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I forced my mind on Micah, my new favorite place. His delicious lips and sweet breath. Gentle touch on my heated skin. My racing heart slowed a bit, but the thoughts of my boss kept it at a steady pace, erasing the unease over what I’d seen while sleeping.
What would come next for him and I?
I planned on touching Micah whenever possible throughout the day and not just in sexual ways. I needed to know if the arousal he brought to life in my body trumped my issue, or if nonsexual touch with him would be just as comfortable and addictive.
The zap of energy I felt every time our skin brushed acted as though it blasted all insecurity issues right out the door.
I needed to test myself outside of Micah, I realized, rolling over and weaseling an arm under my pillow. The thought of coming into contact with another man, however, tightened the vise around my chest I was all too familiar with.
I’ll start with the easiest person available,I thought, closing my eyes. Small steps forward were better than none, and the sooner I learned how to continue on with my progress, the sooner I could fulfill all the fantasies I’d been dreaming up for what seemed like forever.
* * *
The next morning, I went downstairs to find Mom and Dad drinking their coffee and watching NECN like they did every Saturday morning.
I ambled toward the kitchen and coffeepot, intent on grabbing a mug. My hand shook while pouring.
Mere nerves, I told myself.
“Pull up your big girl panties and just do it,” I muttered to myself.
I returned to the living room and paused by Dad’s chair. His thinning gray hair stood up, and I reached out a hand to smooth it down. He was the man I should trust the most but hadn’t touched in twelve years.
His body tensed.
“Morning, Daddy,” I whispered, my eyes stinging.
A sob caught in Mom’s throat, and I glanced over at her, my hand still resting on top of Dad’s warm head. My throat tightened. She stared at me wide-eyed, fingertips to her lips.
Dad stirred beneath my touch, and I removed my hand, turning my focus back on him.
Dark, wide eyes stared up at me, brimming with unshed tears.
“One step at a time,” I told him as wetness slid down my cheeks. “I’m going to beat this.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You are, pumpkin. I’m so damn proud of you.”
A dozen or so tears fell between the three of us, and I ended up sitting beside Dad, his warm, calloused hand wrapped around mine, my head on his shoulder. The lingering scent of his aftershave I hadn’t sniffed in far too long swarmed over me, bringing the comfort it always used to when I’d been an innocent child.
An hour or so later, I went back upstairs, my heart a million times lighter. I couldn’t stop smiling at the hope in my chest and, on a whim, grabbed my phone to text Micah.
Me:I held my daddy’s hand today for the first time in twelve years.
I chewed on the inside of my lip while waiting. The ding made me squeak.
Micah:I’m so proud of you!
Heart speeding and giggling, I texted as fast as my fingers could move.I wouldn’t have ever come this far without you. Thank you!!
Micah:Like I said, I’m always available.
I wanted to ask if he wanted company right then but chickened out. While contemplating what to text, another ding came through.
Micah:What are you up to today? It’s a perfect day for sitting by the ocean and digging toes in the sand.
More uninhibited laughter from my lips reminded me of when I’d been a young tween, twittering and whispering about boys with my friends. Friends I’d lost after the shit happened because I couldn’t bear being around people.
I love the beach, I texted back.
