If they kept him, there were so many who would hide their son in shame, keeping him in the basement or the back bedroom. But it wouldn’t matter; people would talk.

‘Did you hear about the Andrew’s baby?’

‘No…’

‘He’s one of the damned!’

‘Oh god! Those poor people. What are they going to do?’

‘I don’t know, but they’d be smart to drown the thing.’

If they actually let their poor children see the light of day, some mother and fathers would hide what he was, dressing him only in boys clothes, forbidding him to EVER mention that he was different.

No, Piper and Leo hadn’t been like that; not in the least. They’d taught their only son to be proud of what he was, encouraged him to learn about what he was, where his kind came from. They’d never frowned at him if he chose to wear a lavender blouse or a black skirt; never pretended to their friends that he was anything other than what he was. They’d lost more than one friend that way.

Clicking off his radio, he grabbed his school bag and headed downstairs to breakfast.

His Dad, Aunt Phoebe, and 2 cousins were sitting at the table with plates of French toast in front of them. (His aunt lived just down the street, so they were at Chris’a house a LOT)

“Morning, sweetie!” Piper called over her shoulder from her place at the stove.

“Mornin’ Mom,” he said, poring himself a glass of orange juice and settling down at the table between his father and cousin Ruby.

“Hey, Chris!” Leo said from behind his newspaper.

“Mornin’ Dad” he returned as Piper set down a plate of French toast and scrambled eggs.

“You look nice, sweetie,” Piper said sweetly, as she did every morning. For a while, he found it annoying; now, he found it endearing.

“Hihi Chrissy!” little Ruby smiled up at her cousin.

“Hey there Roo,” he returned, pulling on her pony tail affectionately, causing her to yelp and giggle.

His parents had planned on having more children after him, but had decided against it. They knew what sort of struggles and problems Chris was going to go through, growing up what he was, and they hadn’t wanted to bring another baby into the mix. So Chris grew up an only child. He loved his cousins, of course, but they were all girls and all under 11 years old, and there was only so much he could take.

Chris finished his breakfast, kissed his mom on the cheek and left for school. He was a sophomore at a rather large school of about 4,000 students. Of the 2,000 boys, only 6 others were dimales, like him. 3 chose to pretend they weren’t what they were, overcompensating for their feminine features with the football team or just acting like jerks. 1 acted more like a women than most, and the last 2 acted like Chris did; right in the middle.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Chris heard some jerk catcall at him from across the street. “Why dontcha Come on over here? I’ve always had a soft spot for circus freaks!”

Chris glared over his shoulder at Jason Baier, a class A creep who never left Chris alone.

“Go fuck yourself!” Chris hollered back, never losing step.

“Why don’t you come do it for me? I know you ain’t gonna get any any other way!” he sneered, and Chris felt his face warm in anger and embarrassment. He flipped his finger over his shoulder and walked faster, wanting to put as much space as possible between him and Jason.

But Jason was faster, and the next thing Chris knew he felt him pull on the back of his shirt.

“What the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?” he demanded turning Chris around to face him. “Huh? Answer me, you little creep!”

“I’m some one who’s going to kick you ass if yo don’t let me go, that’s what!” he threatened, throwing his head back and staring him in the eye.

Jason laughed, long and hard. “Kick my ass? You? Yeah right! Careful, babydoll! You might break a nail!”

And that’s all it took for Chris. More pissed then he’d been in a long time, he drew his arm back and swung, nailing Jason right in the eye.

“Argh! God damn little fucker!” he screamed, letting go of Chris and clutching at his eye.

“Oh, and look!” Chris quipped, holding up his right hand. “I didn’t even break a nail!” and smiling sweetly, he turned and sprinted down the sidewalk, knowing that he’d pay for what he did later.

Chris didn’t usually do things like that; he hated getting physical in a fight or argument, since it was usually with guys who could kick his ass, but there were times when he didn’t have a choice. It was kick their ass or get his kicked. Of course, it often ended up the latter way.

His whole school was full of people like Jason. People who thought of people like Chris as below them, as something less than human, just because of how they were born. They weren’t ALL like that, of course. There were plenty of people who didn’t live to torment dimales, to treat them like crap, but they were outnumbered, at least in Chris’s school.

He arrived at Crimron High School just as the first bell rang, which was actually early for Chris, who was late for first-hour Geometry at least twice a week. He wasn’t a BAD student, per say, but he was no honor student. His highest grade was a 92, and that was in art. He was barely passing Geometry with a 71.

Walking through the halls to Geometry, he got as many “hey Chris” ‘s as he did “Hey there He-She!” ‘s. But he’d learned to tune it out. He’d heard it ever since he started public school in 6th grade (he’d gone to a private school until then, thanks to his parents). Kids had been told by their parents to avoid kids like Chris, even before they learned why they were different.

As usual, Chris was sprinting into math class a full 2 minutes late, having stopped to talk to his dance coach (dance, softball and volleyball were th only sports CHS allowed dimales to participate in, which to Chris, who wanted to be in track and CC, sucked rocks.) The old farts on the school board, who didn’t know a damn thing, thought they were “too delicate” (they’d apparently never seen Chris punch out Jason Baier) But he liked to dance, too, so he figured he could deal.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Halliwell,” sneered Mr. Cox, only he pronounced it “MISSter,” which Chris HATED more than almost anything. When someone called him “miss” or “young lady”, be it to be mean, or just ignorance, he wanted to grab them around the neck and scream, “I am not a woman!”

Poor stupid creatures.

When Wyatt Ramsey walked down the hallway, everyone knew it. Football captain, straight A student, and totally gorgeous, he was the picture of the ideal person. And the best part? He didn’t even seem to notice. He was never snotty, never mean, not to anyone, and was always laughing and smiling.

Needless to say, he caught the eyes of most of the girls at school.

And he also happened to catch the eye of a certain dark-haired dimale.

Chris had had the biggest crush on Wyatt since last year. He was a senior, 2 years older than Chris. He didn’t have any classes with him, and only saw him in the hallway and during lunch (they had the same shift). Whenever he was within sight, Chris felt his stomach flutter and his throat close up. He both loved and hated it; he hated feeling like some love-struck school-girl, and would nearly stop breathing when he gave hm a small smile, or even a wave and a “hey!” Yet every time he caught sight of him, he felt himself standing taller, throwing his hair back, and praying that he noticed him.

Then he felt like shit.

He didn’t have a chance. Who was he kidding, standing there in the hall, quickly running a hand through is hair and hoping to god he didn’t have something in his teeth or on his shirt? Wyatt may tell him Good Morning once in a while, but he wasn’t interested. Hell who would be interested in someone like Chris? His mom was always telling him not to worry; that he was smart and sweet and attractive, that he’d meet Mr. Right someday, but not only did that just make Chris want to gag, but he knew it wasn’t true.

Dimales rarely married. They were naturally attracted to men, but so many people hated them that, even if a guy was interested, he wouldn’t admit it, partly because of prejudice, partly because of pride (the naive convinced themselves that only queer guys were attracted to dimales, when in reality, they were just in deeply-ingrained denial).

So, basically, he was romantically screwed.

Which was a shame, because Chris craved romance. He was guilty of daydreaming for most of his classes, for being unable to keep his mind from running wild when he saw Wyatt in the hall.

It was fourth hour art class, and Chris was at his usual table at one end of the room. The class was crowded, but he was the only person at his table. He’d just gotten started on continuing his painting, had just mixed the right shade of orange when who should walk through the door?

‘Oh sweet God…’

What the hell was Wyatt doing here? He didn’t take art! He must have transferred in mid-semester…And of course, the love of Chris’s life would come waltzing into his class during art, when he was dressed in a plaster-smeared smock with orange, red and yellow paint globed all over his arms and even a streak on his chin.

“Lovely…”

And of course, as soon as he walked through the door, Chris could just forget concentrating on his project; he was focused on a different work of art.

Wyatt knew he was a dimale from the moment he saw him. He was slender, with shaggy, dark hair and soft features. He couldn’t recall ever seeing him before, but in a school of 4,000, it was easy to loose a face in a crowd. But immediately, Wyatt was sorry he hadn’t seen more of the boy-

He was beautiful.

Now, Wyatt was raised to not associate with second-borns; his parents believed them to be damned beings, as did a lot of people. But...but how could someone so beautiful be evil besides, he's never shared his parents views; people use to MAKE their sons this way. He saw it as something as natural as his own blonde hair; it just is.

He watched as the boy (he's a sophomore; about 15, he guesses) gets up to wash out his brushes at the sink; he has long legs and (Wyatt couldn't help himself) a nice ass to match. The dark haired boy leaned casually against the counter, hooking one ankle behind his leg. He's just wondering about the right way to approach him, when some senior jerk "accidently" tips a jar of red paint down Chris's front as he turns around/ "Oooooops!" he laughs cruelly, as the boy "ugh's!" at the dripping mess. Wyatt winces, hoping he isn't going to cry; he looks pissed enough to. But what he does next shocks the hell out of Wyatt.

he boy, his entire front just covered with bright red acrylic, smiled in an alluring/evil way, then rushed towards the jerk and, before the guy can get away, throws his arms around him, intentionally smearing the front of HIS clothes bright red too, while "whispering" (he barely lowered his voice,) "Aw, Jason! I didn't know you liked me like that! That's what you men do, right? You always pick on the ones you like!" and he planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, before calmly walking from the stunned room. Wyatt's jaw is at about knee level right now. When no one else does anything, he shoves his chair back and rushes out the door after the boy.

He doesn't take long to find him; he's at his locker, just outside the art room. "Hey, you!" Wyatt calls out, jogging forward. The boy looks up, startled, and Wyatt notices he has the most gorgeous green eyes. "Yeah?" he asks casually, as though he didn't just cause a scene in the art room. "I, um, uh..." for once in his life, Wyatt Mathews, Mr. Popular, Mr. calm, cool and collected, is at a loss for words.

"Uh...um...are you ok?" he finally gets out, knowing the beautiful guy in front of him is going to think he's a total weirdo. But instead, he just blushes a bit, and smiles.

"Yeah, I'm ok, thanks." he said, still smiling. he digs through his locker, pulling out another shirt (dark burgandy, with a snug cut and 3/4 sleeves, the kind that go just past your elbow) He closes his locker, and heads down the hallway, no doubt heading towards the locker room.

Wyatt follows like a lovesick puppy.

"Uh, you sure? cause, that was uh...interesting...back there."

the brunette smiled again, slow and sweet. "Those guys are assholes, Wyatt. They're always on my case. He had it coming."

"Oh, I agree, I mean...wait, how did you know my name?" Wyatt pauses, befuddled. He closes the door to the bathroom behind him (it's the unisex handicap acasible one, by the way. Dimales aren't sllowed to use the mens or womens in this school. It's not a segregation, per se; mor like, the school board knows it could be awkward either way. not EVERYone hates Dimales.) The boy smiles, unbuttoning the front of his ruined smock. "EVERyone know you, Wyatt! Football star, Honor Student...Um, are YOU ok?" he asked, since Wyatt was now turning a little red. Chris had tossed aside his smock and was pulling his blouse over his head, leaving only a bare (if somewhat painty) chest.

"Um...y-yeah, I'm fine...It's just, you don't seem to have a problem undressing in front of total strangers."

Chris laughs, tunring on the faucet. "I'm not some kind of exhibitionist, if that's what you think! I sure as hell wouldn't be pulling my skirt down around you! but I ain't got nothing to hide up top." he smiled wryly a WYatt blushed again; it was unusual for Wyatt o blush.

"Hey, you've never told me YOUR name." he pointed out.

"Oh, I'm Chris. Chris Halliwell" he finished tugging his shirt into place and shook hands. He smiled at the taller man for a moment, before suddenly becoming rather embarrassed, and turned away to wipe red paint off the sink.

"Erm, Chris?" Wyatt cautioned. "If you don't mind me asking...what DID go on back there?" CHris paused a moment, chewing his lip.

"it's like I said, they're jerk. They're those bastard who think I'm some sort of freak cause I have balls and a uterous. They play dirty, so you just gotta play dirty nack. James might not lay off me, but his friends will be giving him a hell of a hard time for a while!" Wyatt laughed; there was just something about this kid who made him WANT to laugh, want to smile. But then he noticed Chris was finished cleaning up after himself, and was headed towards the door.

"Uh, wait!" he called suddenly, and Chris paused, letting the door close again.

"Yeah?" he cocked his head to one side, his long hair tumbling into his face; he looked so adorable.

"erm, Chris? Are you doing anything after school tomorrow?" he finally managed to ask, and Chris looked absolutely. shocked. Dammit Dammit Dammit! Wyatt scolded himself internally. He's gonna think I'm such a looser. But to his relief, Chris broke into a broad smile, his face just lighting up.

"Um, n-no. I don't exactly have much of a social life." he said, his cheeks growing pink.

"Great!" said Wyatt. "I mean, not-not great that you don't have a social life, but great that you, that, um, we...would you like to go to a movie?" he finally spit out, all in one breath, and Chris laughed lightly.

"Um, yeah. Sure." he said, and Wyatt could see he was having a hard time keeping the broad smile from his face.

"Great! I'll, um, I'll just meet you after school then?" he said, his chest feeling like it was full of CocaCola. Chris couldn't say anything, just went red, nodded, and ducked out the door, leaving a rather befuddled Wyatt to wonder, Are all dimales this confusing?

Meanwhile, down the hall, Chris stood dumbstruck against the wall. "That SO did not happen, Chris. Wake up! The guy you've been pining after all year so did not just ask you out...of fuck that! He so did!"

To his own horror, Chris had to admit that he DID act like a real girl sometimes.

Ah, well! So glad to have this started! I hope you enjoy, and will continue to read!

Lottsa love,

LLC