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And Harrick and Eddie come over once a month so that I can trounce their asses at Monopoly.
That's in addition to these weekly Sunday dinners.
I'm so blessed. Not only do I have an incredible family—both blood and chosen—I get to spend my life with someone who takes care of me and nurtures me in the way that I need.
Maybe to some people, me opening up to Tal isn't a big deal. But it was for me. I've never fully felt accepted by anyone, and that kept me trapped by shame and fear.
Society tells us that men like me aren't supposed to have soft sides. We're supposed to be tough and burly and scary looking.
Why can't I choose who I am? Why can't I be in touch with both my masculine and feminine sides?
I like being looked after.
I love having someone cook for me. Snuggle me. Think of me.
And I love spreading my legs and letting my man ravage me.
None of those things make me weak or less than.
After everyone goes, and it's back to just us, I saunter over to the back porch and flick the outside lights on, illuminating the backyard.
Tal comes up behind me. "What are you doing?"
I stay silent as I pour him a scotch and tell him to take a seat on one of the rocking chairs.
"Shhh, and here." I hand him the drink. "This is your birthday present."
I walk to my log pile and place a large piece of wood on the cutting block.
Tal's staring at me intently the whole time.
I peel my shirt off, the cool night air hitting my skin, pebbling my nipples. I kick off my shoes and unbuckle my belt, sliding my jeans down my legs.
When I straighten to full height, the glass of scotch has been tipped over by Tal's feet. "Holy sweet mother," he breathes out.
"Like what you see, baby?"
He starts nodding manically.
"You're not the only one who can rock sexy skimpy underwear," I tell him as I walk around and pick up my axe.
"Wh-where did you get those?" Tal stutters.
"Definitely not at Walmart," I reply with a grin, getting into position. "Pretty sure they don't sell lace manties."
Tal leans forward as I raise the axe above me and hammer it down forcefully, splitting the massive log in two.
"Do it again," he says breathlessly.
"Oh, I intend to."
I eye the huge pile of wood. Tal's always enjoyed watching me chop wood—because, yes, some stereotypes are even hotter in real life—so why not combine it with me trying on some sexy underwear for the first time?
And as I crack open log after log, with my boyfriend's eyes never leaving me for a second, I feel…alive.
I've always had a duality in me. I've tried to suppress it. Hide it. Avoid it. Mask it.
It's taken me forty-one damn years to realize it's useless to try to change my innate nature. I'm not hurting anyone, I'm just not conforming to outdated and bullshit notions of what a man—mountain or otherwise—should be.
