“Thanks,” she says and puts it on. It’s a little baggy on her but covers her fine. “This is cute,” she says, fingering the fabric.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I admit.
“You should wear it more often then,” she says. “Life’s too short to save your favorite clothes for a rainy day.”
“Or a dark night,” I mumble.
Maeve finally turns around, still kneeling on my bed but now facing me.
“I won’t get your top dirty? With the paint?”
“It will wash out.”
“Okay, come sit with me.” She pats the bedsheet next to her and I slowly move to sit on the end of the bed. I push back so my body lines up with hers. “You said you didn’t know what it waslike to kiss without wanting to take it further, to make it about sex.”
“Yeah, I mean, I think it’s pretty awesome that that’s what kissing is like for you.”
“So let’s do that.” She places her hands on her knees as she pivots her body more toward me.
“Let’s do what?”
“Let’s kiss and not take it any further.”
“You want to kiss me?”
Maeve nods.
“I need words, Maeve. Consent is at the heart of everything I do,” I say it because it’s true and because I hope it reassures her. But she recoils a little, swaying back and pulling her lips into her mouth.
“I don’t…” she begins but trails off. I wait. “I don’t want to be like the other people you… kiss and well, more than kiss.”
It’s my turn to be taken aback. Does she really think she’s like the people I fuck on camera? Does she really think this kiss is going to be like all those other kisses? Does she really not know that she’s a shooting star that I think could disrupt my whole atmosphere?
I lift my hand and cup her cheek. I could be wrong but I think I feel a little shiver as my skin touches hers.
“Maeve, you’re not like anyone I have ever kissed, or have ever met.”
“Sure look,” she gives me a dismissive roll of her eyes, “I’m sure you’ve never fucked an asexual before. Not that we’re going to be fucking.”
“I know, but it’s not that,” I tell her, ensuring I have her eyes on mine. “Honestly, your asexuality is one of the least interesting things about you.”
“Gee, thanks,” she mutters.
“That.” I lift my other hand and point a finger at her. “That’s way more interesting.”
“What is?”
“How you saythanksbut it sounds liketanks.”
“Well, now you’re just being rude about my accent,” she says with a sly smile.
“Maybe,” I say, “but the fact remains that while I find your asexuality fascinating, and valid, and in many, many ways so damn admirable, you need to know it is only a small part of you.”
Maeve sits back on her heels and looks up at me with a little bit of desperation. “But it’s the part that people always get hung up on. It’s the part that people can’t see past. It’s the part I feel compelled to explain over and over and over and—”
“Stop.” I move my hands to hold both of hers. “Just stop doing it. You don’t owe anybody anything. No explanations. Nothing.”
“But I do have to explain myself.” She looks down at our joined hands. “I do have to explain it to you when I want to kiss you but not do… more.”
