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“You are to me,” he replied, and hearing that made me feel like one.
“I don’t know what this means…me bein’ curious about you or wantin’…hell, I can’t even put my finger on what I want. Like I said, I just like you touchin’ me. It’s different than it is with other folks. That don’t mean that the same thing won’t happen that happened with the women.” But then, maybe it wouldn’t, since I was pretty sure the desire was there. If I was demisexual, that meant I had a bond or an emotional connection with him—
“Stop thinking so hard.”
“It ain’t that easy. You just wanted to be my friend, and now I’m…” Hell, what the fuck was I with him? “Maybe attracted to you and want you to touch me.”
“We’ll have to see what we can do about the maybe,” he teased. “What do you want, Brian? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
It wasn’t as easy a question as he made it sound, as it should be, but it was killing me not to at least try. I didn’t know what that meant for me. I just knew a part of me needed this.
I said, “I just want you to try and touch me. Can’t work through how else to say it.”
And then Charles did the damnedest thing—sliding to kneel on the floor.
“What are you doin’?”
“Shh. You’ll see.” He settled between my spread thighs, then surprised me by untying one of my shoes.
“What are you doin’?” I asked again.
“This is the one time you’re not good at being quiet,” Charles replied playfully. “Just let me do this.”
I nodded, my mouth dry. Did the air conditioner stop working? It was suddenly hot in here.
Charles loosened my shoe and tugged it off.
“I…”
“Shh.” He pressed two fingers to my lips. My belly warmed. I wanted to sneak my tongue out and lick his fingers.
When I didn’t respond, Charles pulled his hand away, and I immediately missed the contact. He removed the other shoe too, but thankfully left my socks on. “Do you like your feet touched?”
“Now I’m allowed to talk?”
Charles grinned. “Just to answer the question.”
“No.”
“I can work with that.” He began to massage my left calf, fingers digging into the muscles there.
I fell against the back of the couch, watching him, savoring the feel of him, smiling as little zings of pleasure shot up into my gut. I wasn’t hard, but I wanted to get hard for him, wanted to feel the kind of pleasure and attraction that fueled so many people.
“Is this good?” Charles asked, moving to my right calf.
“Yeah. Never had someone massage me before.”
“Well, we’ll have to do something about that now, won’t we?”
He treated my right side to the same delicious pleasure before working his way up. Charles didn’t use his fingers to dig into my muscle anymore, instead just touching, rubbing a hand up and down each of my thighs, every time going slightly higher. He avoided my dick, and I was both thankful and disappointed about that. I wanted to feel something but feared getting my hopes up, and that he’d be done with me if nothing happened.
“Can I touch under your shirt?” Charles asked, sending both desire and embarrassment to war in my gut. How ridiculous was it that he had to treat me with kid gloves? When I only nodded, he added, “Say it, please. I need to hear you say it, Brian. It’s important I know this is what you want. This shouldn’t be something you’re doing because you feel like you have to, the way it was with those women.”
A tremble ran the length of me, worry that I wouldn’t be able to make the words come out, but I did, I said, “I wanna feel your hands on my chest. I might need it.”
“Fuck, you’re going to kill me. Come here.” He tugged me by the belt loop, making me sit up straighter. He pushed up higher, so again, I could feel his breath, soothing me, while he began unbuttoning my shirt.
I held my breath, watching his hands as he worked the buttons—one after the other after the other. When it was open, he asked, “Can I slide this off?”
“Yeah,” I replied, and he did, sitting there on his knees, staring at my bare chest. I wondered how I compared to the men he was usually with. Not that we were together. Who the hell knew what this was. I’d just asked him to touch me, but I assumed he was with different kinds of men—men who were sophisticated and educated. Men who went to the gym and didn’t have a soft belly, or who maybe waxed the hair on their chest. Mine was mixed with gray, which made me feel old. “It’s okay if you’re not attracted to me and wanna stop.”
