Then he asked to explore being touched between his legs.
We stayed with fingers outside. Pressure. Massage. Nothing invasive except the lightest contact with lubricant, enough for him to discover that curiosity remained stronger than fear.
He stopped before I entered him.
I stopped with him.
He kissed me afterward and said the word amber without shame.
That felt more important than pushing farther.
Now he ate eggs while pretending not to wince when shifting in the chair.
“Last night was good,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Even stopping.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I’d feel embarrassed this morning.”
“Do you?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
He tore toast into small pieces.
“Because I don’t know what counts as normal.”
“Nothing useful.”
“That answer avoids the question.”
I sat opposite him.
“What happened was consensual, wanted, and safe. That is enough.”
He nodded.
“Was I always this direct?”
“Eventually.”
“What does that mean?”
“You spent the first month pretending you had no interest in me while finding reasons to bend over every object in the yard.”
Noah stared.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“That sounds like workplace harassment.”
