Page 25

Micki

I’m coming. I want to see him, I want to see him when I’m coming. I open my eyes and... fuck, he has his cock in his hand. Big and thick and hard for me. Ahh, shit. I try to hold out a little longer, to come together with Mathéo, but I don’t stand a chance. My orgasm rushes through my body with a force that’s completely new to me. I try to keep the mess as small as possible with my hands, but I’m not successful. My stomach and thighs are a mess, but I don’t care, my gaze is transfixed on Mathéo. Suddenly his eyelids flutter and with a loud moan he spills his load all over his stomach and up to his chest.

Mathéo is breathing heavily. “Shit, that was so hot. You were so hot, Micki.” The tingling in my stomach spreads further at his words. That was a big step for him. He was hard for me; he came for me. He looked at me. Me. He did, right?

“Let’s take a quick shower, or we’ll never get this stuff off.” Mathéo snorts briefly with a smile and nods. Getting up, he drops his boxer shorts and follows me. Naked.

Mathéo is naked. With me. In my shower. But I’ve no idea what I can and can’t do.

“You first.” I push him under the jet of water and Mathéo follows without further discussion. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, he grabs my shower gel, soaping up first himself, then me. He is thorough, very thorough and I can feel my cock slowly starting to twitch again. His hands travel over every inch of my body, except my cock and ass, but that’s okay. We agreed on small steps and he’s already taken big steps today.

We dry ourselves off and both pull up our boxers again. Mathéo is standing in the middle of my bedroom, looking a little lost, so I take his hand and pull him onto the bed with me. Stiffly he lays on his back next to me and I can literally hear him thinking, can read the disparaging words his head is throwing at him, just from the look on his face. He is fighting for his heart and for me. I turn onto my side, away from him, and curl up, just as I would if I were sleeping alone, and quickly drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I wake up with something warm and hairy pressed against my back and neck, and it feels so good. But my pleasure is short-lived because the second I’m back to consciousness I’m afraid Mathéo will freak out if he wakes up like this, so close to me.

I carefully try to push myself away a little to stand up, but as soon as I move, a strong hand reaches around my middle, pulling me back and placing itself flat on my stomach.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s what I feared beforehand, but it’s obvious when his fingertips start moving towards my chest. He touches me like he’d touch a woman, at least that’s how I imagine it, because no man has ever touched me like this before, and I wait for the moment when he realizes who he’s in bed with. Mathéo’s hand moves further, as if he were approaching a breast to cup it, then he flinches, but his hand remains firmly in place. I can feel his forehead in my neck, but his whole body is tense, and his breathing is labored.

“You don’t have to do this. Let me get up, okay?” Subconsciously, he still thinks I’m a woman and that stings. Subconsciously, he wants a woman and that’s not me. It’s the one thing I can never be for him. Tears find their way into my eyes, and I need to get out. Mathéo can’t see me like this.

I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. My hands rest on the sink and the first tear rolls down my cheek. My face may be feminine, but my body allows no mistake about who I am. I am a man. I believe Mathéo when he says he wants to be with me, with me as a man, but he’d rather be intimate with a woman.

I startle when two hands reach under my arms and place themselves on my flat chest, firmly and deliberately. “Your body isn’t the problem, Micki. My head is. I constantly hear my father’s voice and... and it’s very hard not to believe him, not to obey.” Mathéo’s hands tremulously wander down my flanks and then forward over my belly button. “I like your body. I like that it’s so firm, so petit.”

“What does your father say? In your head?” Do I really want to know?

“Right now?” I nod. “I don’t want to hurt you. My father’s an asshole.”

“You were too. I’m not sensitive.”

Mathéo shakes his head with a smile. “That’s exactly what I love about you.” My heart leaps at his words. “I’ve already told you a bit, so you should have the basic idea.”

Mathéo’s father is a first-class patriarchal asshole. He runs his family and his company with a firm and unyielding hand; image is all that matters. I understand that I wouldn’t fit in, that Mathéo and I wouldn’t fit in together. “He is like You can’t be with a man. What would our business partners think. Nobody takes a fag seriously. Get your shit together and stop being so fucking selfish. Be a man and think about the family, about our legacy... , something like that. Nobody disagrees with my father without consequences, nobody. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Never.”

Gentle kisses wander over my shoulder and soothe the pain his words have caused. No, not his words—his father’s words that he suffered hearing his whole life.

I suspected it before, but now I understand Mathéo even better. I hate that he had to grow up like that. My head and my heart know that he has chosen me, but a “for now” always creeps along in the back of my mind. What happens when he really has to choose between his family and me. How am I supposed to keep up?