“So you’re not too chilly to make this work?” I ask, even though I can very much feel that he’s not.
His left eyebrow pops up, my challenge accepted. His eyes glitter, dark and serious, as he looks at me with an intensity that makes me squirm. “Not even a little bit.”
We exchange looks of determination. “Let’s do this,” I finally say.
He nods,
inhaling,
exhaling,
and then shifts his body so he’s aligned with mine.
Reaching down, I grip him and use him to rub circles around my opening, adjusting my body to the feeling. Letting it know to get ready and prepare for contact. His breathing becomes shallow, but when he feels me take a deep breath, he matches the steady rise and fall of my chest, keeping his body in sync with mine.
And that’s what we are. In sync. We weren’t always, but we’ve worked hard at it, being intentional about openly communicating how we feel and what we want, both mentally and physically. We’ve been through a lot, even in the last four months. He’s been by my side as I transitioned into a new part-time job, helping to manage the yoga studio I practice at. I still work part-time at Jo Jo’s, occasionally making coffee but more often making appearances to run a variety of themed book clubs, each one of them so popular they fill the café. Banned books. Romance. Nonfiction. One I like to call the “Books You Thought Were Boring Because Your Teachers Assigned Them but This Time You’re Actually Going to Read Them” Book Club. Boring Books Book Club, for short. And I’ve been at his side as he reimagined his relationship with his mom, drawing new boundaries and slowly but surely convincing her I am not an asshole. Anymore, anyway.
I’m sure we’ll have more changes ahead. Bigger ones, even.He made a jokey comment last week about how it’s silly we have our own apartments since we spend every night together anyway, and then we both burst out laughing when we caught each other immediately looking to assess how the other was reacting to that statement.Maybe it is silly,I’d said.Ask me again when my lease is up.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Ready.”
I guide him to my entrance, then remove my hand, letting our bodies fall closer together. He leans down, giving me another kiss, then draws back ever so slightly, our lips separated by a hairbreadth. Our bodies shifting, I feel him start to press into me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
He breathes with me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
My body tenses, and I breathe through it.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Should I keep going?” he asks. He’s so close, his lips brush mine as the words leave his mouth.
“Yes. Slowly.”
He pushes farther, so slowly it’s almost impossible to tell he’s moving. My muscles feel calm—for once, I feel in control—but I’m also experiencing a faint burning sensation, which I know is the result of the physical pressure and the high concentration of nerve endings, all of them pushing back at me.What the hell do you think you’re doing?they ask.
I breathe through it.
“Keep going,” I murmur. “I’m okay.”
Harrison is maybe halfway inserted at this point, and there’s no way this feels good for him, either. I don’t pretend tounderstand how it feels to have sex as a man, but, like, I think you have to do more than just sit there to achieve any type of positive sensation. And yet Harrison has a look on his face that screamspleasure.
No—that’s not right. It screamspride.He’s proud of me.
“You still okay?” he asks. I nod, and I take the initiative this time in tilting my head to give him a soft kiss. I catch his bottom lip with my teeth as I pull away, and his body jerks involuntarily with pleasure. My muscles tense, and the burning momentarily increases, but after one more breath, I’ve adjusted, and he’s in farther than he was before.
“Shit—I’m so sorry—”
