Again, prefacing this as, I don’t know if it will stick around for my story, but the scene was in my head and I had to work it out.

He pressed me to the door, kissing, demanding, trying to slip into my skin. Fervent desire. A spiraling heat that ignited a lake of fire within me. He was lean and all encompassing. I melted into him as he trailed kisses along my neck, my fingers digging into his sides if only to keep me from slipping to the floor.

“Make love to me, Deus,” he demanded, his eyes catching mine as he came up to capture my lips again. That pressing heat fizzled at the request. My heart stuttered and my fingers went cold. I let go of his obliques and my stomach dropped out from under me.

He eased off my lips to look down at me, a puzzled question running across his brow. “Are you…? I’m sorry. Is it not something you want to do?” He gave me room.

“I didn’t expect you to want to have me the way I am. If I’m just going to be a receptacle again, I’d rather cry.” I refused to let the shiver at my shoulders give me away.

“I should have talked to you about this before pushing your buttons, huh?” he murmured, taking my fingers gently to pull me farther into the darkness. His queen sized bed was piled with pillows and a goose down duvet. Selwyn sank down on the edge, keeping a light hold on my finger tips.

“What’s there to talk about? We’re attracted to each other, I just have a hang up.” I pushed at my cheek, willing the heat of threatened tears down.

“Your partners never really listened, did they?” He feathered his thumb over my nails.

“I mean, when I’m the way I am, this whole messed up problem I find myself in, I kind of just took what I could get for intimacy. The good girlfriend situation. No one ever accepted me as a maybe boyfriend, or a friend of some kind like that. No one really ever made an effort to work with my sense of being pangender. They just…saw my body and not me. Not the fact that some days, I don’t want to be touched a certain way. I don’t always want to be reminded that I have boobs attached to me, or that my hips are too wide to let me pass as androgynous. Some days I don’t want to be on the receiving end. Or in those fervent moments in bed, when I can get to a fantasizing point, and have it collapse on me with a misplaced word.” I pressed in on his fingers in an effort to keep the lump in my throat from choking me.

“I’m listening now, Deus. And I’ll listen until I’m deaf from trying.” He  slipped back farther to the center of the bed and pulled me to sit between his long legs, my back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me to hold over my hands where I was comfortable wrapping them on my stomach. He placed his chin on my head and let me warm to the situation.

“I tried once, giving my last partner a book on the basic structure and function of what’s attached to me, to maybe help me get to an orgasm. Saying they’d read it, they only ever read a chapter before tossing it on the bottom shelf, never to touch it again. They wanted me to instruct them, when I couldn’t even explain it myself, not well. My explanations always broke down because I thought he read the book and thought it would be easy to go, ‘oh do this because of this one stupid biological fact that my muscular structure is bound to.’ I wanted to have a common ground to start at, where both of us had that foundation we could build off.

After that, when I told him I wasn’t feeling seen in bed, intimacy became infrequent at best. He started stressing out about not helping me enough, which killed the mood. I felt even more stressed to perform, to try to get there as fast as he did, to act like I enjoyed it, when I desperately wanted to be normal, to share that part of me. Hoping that I wasn’t breaking things apart. It started eating at me. I wanted to be close, that warmth I get with expectation and need would still crop up, but every time I found myself pinned under him, I’d start getting low grade panic attacks. When we were finished, I’d roll over in the dark and cry myself to sleep. Having anything in me started making me anxious, reminding me that I was flipping broken. I couldn’t relax and enjoy what we had. The relationship collapsed because I couldn’t figure out how to make this damn thing work like I wanted it to. I wanted to be that woman that could do feminine things and enjoy it, but the more I tried, the more I realized that something was wrong with how I felt and how I saw myself in the mirror. I couldn’t be what he needed, no matter how hard I really wanted to.

We had this idyllic relationship other than my problem in the bedroom and I didn’t want it to break down. It got worse and the idea of returning to that need to perform has me on edge. It’s worse, because I know I’m not…you know. I’m not the guy you’d rather have holding you in the middle of the night. I don’t have the equipment, and you don’t want to go having boobs pressed against you at four in the morning.” I pushed to escape, suddenly too self conscious of my hips, my breathing, my skin burning, begging to be ripped off so I could apologize for existing.

 He pulled me tighter to him, wrapping me in his heat. “Please, don’t leave. I want to understand. You are scared of disappointing me and disappointing yourself?”

I pushed my face into his arm, tears bursting. My heart was in my throat and texture was too much to bare. A weight settled into my chest, pulling my lungs down. My ears were ringing and I couldn’t swallow. “I can’t breath.” I gasped.

Selwyn released me immediately, giving me room. He shuffled around until he was sitting face to face with me, my hands in his once again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was going to put you on edge,” he apologized while I fought to count through twenty. He let go of my hands to reach for my necklace, pulling it up over my head. “This. You fidget with it a lot. Do you need this?” He laid the beads in my fingers. The smoothness of the stone was cool and reassuring. Breath in. Breath out. Click. Click. Click. I ran the small orbs beneath my fingerprints as I told myself to breath. Selwyn sat back and waited patiently as my gaze drifted from dark corner to dark corner and I wrestled with my brain to remember how to control my heart and lungs. One hundred and eight forward and one hundred and eight back and I was able to come back to him.

“I’m sorry.” I rubbed over the massive pendant at the end of the mala.

“Do not apologize for this, Deus. Never. Don’t do it. You’ve learned to cope while you were falling to pieces.” He shifted to the end of the bed and got up. I sat where he left me, clicking through my beads as I waited for him to come back. He returned with a glass of water and offered it to me. I took it, sipping on the coolness. I had not realized how parched my mouth had gone.

“Thank you, Wyn.” I leaned over and set the half empty glass on the nightstand. He toggled the lamp on, shedding the space in soft orange light.

RT @ThorntonGibsonK: I can’t wait to read what happens next in The Kavordian Library! – #scifi, #fantasy, #webseries #books

I am a writer and artist working through the Kavordian Library series. I write sci-fi, fantasy, lgbt romance.

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