Unsettling and something else, something I can’t quite pinpoint.
My body is still on high alert from the story. Maybe that’s it.
“You don’t have any trouble,” he says, and makes his hands into fists as he does so. The high alert ratchets up a notch. I think…and don’t hold me to this…but I think I’m turned on. Because of the story, obviously. And maybe also because I’m still in just a towel and he’s showing some kind of actual emotional reaction to something other than a website crashing.
“Of course I have trouble! What are you talking about? I have a bag of stuff down there I’ve never dared read to anyone,” I say. Of course I then think of him reading that bit in “Hamin-Ra” where three men take advantage of my hero’s inescapable and utter horniness to…uh…do stuff. To him.
Which just makes me flush even redder than I am already.
“It’s different…” he starts, but I’m not letting him get away with that.
“Why is it different?”
“It just is. What you write about seems…normal.”
Did he seriously just say those words? I think he did. And for the first time I’m starting to wonder if Cam’s issues run a little deeper than Oh I’m a bit reserved and I like computers a lot .
“Don’t say that,” I say, and it comes out a bit stronger and darker than I intend. He straightens, as though I’ve admonished him somehow—though if there was anything I wanted him to feel bad about, it’s this. He shouldn’t think of something as not normal, he just shouldn’t. Fair enough if he’d written a story about fucking himself on a horse’s cock or something, but even then I’ve got to say…I don’t think I’d be that bothered by it.
He spreads his hands, palms down. I’ve seen him make the gesture a thousand times before—a mea culpa move, a peacekeeping thing. And also, weirdly, very much like the kind of gesture a politician would make.
“I just meant—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I’ve written about that kind of stuff. Are you saying I’m not normal?”
“ What? ” he says, and he looks appalled, just as I knew he would. “No, God, no . You’re the reason I even think about stuff like—”
Of course he stops short before he gets far with a thought like that . But oh, not quite short enough, no, not quite short enough. My skin bristles and that same deep down jolt of pleasure goes through me—like the one I felt when I read the line Just stay still and take it .
“Stuff like…uh…you know…stuff like…um…” he says and it’s adorable, it really is. I never thought I’d live to see the day I called Cam adorable, but watching him fumble toward an end to a sentence like that is just…delicious.
He clears his throat, and tries again.
“It’s just how I feel about myself. It’s not anything to do with you.”
“Cam—it’s not a big deal. Loads of guys fantasize about two women,” I say, because really. Really. This is what he’s beating himself up about?
And he is beating himself up about it, because when I actually stop dancing around the subject and lay it out for him, he goes bright, bright red.
“Not like that, they don’t,” he says, and I have a sudden image of a bunch of beer-swilling, loudmouthed dudes watching two simpering girls getting it on with some big manly man.
“Cam—”
“Look—I’d just really rather we didn’t talk about this. I hardly want to think about it, so talking about it is, like, ten times worse.”
“OK, but—seriously. Loads of guys think about things like—”
He almost stands up then, but seems to think better of it. He does, however, make some pretty big gestures. And his hands are massive too, so it’s kind of like he’s assaulting the air.
“But you know what—it’s not just that, it’s not, it’s everything. There are literally hundreds of things I really don’t want to be thinking about, ever.”
Of course, I know he means sex stuff. But then he confirms it, so I
My body is still on high alert from the story. Maybe that’s it.
“You don’t have any trouble,” he says, and makes his hands into fists as he does so. The high alert ratchets up a notch. I think…and don’t hold me to this…but I think I’m turned on. Because of the story, obviously. And maybe also because I’m still in just a towel and he’s showing some kind of actual emotional reaction to something other than a website crashing.
“Of course I have trouble! What are you talking about? I have a bag of stuff down there I’ve never dared read to anyone,” I say. Of course I then think of him reading that bit in “Hamin-Ra” where three men take advantage of my hero’s inescapable and utter horniness to…uh…do stuff. To him.
Which just makes me flush even redder than I am already.
“It’s different…” he starts, but I’m not letting him get away with that.
“Why is it different?”
“It just is. What you write about seems…normal.”
Did he seriously just say those words? I think he did. And for the first time I’m starting to wonder if Cam’s issues run a little deeper than Oh I’m a bit reserved and I like computers a lot .
“Don’t say that,” I say, and it comes out a bit stronger and darker than I intend. He straightens, as though I’ve admonished him somehow—though if there was anything I wanted him to feel bad about, it’s this. He shouldn’t think of something as not normal, he just shouldn’t. Fair enough if he’d written a story about fucking himself on a horse’s cock or something, but even then I’ve got to say…I don’t think I’d be that bothered by it.
He spreads his hands, palms down. I’ve seen him make the gesture a thousand times before—a mea culpa move, a peacekeeping thing. And also, weirdly, very much like the kind of gesture a politician would make.
“I just meant—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I’ve written about that kind of stuff. Are you saying I’m not normal?”
“ What? ” he says, and he looks appalled, just as I knew he would. “No, God, no . You’re the reason I even think about stuff like—”
Of course he stops short before he gets far with a thought like that . But oh, not quite short enough, no, not quite short enough. My skin bristles and that same deep down jolt of pleasure goes through me—like the one I felt when I read the line Just stay still and take it .
“Stuff like…uh…you know…stuff like…um…” he says and it’s adorable, it really is. I never thought I’d live to see the day I called Cam adorable, but watching him fumble toward an end to a sentence like that is just…delicious.
He clears his throat, and tries again.
“It’s just how I feel about myself. It’s not anything to do with you.”
“Cam—it’s not a big deal. Loads of guys fantasize about two women,” I say, because really. Really. This is what he’s beating himself up about?
And he is beating himself up about it, because when I actually stop dancing around the subject and lay it out for him, he goes bright, bright red.
“Not like that, they don’t,” he says, and I have a sudden image of a bunch of beer-swilling, loudmouthed dudes watching two simpering girls getting it on with some big manly man.
“Cam—”
“Look—I’d just really rather we didn’t talk about this. I hardly want to think about it, so talking about it is, like, ten times worse.”
“OK, but—seriously. Loads of guys think about things like—”
He almost stands up then, but seems to think better of it. He does, however, make some pretty big gestures. And his hands are massive too, so it’s kind of like he’s assaulting the air.
“But you know what—it’s not just that, it’s not, it’s everything. There are literally hundreds of things I really don’t want to be thinking about, ever.”
Of course, I know he means sex stuff. But then he confirms it, so I
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