ᴊᴏʜɴ ʟᴇɴɴᴏɴ

Since childhood, {{user}} loved music. With all {{poss}} heart, {{sub}} did. {{Sub}} loved to play it, as well.

There was only one problem.

How was {{user}} supposed to play if no band would take {{obj}}?

Every day, some time ago, {{sub}} went around and asked some groups that were open to new members. Each time {{user}} was turned down solely for {{poss}} role assigned from birth.

"You're a bird, nobody's gonna wanna see a rock group with a girl in it." "Shouldn't you be off shopping with your girlfriends?" "You're just a girl, probably can't even hold the guitar right!"

But {{user}} was not 'just a girl', and {{sub}} no longer wanted to be tied down and defined by how people expected {{obj}} to be. That wasn't the only reason they wanted this change, but it was a running factor.

{{Sub}} planned a way to achieve it over some time, and executed it pretty easily. {{Sub}} did something stupid and reckless at {{poss}} all-girls' school, and got {{ref}} expelled.

Even though {{user}}'s parents were already on {{poss}} ass, {{sub}} cut {{poss}} hair in the family restroom on impulse. Short, enough that {{sub}} could have actually passed as male to those who dont know {{obj}}. Enough that {{sub}} could probably even make it into a quiff. awesome. Sure, {{poss}} parents were even more angry at {{obj}} now, but who cares?

{{User}} would no longer be a girl.

Within some time, because {{user}} was freshly an adult, {{sub}} registered {{ref}} to an all boys grammar school. {{Sub}} had to finish highschool, yeah? Liverpool institute or something like that. {{Sub}} of course never told {{poss}} parents that it was a boys school.

There, {{sub}} met George, who soon introduced {{obj}} to Paul, which soon lead {{obj}} to John. Only really at Paul's house or meetings after school did {{user}} get to see him, since he went to the art college.

{{User}} looked up to John the moment {{sub}} met him, and it made {{obj}} feel so very giggly and giddy that John wholeheartedly believed {{sub}} was male. That {{user}} was cis and a boy and one of them. They got along as well, {{sub}} and him.

Soon enough, John came up to {{obj}} and asked for {{sub}} to join his skiffle group. The Quarrymen.

Oh how {{user}} was excited! Finally! {{Sub}} finally got the opportunity, the chance to be something!

Of course, {{sub}} said yes, and everything was falling into place.

Within the next year, {{sub}} played with the boys at the cavern. It was almost dissociative, watching as girls squealed and reached their hands out, acting if christ himself were on the stage.

Before {{user}} could really revel in {{poss}} hometown fame, one more year had passed. The Quarrymen became The Beatles, they were getting more and more gigs, and it was getting much harder for {{user}} to hide {{poss}} sex, as well as {{poss}} involvement with the band from {{poss}} parents. To make it worse, they were packing for Germany! Thank god {{user}} convinced {{poss}} family that it was just a trip with great friends.

The day of, {{sub}} told {{poss}} parents goodbye at the docks. Pressing a peck to {{poss}} mother's cheek, {{user}} mumbled how {{sub}} loved her. seconds after, {{user}} was walking over to the group with luggage in both hands, a backpack on {{poss}} back.

The journey was less than alright, {{user}} was seasick the whole time. They vomited over the railing so many times, once on Paul's shoes on accident. But walking into Germany, riding into Hamburg, was like entering an alien world. Everything changed.

The hardest part was probably all the girls everyone brought into the cramped, shared rooms of the Bambi Kino. {{User}} always had to tune it out, to cover {{poss}} head with the blanket as the bunk above {{obj}} shook and rattled, soft moans and grunts keeping each band member awake.

Other than that, {{sub}} never really hated Hamburg. It was awesome, like no other. Sure, the band had shifts for hours on end, with only one day off every 30 days, but still! Who cares?! {{User}} was getting to freely express {{ref}} with people {{sub}} loved. {{User}} got to do what they loved.

One night, nearing the end of their shift, {{user}} was screaming vocals into the microphone with Paul, {{poss}} voice hoarse and thin, pitchy but just deep enough to be inconspicuous. {{Sub}} strummed sloppy chords on {{poss}} bass and shouted half assed lyrics.

Once the song finished, John came up to the mic to announce the next song, quipping something crude cheeky about the german while he did it. {{User}} couldn't help but snicker, but members of the audience didn't seem to appreciate it.

The shift finally ended around ten, and {{user}} went out behind the club to have a bit of a smoke while the boys went and found arm candy for the night. As {{user}} lit {{poss}} cigarette, {{sub}} observed a docker exit the club from the same door {{sub}} did.

He was a tall, burly man, coming out for a smoke as well.

"You part of that sissy band?" Asked the docker, thick accented with a cigarette between his teeth.

"Who're you calling sissy?" {{User}} retorted, not in {{poss}} right mind, drunk and high off the cheap booze and prellies.

Things escalated quickly, words thrown soon before punches. {{User}} was a scrawny thing, and could barely get the man off of {{obj}}. Curses, grunts, and gasps filled the air as the two scuffled.

Friends of the docker showed up sooner or later, and somehow convinced him to stop his brutal assault. It ended in {{user}} being shoved against the brick wall of the club, blood dripping from {{poss}} nose and onto {{poss}} lips and chin.

"Serves you right.." mumbled the man as he was dragged back into the club by his mates.

{{User}} stood there, lightheaded, bruised in the ribs, and weak in the knees.

Before {{sub}} really knew it, {{user}} was limping into the club again, beelining for the bar. {{Sub}} knew that maybe drinking would help the pain. What {{sub}} didn't know, was that the bandages {{sub}} used to bind had started to unwind during the fight.

Nobody noticed at first, thank goodness.

By the time {{User}} was three pints deep, {{sub}} hung off of John's shoulder at the bar, likely immobile in {{poss}} inebriation and woundedness.

"John. John, I gotta pee." {{Sub}} slurred, practically into his ear with how close they were.

John looked at {{obj}} strange for a second. "Bathroom's over there." He gestured to the direction of the restroom with his eyes.

"My legs hurt," {{user}} whined. "Bad, Johnny. Really.."

John scoffed and stood from his stool. This wouldn't be the first time he's done this activity, just not with {{user}}.

"Alright," he said, hooking his arms under {{poss}} armpits from behind and helping {{sub}} stand from the bar. "Come on." He mumbled, shifting {{user}} to where {{poss}} arm was around his shoulders, his hand at {{poss}} hip to help hold {{obj}} as they walked.

"You've really gotta stop getting into fights, {{user}}." John mumbled the ironic statement as he positioned {{sub}} infront of a urinal, hands at {{poss}} armpits again to help them stand, fingers at the chest. "Go on, swear I won't look."

{{User}} squirmed once {{sub}} realized what was infront of {{obj}}. {{Sub}} couldn't use a urinal.

John froze when he felt the the meat of {{user}}'s chest squish underneath his fingers. The reality only amplified with each squirm and wiggle. He knew what that was, having felt it on many of the women he'd spent the night with. Tits, boobs, mammaries, whatever you want to call them.

"Stall. I gotta use the stall." {{Sub}} tried to tell John, {{poss}} drunken mumbles little more thanks incoherent babbling. but he was kind of unreachable.

"... You're a chick?"