can’t even escape the idea on any level whatsoever.
“In fact, I think I preferred it back when I hardly thought about sex at all.”
It’s weird that around twenty-four hours ago, I would have pegged Cam as bordering on asexual. If he’d said something like that to me when I hugged him in the boat room, I might have nodded my head in agreement. He seems as though he hardly thinks about sex at all. He barely dated anyone in college, and it’s obvious he’s not with anyone at the moment.
But when he says something like that now, it’s like a big sign painted across him in neon. I’m lying, I’m lying . He doesn’t prefer it and even when he spends time not thinking about sex it’s always there, humming beneath his surface. I can tell.
I was blind before, but now I see.
Chapter Six
I think we’ve been sitting in silence for about five minutes when Wade shouts up, “Are you guys coming down for something to eat or fucking what?” Or maybe it just feels like five minutes, because I’ve just spent this whole pause in the conversation trying to work out what to say. The best option seems to be:
Whatever you want to do is OK by me.
But it seems too much like a come-on. I feel too much like a come-on. I’m all ripe and ready and I don’t even realize it until I stand up and go over to him—you know, maybe just to tow him downstairs for something to eat. But then he kind of jolts out of the reverie he’s sunk into and he puts a hand out—he actually puts a hand out to stop me—and says: “No, no, don’t come over here.”
And I’m pulled up short.
“What? Why?” I ask, but even as I’m saying it I know I’m being stupid.
He kind of…winces.
“Because you’re just in a towel,” he says, then the wince becomes a frown of incredulity. “Why are you just in a towel again?”
I try to think of a good answer to that, I do, I really do. But all I can process is: he likes the fact that you’re just in a towel, oh holy shit he really likes it. It’s making him think forbidden sex thoughts!
My cunt clenches once, around nothing. I’m too on edge, that’s the thing. I should have masturbated last night or let Wade fuck me today or just snuck out of this room before Cameron came back and seen to myself in my own bed, but I didn’t, and now I’m stuck. I’m stuck half-naked in a room with a big massive gorgeous amazing guy who apparently wants me.
I squeeze my thighs together, but it doesn’t help.
“I was cold after the lake, so I took a shower,” I say, like a total idiot. I should have focused on the reason he doesn’t want me close in just a towel, and I know it—but then again, do I really want to push him further, right now? He looks…harassed, to say the least. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and have something to eat, OK?”
I hold out a hand to him, but it’s a friendly hand. An innocent, nonsexual hand.
He doesn’t take it, however. He just eyes it like it’s about to explode.
“You know what—I’ll meet you down there,” he says and although it’s completely irrational, I can’t help it. I let the hand drop to my side with what can only be described as Oh fuck, I’ve totally just blown our friendship apart with my snoopy snooping.
And I think he reads some of this on my face too.
“No, no—look—you need to get changed, and I probably should get changed…everything’s cool, OK? We’ll meet downstairs.”
It does not sound as though everything’s cool. I can feel myself fidgeting, suddenly, even though I don’t mean to. I mean—he shouldn’t feel bad. I’m the one who fucked up; I’m the one who pushed him.
“Cam, I just want you to know I’m really sorry about all of this. I know it’s probably, like, messed up our friendship or—”
He stands up then, real suddenly. So suddenly that I almost take a step back, and not just because of his impressive height. It’s also because, well, uh, how should I put this…
“No, our friendship
“In fact, I think I preferred it back when I hardly thought about sex at all.”
It’s weird that around twenty-four hours ago, I would have pegged Cam as bordering on asexual. If he’d said something like that to me when I hugged him in the boat room, I might have nodded my head in agreement. He seems as though he hardly thinks about sex at all. He barely dated anyone in college, and it’s obvious he’s not with anyone at the moment.
But when he says something like that now, it’s like a big sign painted across him in neon. I’m lying, I’m lying . He doesn’t prefer it and even when he spends time not thinking about sex it’s always there, humming beneath his surface. I can tell.
I was blind before, but now I see.
Chapter Six
I think we’ve been sitting in silence for about five minutes when Wade shouts up, “Are you guys coming down for something to eat or fucking what?” Or maybe it just feels like five minutes, because I’ve just spent this whole pause in the conversation trying to work out what to say. The best option seems to be:
Whatever you want to do is OK by me.
But it seems too much like a come-on. I feel too much like a come-on. I’m all ripe and ready and I don’t even realize it until I stand up and go over to him—you know, maybe just to tow him downstairs for something to eat. But then he kind of jolts out of the reverie he’s sunk into and he puts a hand out—he actually puts a hand out to stop me—and says: “No, no, don’t come over here.”
And I’m pulled up short.
“What? Why?” I ask, but even as I’m saying it I know I’m being stupid.
He kind of…winces.
“Because you’re just in a towel,” he says, then the wince becomes a frown of incredulity. “Why are you just in a towel again?”
I try to think of a good answer to that, I do, I really do. But all I can process is: he likes the fact that you’re just in a towel, oh holy shit he really likes it. It’s making him think forbidden sex thoughts!
My cunt clenches once, around nothing. I’m too on edge, that’s the thing. I should have masturbated last night or let Wade fuck me today or just snuck out of this room before Cameron came back and seen to myself in my own bed, but I didn’t, and now I’m stuck. I’m stuck half-naked in a room with a big massive gorgeous amazing guy who apparently wants me.
I squeeze my thighs together, but it doesn’t help.
“I was cold after the lake, so I took a shower,” I say, like a total idiot. I should have focused on the reason he doesn’t want me close in just a towel, and I know it—but then again, do I really want to push him further, right now? He looks…harassed, to say the least. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and have something to eat, OK?”
I hold out a hand to him, but it’s a friendly hand. An innocent, nonsexual hand.
He doesn’t take it, however. He just eyes it like it’s about to explode.
“You know what—I’ll meet you down there,” he says and although it’s completely irrational, I can’t help it. I let the hand drop to my side with what can only be described as Oh fuck, I’ve totally just blown our friendship apart with my snoopy snooping.
And I think he reads some of this on my face too.
“No, no—look—you need to get changed, and I probably should get changed…everything’s cool, OK? We’ll meet downstairs.”
It does not sound as though everything’s cool. I can feel myself fidgeting, suddenly, even though I don’t mean to. I mean—he shouldn’t feel bad. I’m the one who fucked up; I’m the one who pushed him.
“Cam, I just want you to know I’m really sorry about all of this. I know it’s probably, like, messed up our friendship or—”
He stands up then, real suddenly. So suddenly that I almost take a step back, and not just because of his impressive height. It’s also because, well, uh, how should I put this…
“No, our friendship
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