In the cubicle, I strip quickly and fold my clothes into a pile on the floor. I pull on the white cotton boxers and am surprised by how soft the material is against my skin. There’s a mirror in the cubicle and I look at my reflection from as many angles as I can.
I know I have what is socially considered a good body. I have muscles in all the right places and I work hard on maintaining a physique that looks a certain way on camera. In my youth, working out gave me a much-needed focus. It helped me feel powerful in a body that didn’t always make complete sense to me. I don’t suffer from dysmorphia as such, like many of my non-binary friends and fellows do, but I haven’t always felt at home in my body.
At first, I wondered if it was because my skin was light brown. To the outside world, and in my family, I am Black, but when I look closer in the mirror, I can see how my nose is longer and straighter than my mother’s. I can see my eyes are a shade lighter than hers. I know that my high forehead and square jaw have come from my white father, a man who gave me nothing but my height, my lighter skin tone and a small mountain of trust and abandonment issues.
So do I love what I see in the mirror, or what I see in the many, many videos I’ve edited of my body doing all manner of physical, intimate things? Sometimes, yes, I do, but not always. And sometimes, I really don’t like it at all.
But I don’t have time to dwell on that now. I have a job to do. And I don’t just mean posing for this rude son of a bitch but also ensuring Maeve isn’t made to feel any more uncomfortable than she already has been.
I pick up my clothes and walk out of the cubicle. Dumping the pile on a nearby vacant chair, I walk up to Maeve, who is sitting on the stool, still with the towel wrapped around her body, and it’s a not-small surprise to find her eyes on me. Or rather, on my body. They travel across my broad chest and down the flat of my stomach. They dart down my legs and then linger somewhere at the top of them before snapping up to hold eye contact with me.
I smile. I don’t know why, but I do. And I know exactly what she reads into that smile. She’s thinking I’ve caught her looking at me, and that I’m going to give her a very hard time about it.
I drop my smile just as her gaze goes elsewhere. Coming to stand next to her, I’m about to ask her if she’s okay but Jim’s voice starts booming from just behind us.
“Okay, let’s get him, sorry,themsitting on the stool,” Jim barks. “And Maeve, you’ll stand behind. We’ll use their muscles to hide your assets.”
“Jesus fucking Christ and his step-da Joseph,” Maeve tuts, but she gets off the stool and makes space for me.
I sit down and look straight ahead as I feel Maeve move behind me.
“Now, you’re going to have to touch each other,” Jim continues. “We need fucking boyfriend-girlfriend vibes, so if you can lean over his, fuck, sorry,theirshoulders with your arms, you know. Kind of like a hug.”
I tense.
“You okay with this?” Maeve asks, her voice close to my right ear.
It feels like what I should be asking her, but I can’t pretend I don’t appreciate her posing the question.
“It’s fine, Maeve, as long as you’re comfortable,” I reply.
“I’m anything but,” she says and then I feel her arms rest on my shoulders and her hair dance over my back. I take in a deep breath and it’s a foolish mistake, because it fills my lungs with her, her scent. It’s not as sweet as I would have expected, it’s more fruity and airy, like caramel-apple or maybe spiced pumpkin, but I like it. I like it a lot. “But I will not let this dry-shite wanker have the last word.”
Before I can reply, Jim’s barking out more orders. “Okay, snuggle in a bit closer.” Maeve does, and I feel more heat on my back and across my neck and shoulders as well as the towel’s soft material “And you can get rid of that fucking towel, Mae.”
“Maeve,” I begin, turning my head slightly toward her face that is right next to mine, over my right shoulder.
“Shut the fuck up, Loncey,” she says. “And let’s get this over and done with.”
And the towel drops.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maeve
Imust ask Loncey what moisturiser they use. Because their skin is so smooth. And I should find out what products they use in their locs, so I can tell Arabella. Because they smell good. Really good. I am going to need the biggest debrief with Arabella after this shitshow of a day. Fuck, I may need to start therapy again to help me process it and the shitty, shitty way that man made me feel.
Prude.
How fucking dare he?
Shite, now I’m thinking about him again. And I was trying to distract myself. I really was, focusing on Loncey’s silky-smooth skin which is the creamiest of browns, and inhaling the slightly sweet scent that is coming off their locs, but that comment, that one little five-letter word really got under my skin. My skin that is now ever so exposed.
Yes, my breasts are being covered successfully by Loncey’s broad body, but I’m still naked. My nipples are still hard against Loncey’s skin, cold thanks to the AC being on full blast. All it would take is them to lean forward and scratch at their lower leg or for them to bend over in a spontaneous sneeze and I would be completely exposed to the small crowd of people facing us.
And yet I don’t think they’d do that. I feel like Loncey would do everything and anything they possibly could to help me stay covered up, to help me keep my dignity.
I don’t think they can move very much right now anyway as I’m practically hanging off their upper body. Jim has insisted I drape my arms over their shoulders and hold onto their body like,“you fucking love him, sorry, them.”As my hands grip the firm curves of Loncey’s ribs and abs, my fingers grazing over definite indents of muscle and bone, I feel discomfort threaten to take over. It makes me want to withdraw my hands and shake out my limbs. It makes me want to scratch at my own body like I’m covered in a rash. Makes me want to run away to my hotel room so I can take a hot, hot shower and wash away all this irrational irritation at being forced to touch someone else’s naked body, a naked body that, despite its silky-smooth skin and warmth to the touch and alsodelicioussmell, still reminds me of other bodies, other bodies that have…
