> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://parapoly.gay/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Chapter 5.2: I Have A Name - URL: https://parapoly.gay/chapter-5-2-i-have-a-name/ - Published: 2026-08-27T13:00:57.000Z - Updated: 2026-09-10T04:12:41.000Z - Description: “I have a whole name!” I exclaim with a whoop, arms above my head and feet kicked up, before letting us collapse back onto the couch with a goofy smile. “I have a name. A full one. Peyton Janelle Davidson. That’s me.” - Author: Cakes - Tags: Main Story, canon, Book01 Home is a townhouse in a rapidly gentrifying part of the city, three narrow and compacted stories of renovated and restored Victorian-esque rooms with original fixtures all painted in inviting colors and filled with natural light. Angie chooses to unpack the car while Billy gives me the tour, going from the overstuffed storage in the garage to the pair of offices on the top floor. He’s memorized every detail of Angie’s work on the place like an especially dedicated real estate agent and I tell him as much, laughing out loud when he crosses his massive arms and pouts. I might not say, out loud or internally, that everything is a wonder to me but I know he knows. Angie is sprawled on the slightly sun-faded moss green couch on the first floor by the time we’re finished, picking her head up just enough to see us. “Still with us, PJ?” She tries to sound lighthearted and breezy but, between driving for hours and worry, she’s clearly spent. We bundle her up in our arms and relax into the couch, the tension not oozing out of her body until I press a soft kiss just below her ear. “Mmmm, definitely still with us,” she purrs with a smile. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be trying to finally have my wicked way with you.” “I’ve seen your wicked ways, ma’am.” I let our voice go breathy on ‘ma’am’ and she squirms a little in our grip. I know I shouldn’t press her buttons and I know it will almost certainly come back to bite us. Billy bites hard at our lip to hold in his whimper before I can go on. “I think you’ll want to be very well rested if you plan to have anything wicked with me.” “We’ll see how you feel about that when the time comes, my delicious little brat.” She takes one deep and calming breath before it’s like nothing ever happened, gently tapping at where our arms are locked around her. “Now let me up so I can go shower all those shit-driving assholes off me.” “What if we don’t want to?” Billy whines softly and I immediately know he’s done this before. Hell, I think I’ve done this before, just not with the strength to actually slow someone down, let alone stop them. I sit back and revel in it. Angie allows us a full ten minutes before she demands to be let up. We let go, albeit reluctantly, and we both stare at her ass as she heads up the stairs. We’re both unfortunately very predictable. “So,” I draw it out a little, trying not to look at our bulge or feel our warm cheeks, “I’m guessing we’re not allowed to join her, are we?” “Definitely not, post-drive showers are Angie Only Time.” Billy sighs as he gets us comfortable on the full length of the couch. The way he manages to take up so much space will never not be enthralling to me and I try and fail to fill the space with him. He gives that deep chuckle of his that I still can’t replicate and spreads out even more somehow. I bite at our lip. Taking up an entire couch meant to hold three adults is not hot. It isn’t. It’s actually very rude. “This is definitely hot,” he murmurs as he gives a massive cat-like stretch that settles him just that little bit further out. “You should see me do it after a nice pump. A little sweaty still, breathing hard, thoughts still trying to flow back in like right after I cum.” All I manage is a needy little whine. If Angie doesn’t finish that shower fast, she’s going to find us fucking ourself into exhaustion again. He groans as he remembers the last time, a large hand bumping over our abs to sit right where a uterus would be if we had one. One more thing that shouldn’t be hot and still is. “You know,” his voice is low and husky and our eyes are half closed, “I was just going to suggest we watch a movie or something together. Maybe some terrible dating show where everyone’s absurdly attractive with no substance.” He adjusts us and I hiss audibly as suddenly all I can focus on is the uncomfortable constant pressure of our zipper. He laughs as he thrusts us into it, just the once, before collapsing back into the cushions. Like seemingly every piece of furniture on this planet, it creaks in complaint under the force of our weight. At least this one creaks like a grumble rather than a dying gasp. He giggles softly and closes our eyes, focusing inward where we can hold each other and maybe even calm our body down if we’re lucky. *Hey,* I mumble, snuggling into his warmth and being totally enveloped by it. Just like on the couch, Billy keeps taking up space until it’s enough for me to feel nothing else. *You’re totally an asshole for teasing me like that when I’m a guest here.* There’s a sensation that I can’t put together for a long moment before I make our cheeks fill with heat. He just spanked me, both in our space and our shared body. He laughs shakily, giving our ass a little squeeze before settling down again. *What was that for, aside for trying to wind us both up?* *You’re not a guest, Peej. You’re home.* He grabs one of the couch cushions from the back and hugs it tight like he did Angie, trying to get me as close to the sensation of being held as possible, and I appreciate it more than I think I’ll ever be able to convey. He hums something off tune, the vibrations in our chest pulling me down towards sleep. And in that haze, a memory surfaces. Whoever I’m drifting off to sleep on is so much smaller and softer than Billy is. The low cut and stretched neckline of their worn tank top begs me to keep peppering their soft skin with kisses and the lack of a bra would make it so easy to take things further. But I don’t. We’re supposed to be resting and I fully intend to get there. My eyes are starting to close when I hear it and it makes my heart and soul flutter. “I love you, Peyton Janelle Davidson. I love you so much.” I sit us up in an instant, gasping for breath. My eyes are wide in the growing dark around us but my grin grows as a manic laugh burbles up. Billy is still dragging himself to full consciousness and I have no idea where Angie is. But I do have one thing. I have my name again. “I have a whole name!” I exclaim with a whoop, arms above my head and feet kicked up, before letting us collapse back onto the couch with a goofy smile. “I have a name. A full one. Peyton Janelle Davidson. That’s me.” Billy’s warm presences presses itself into mine as it envelopes me again. *I’m still calling you Peej. It’s cute. You’re cute.* *You say that to all the incorporeal girls who cohabitate your body,* I hum as I try to burrow deeper into him. *You don’t even know what I look like. I don’t know what I look like.* *We could find out.* Billy sits us up this time, looking up towards his office. We could. It might be easy. We have a full name now. We could just… go and do it. But I’m hesitating. *Hey. Peej. Do you want to find out more about you? We don’t have to.* It would be so easy to just keep this thing with Billy and Angie going indefinitely and never think about who I am other than their PJ. *No, we should do it.* I feel that urge to twine my fingers together the way Billy always does. *We probably should have done it immediately. I mean, who knows who I really am? I could be a serial killer! Or some other psychopath! Or… or French! I could be a snobby serial killing French tourist who was murdered in the American wilderness!* Billy laughs as he takes charge, gathering up a few snacks before heading upstairs. *You’re definitely not French. And you don’t feel like I’d think a serial killer would. So I’m going back to my original theory that you’re just a total cutie.* He settles us down at his desk, a massive slab of black wood cluttered with little collectible toys and figures and assorted junk that leaves just enough room for a weird looking keyboard and mouse. I really hope he doesn’t expect me to use either of those. At least the chair is comfortable, finding a middle ground between executive leather and gamer racing that cradles our body wonderfully. I feel like I could sit here all day. Part of me thinks we should have grabbed Angie for this but we could hear her snores as we passed the bedroom on our way up. Billy ends up in a little routine loop through a handful of sites and inboxes as he tries to decide how to approach this. Surely it can’t be as easy as just typing my name into the search bar? What happens if I turn out to be famous? That’s ridiculous, they would have searched harder for a famous person and their murderer, right? And found them both? The fact that I was still around for Billy to literally run into means I probably wasn’t famous. Or was there some other law at work here, keeping me bound in a place I don’t quite belong? Maybe the world was filled with things like me, ghosts with nowhere else to go and no idea who they are anymore. Billy wraps me in his comforting presence once again before he simply goes for it, typing my name in the search bar and pressing enter before I can slow us down. We’re both a little shocked when anything comes up at all, leaning in to look at the results. Our lips start to move as Billy skims and I follow along, a small frown forming as we go. He picks a link and clicks it with the side of that weird mouse of his and the image that loads floods me with recognition. I frown slightly at myself in the mirror, the pink confection of a dress I’m in a bit much even for me. It makes my short frame look even smaller and, if I didn’t have the curves I have, I’d call the whole look child-like. I hate that. But god, do I love the frills and softness and femininity of it all. At least my makeup looks good, in darker pinks that blend better with my warm brown skin and golden shimmers that make my dark brown eyes look like they’re shining. My braids are done to match the color themes for this shoot, platinum white and pink mixed in with the normal black and brown mix going down to my waist. I give a little twirl and watch the poofy fabric settle with one hip cocked. Nothing to do about it now. Can’t exactly back out when I’m already dressed and made up. As long as no one noticed my hasty home-done manicure saving attempt, everything would be fine. A confident turn on the pink platform Mary Janes and a few steps land me in the middle of a blinding lighting setup and the memory fades until I’m back with Billy at his desk. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, my modeling portfolio still loaded at the top of the page. I nudge him gently in our shared space, hoping he’ll say literally anything. He’s just staring at the photo of me with his jaw a little slack. It takes him a few tries but he finally manages, in the tiniest voice: “You’re cute and hot. That’s just not fair.”