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A: I don’t mind it.
Me: Then I won’t initiate.
A: What about you? Do you like it? Tell me what you’d want from someone you’re into.
Me? I want someone to touch me without it having to be more. I want lazy kisses in bed and exploring hands. Someone who’s willing to tell me their dreams, their problems. What makes them smile, what makes them cry. I want someone who can be as painfully open with me as I want to be with them.
Because right now, it’s all locked up so tight I’m afraid the pressure building up will crack my ribs before I find a safe place to let it out.
But that’s a lot to lay on a person who has no intention of us meaning anything to each other.
Me: I love kissing. Could probably do it for hours. It sounds silly, but I like people messing with my hair. Light touches feel good.
A: Where?
Me: Anywhere. Everywhere.
A: Could I hold you? You could lay your head on my chest. I could card my fingers through your hair. Drag them up your spine.
Butterflies sprout in my stomach, a shiver running through me as I picture the touch, the embrace. That’s what I need.
A: Are you quiet because you’re uncomfortable or…?
Me: No. No, it’s nice. Is it bad form to say I’m a little lonely?
A: Nah. You’re helping me with some seriously personal shit. I can keep you company for a bit. Tell me what I can do.
Me: Can I touch you, too?
A: Hands off my junk. But otherwise, feel free.
I’m not as creative with my words as I am with my hands. My fingers can make lines that tell a hundred stories, millions of little heartaches in every pencil stroke. Words are where my creativity runs short. But A is giving me something that I might not have the chance to have for a long time.
Me: I’d want to take your shirt off. To listen to your heartbeat and feel your body beneath me. You could take my shirt off, too, if you wanted. Explore me.
A: What if I did? Turned every inch of skin into a playground for my fingertips. Where would you stop my hands?
Me: We’ll stick with your rule. No touching the other’s dick. Now if you were after my ass…?
A: Depends. Do you like that idea?
Me: If you put your hands on me like that, I’d press you into the blanket and find your neck with my lips. I’d push into your grip and make a wreck of your throat. I’d want to kiss you, but you don’t like that so I’d just hold you more. Rest my head on your chest until my heart slows and my desire simmers down.
A: Oh.
Anxiety swells in my chest. Too much. Way too much. But the flirty way he started makes me want to push. I’m supposed to be easing him into sexual thoughts, seeing if anything provokes him or makes him initiate. I’m not supposed to jump into it.
Me: I’m sorry. My head is in a weird place today. Didn’t mean to take it that far.
There’s a few more minutes of silence, and I know I’ve fucked this up. Absolutely just dropped the ball. I’m an idiot. An idiot who can’t read a room and who wants too much that he’s trying to get it from a stranger.
And not in the socially acceptable way.
I should have just picked someone on Grindr and gotten it over with.
I’m about to rush out another apology and turn the entire phone off when a new message pops up.
A: You didn’t do anything wrong. I was… collecting myself.
