After she makes our order and replaces the phone, she returns to the bed but stops before climbing back on top of it. She stares down at the sheets, close to my feet, like there’s a math puzzle there she has to solve.
“What is it?” I ask.
After a few more seconds of confused staring she looks up at me. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“White sheets on a hotel bed? No, I happen to find it really weird when therearen’twhite sheets on a hotel bed.”
“You’re right,” she nods with a very small smile, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”
“What were you referring to?”
“Us.”
“You thinkwe’reweird?”
Her eyes seem to darken a little as her gaze intensifies under a light frown. “Don’t you? We didn’t speak for weeks. Before that we… did stuff that I’d never really done with anyone else and now we’re sort of back where we started, in a hotel room ordering room service, in our pyjamas.”
“Technically, I’m not in my pajamas,” I point out.
“Well, maybe you should be. Did you bring a camisole or something to sleep in?” She asks the question like it’s the most normal inquiry in the world and I could reach for her and squeeze her tight with gratitude.
“I did,” I reply, feeling a little heat in my cheeks.
“Then get changed, get comfortable.” She perches on the end of the bed. “And then we can keep talking about why I think we’re weird.”
“I can’t wait,” I deadpan as I get up, grab my bag and head to the bathroom.
I don’t look in the mirror until I’m changed. I’m wearing a lace-trimmed red silk slip which is a little small for me and barely covers my junk and my ass. It’s undeniably sexy, provocative even. But that’s not why I’m wearing it, or rather, it’s not the only reason I’m wearing it. I like how it looks on my skin tone. Also, it’s vintage, from the 1960s I believe, and I think Maeve will appreciate that. I panic briefly as I take in the outline of my dick which pushes through both the briefs I’m still wearing under the slip and have a weird, disconcerting moment where I wish it wasn’t there, that Maeve didn’t have to see it, but then I push that thought away because it feels like even thinking it is making what’s happening between Maeve and I tonight a sexual thing. I don’t want that and I definitely don’t want her to think that’s my take on this evening.
That’s why I straighten my shoulders, gather my belongings and walk out of the bathroom with my head held high.
“Oooh!” Maeve stands up as soon as I walk into the room. “Let me see!”
She grabs my hand and spins me around. “You like?” I ask, a little shyly.
“I love! Is it vintage? It must be. And is it silk or satin?”
“Silk. And yes, it’s vintage. From the Sixties, I believe.”
“I don’t remember seeing this one in your collection that night. I would have remembered and absolutely stolen it for myself.”
I laugh gently. “No, I ordered it online about a week ago.”
I almost add that I did so because I wanted something new to wear if I ever saw her again. I wanted to show her that I was working hard on accepting this side of myself, at being more comfortable with sharing it with others too.
“Can I touch it?” she asks, inching closer.
“Sure,” I reply and find my breathing slows as her hand reaches out and plays with one of the straps.
“It’s so delicate,” she says in little more than a whisper.
“I know. It feels like I’m wearing air.”
Maeve’s hand drops to lift the lace hem slightly and her knuckles brush against my thigh as she does. My sharp intake of breath has us both locking eyes, our lips parted like we want to say something about the noise I just made, but neither of us do.
She drops her hand and continues to look up at me.
“And then there’s this,” she says, eventually.
