10. when we can- begin

Dear T,

The problem was my legs. My legs uncovered on the bed were sex.

To make matters worse, your shorts were wrapped around my legs. What was once around your legs intimated itself between mine, and I am embarassed to say it, but I swear, you were fondling me already.

I had nearly finished the book. I put it down, sighed with relief inside when you walked in, realising just how much I had been waiting. (Nonsense, nonsense.)

It felt startlingly intimate. I wanted to avoid your sleepy eyes.

We murmured good-mornings and did-you-sleep-wells. My chest was like sex about to happen, trying not to move, not to breathe. Your chest was like sex too, something right here, you said, pushing right on your sternum, like I need weight, force, something. I know the feeling.

You looked so much younger than you are. You looked so open. You looked so dreamy and unarmed. Your body looked so relaxed, but could not seem to slouch, could not help but flaunt its breadth and strength. You looked so unshakeable. You looked so gentle. You looked like you were searching. You looked alive and uncontained, your hand pushed to your chest like that, like an ape trying to make a thumping claim.

You came to me like a cue ball that had to be shot. You were irresistible and you knew it. You were so much like sex it hurt.

Come give me a hug, you said. My smile grew wide.

I got up shyly, my head like sex, flying. I started to give you a hug. No, you said, and spun me round, my ass crushed suddenly against your crotch. Like this. I closed my eyes like sex and tried not to move inside the brace of your arm, afraid.

(In the back of my mind whispered my story, that you were the second man to hold me ever.)

You broke the hug and we stood alone.

You flopped your body on the bed like sex. You threw yourself on the bed I had been sleeping in with a sleepy sigh, lying with me already.

I laughed because it was easy to follow, to flop down next to you. I thanked you inside for making it easy. My body tense and trembling like sex. Laughing like sex. Oh it’s over, you said, if you’re going to lie down next to me, you’re going to have to turn round. You pulled my back to you again. I lay smashed again, my back against your chest again, my ass against your crotch again, my legs down your legs. We were fucking already.

Nonsense, nonsense, was beating still. It made me wait still, unsure. You were laughing in my ear, rambling, embarrassed. I know what you must think, I really do have this feeling, something right here, it’s not a line, I’m not trying to like...

The funny part is I could sense you meant it, as you said it. You prided yourself on the comfort of being a guest at your house, that you did not push, that you were innocuous, that you would never ‘take advantage’.

Shh. I wanted to say. Shh. Let’s go.

I swear it was me who put my hand beneath your shirt first.

The skin on your back was like sex. Fleece and steel and cream.