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Mathéo

Two years old

It’s dark, so terribly dark. “Maman?”

I’m thirsty, but I can’t find my bottle. What’s that shadow? Another one. There are many. They dance across my ceiling. I try hard to hear something, but...or do I? Something is rustling. What is it? I can’t make anything out, it’s too dark.

“Maman?!” Why isn’t she coming? I sit upright in my bed. What is happening around me? What is happening to me? Who is there? I am afraid. Tears well up in my eyes.

“Maman!” Why isn’t she coming? Why isn’t she protecting me? Why does she leave me alone with the monsters? “Maman!!!”

Suddenly my bedroom door flies open. “Why the hell are you screaming?”

“Papa...” I stretch my arms in his direction, but nothing happens. “Monsters...” My voice doesn’t want to work properly.

“There’s nothing here! Don’t make such a fuss and go back to sleep!” Papa is loud and gruff. I want to cuddle, but he’s already on his way out of my room again. But the monsters? They’re still here! He hasn’t chased them away and he hasn’t taken them with him.

I hear footsteps in the hallway. Maman. The door opens. “Mathéo, darling! Did you have a bad dream? Come to Maman.” She takes me in her arms, and I nestle my head in her long hair.

“What are you doing? Why are you taking him? Put him back to bed—I want him to sleep!” Papa is angry, his voice loud. He scolds Maman, but her voice is calm as she strokes my head.

“He’s two years old. He had a nightmare.”

“Monsters!” I point to the ceiling with an outstretched finger.

Maman laughs. “Shall we lock the monsters out so you can go back to sleep?” I nod quickly and Maman lowers the blinds. “There, look, they’re gone. Now you can close your eyes again.”

“There never were any monsters, they were the fucking leaves from this fucking tree and the moon! Nothing more! You don’t need to be carried around for that.”

“He’s still small. It’s perfectly normal for him to be scared in the dark. Let him sleep now, that was exciting enough. Right, darling?” She kisses my forehead tenderly.

“He’s a boy! Boys aren’t afraid and certainly not my son! You’re raising him to be a sissy! A girl!”

I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what. I’ll do better, Papa! I promise! Whatever it is, I’ll make it better!

***

I hate weddings. Yet I’m here, in a small German town thirty minutes away from Strasbourg. A wedding is the kind of event you don’t attend alone, because if your life is following a predictable pattern, you’ve found your one and only at the same time your contemporaries find theirs. But I’m solo here, as always. Not because I lack offers, but because I don’t want to give false hopes. I don’t want any of the women I sleep with to get the idea that they have a chance of a relationship. Because that’s not going to happen. They serve their purpose, but nothing more. Each of them knows that, as I’m always upfront with them. Just sex, no relationship, no feelings.

Do I want a relationship? Do I want the love of my life? Yes. Am I lonely sometimes? Yes again. But I struggle to find what I’m looking for. Lots of women try to please me and get my attention but somehow it doesn’t land right. I want a woman who can stand up to me, not one who’s running after me.

And then there’s the visual aspect. I have a type. A special type. So special that I’ll never actually get it. One of the few women who at least got pretty close to this type got married today. That’s why I wanted her so badly, back at Saint-émile. I was an asshole. I know that and I’m sorry.

There are some pretty women here, in their cute little summer dresses and beach waves. They’re all the same. All but one. I can’t look away, my eyes keep searching for her in the crowd and I have the feeling, it’s the same for her. Our eyes meet again and again. It’s impossible to miss her. Right now, she is standing next to élias and, in her high heels, she is even taller than him. We’re probably about eye level. I’m somewhere around 6’6”, and even in heels, hardly any woman is as tall as me. She is and I like it. I like tall women. The idea of being able to look my partner straight in the eye does something to me.

She’s not a classic beauty. Very slim, hardly any curves, a narrow, almost angular face with high cheekbones. A little blush, dark eyes only emphasized with eyeliner, no mascara on the dark, thick eyelashes, dark red lipstick on the full lips. Her hair is a chin-length mop of dark brown curls. She points her chin towards the other girls on the dance floor and says something to élias. He just laughs after her, shaking his head, as she makes her way to the group. Unlike most women here, she isn’t wearing a dress. She’s wearing a dark green jumpsuit with a wide V-neck almost to her belly button. Her arms are muscular and defined, as if she’s an athlete, but not pumped up. Everything about her is slim and slender. I like that. I’ve never understood what men like about big breasts, or about breasts in general.

The way her body moves to the music is intoxicating. Smooth and flowing. But it feels like a lot of people in this room can dance exceptionally well - both men and women. This is probably due to the bride’s hobby, which, together with a friend, is driving the dance community on Instagram crazy. Rightly so, by the way. I follow them both and they are really good. But she can easily keep up. A Spanish song is playing and the way she circles her hips to it... Holy shit. She drops into a squat, only to arch her ass up in a slow movement, followed by her upper body, perfectly overstretched. What I wouldn’t give to stand behind her in this position, with one hand in her curls and the other on that little ass.

“Who are you staring at?” A hand rests on my shoulder and snaps me out of my trance. I nod my chin in the direction of the dancing women. “Which one?”

“The tall one with the jumpsuit.”

“Micki?” élias looks at me questioningly.

“If that’s her name.”

“Yes, but...”

“Hey élias! You have to come with us! Now!” A horde of girls screeching in French catches up with him and he can only shrug his shoulders apologetically as he stumbles away.

When Micki looks in my direction, I raise my glass briefly and disappear into the crowd. Out of nowhere, someone petite grabs me by the forearm. Why does everyone think they have the right to touch me just because I’m solo? I look down and find someone small and blonde. She’s not my type and makes me uncomfortable immediately. She starts talking fast and loudly, not a single pause between her words. In no time at all, I know that she’s a colleague of élias’s. The personal assistant to the head of department to be precise, along with the fact that she’s been single for five years, which doesn’t surprise me at all, and that she’s looking for a new hairdresser. My eyes wander around the room again, looking for Micki. She’s tall, she shouldn’t be hard to miss, but I can’t find her.

“You don’t look very happy. Do you want me to rescue you?” A deep smoky voice brushes my right ear. Sensual and sexy, I can feel the sound of it all the way down to my cock. I know without looking around who it is. Her French is almost impeccable. Fuck.

“Absolutely.” She’s still standing behind me, and even though I still have my back to her, my attention is completely on her.

“Uh... Do you want to dance, maybe?” The small hand tugs at my forearm again and the squeaky voice tugs at my nerves.

Two large but delicate hands rest on my right shoulder, followed shortly afterwards by her chin. The touch feels so intimate and familiar that I instinctively want to close my eyes and lean back. “Oh, I’m sorry about that, but the next dance is mine. Come on.”

She winks at me, beckoning me with two fingers to follow her. Then she turns and makes her way across the dance floor. She plays with me like a cat with its prey, taking control and daring me to let her have it. It’s new and exciting, a feeling I haven’t had with a woman for a very long time. Never, if I’m being honest. Micki steers us unerringly towards Nika and élias, who are standing together with Nika’s dance partner Philipp and his husband Adrien, chatting.

élias and I went to school together. We aren’t in contact much anymore, but all twelve of us from Saint-émile, where élias and Nika met, are here. Micki exchanges a few quick words in German with Philipp and Nika. It sounds nice, even though I don’t understand a word. But her voice does something to me. Micki’s voice envelops me, I want to listen to her, I want to understand her. It’s strange.

“Do you have an idea what we’re doing here? I can’t shake the feeling that the three of them have something planned.” Adrien looks fixedly at his husband. Suddenly the music stops. The lights are dimmed, and three spotlights illuminate the dance floor. Micki, Nika and Philipp take off their shoes and place three chairs in the middle of the spotlights.

Micki takes my hand. Her skin is soft, but her grip is firm, and I like that more than I’m willing to admit. Guiding me to the left-most chair, she says, “I told you, the next dance was mine. You sure you’re comfortable with this?” I nod quickly.

“Good. Sit down and enjoy the show.” She winks at me once more, then moves into position behind my chair.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this isn’t it. The music is slow. A woman’s voice is singing in German, and she’s accompanied by a piano and soft percussion. I know this kind of dancing from Nika and Philipp’s videos. But to feel Micki dancing so closely, dancing for me, that’s different. Her long, slender body winds around mine in slow, flowing movements. She’s touching me again and again as light as a feather. The choreography is not sexy, but it is sensual, intimate. I lose myself in the music and in the body of this woman, who is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. She stands to my right and stretches her leg vertically in the air into a perfect split. Slowly, she drops her upper body in front of mine. With a firm grip on my thighs, she stabilizes herself and pulls herself up. The back of her head is in my crotch and her legs are spread wide, right at eye level. Fuck.

I can feel myself getting hard and I want to sink into the ground, but Micki doesn’t even flinch. She closes her legs and rolls over my thighs. Muffled clapping and screaming reaches my foggy head.

The song comes to an end. In a soft twist, Micki lets herself slide onto my lap. The situation in my pants is still difficult. But she doesn’t falter and stretches her back until her fingertips touch the floor on the other side of my thighs. I have the best view of a firm, flat stomach, a small belly button. I see the line of her breastbone prominent between the two strips of voluminous fabric covering her flat breasts. My fingers twitch. I want to touch her.

The music suddenly ends, and the clapping of the other guests snaps me out of my trance.

“Thank you for the dance.” Micki whispers softly in my ear, her cheek against mine. The hint of an air kiss makes my skin tingle. Without another glance back, she turns, disappearing into the crowd. I want more.