Obviously I liked her calling me sexy, but didn’t know how to respond without sounding dismissive or offensive. When I said nothing, she laughed nervously. “Sorry, is that weird? The only person I talk to about this is Mallory.”
“I know, everything’s about sex with her,” I scowled.
“Not just sex, she’s … she’s uninhibited about her body. It’s a refreshing change from how I grew up,” Grace said carefully. “I always heard that since we were ‘formed in the image and likeness of God,’ anything self-critical was an insult to God. So imagine the feeling that you didn’t belong in your God-given body.” Her hand grazed high, running circles around my chest hair. “Mallory helped me see my body as a collection of muscle and bones and tissue, not an indicator of my self-worth. Her irreverence helped me to detach my identity from my anatomy.”
I wished I could see her face, but didn’t want to disturb the safe space she’d found. The darkness seemed to bolster her courage.
“In college, I learned that gender was a social construct, not an anatomical fact. I read about people who were transgender, or didn’t fit into the gender binary … even then, I didn’t instantly recognize myself. Even after starting hormones and beginning to pass as a woman, I still didn’t feel ‘trans enough.’ Then one day, Mal was complaining about her cramps, and I snapped that I’d take her period because then I’d be a real woman. And she said, ‘Gracie, if I choose not to have kids, would I be less of a woman? Is pregnancy the indicator?’ And I replied, ‘Obviously not.’ And she gave me that ‘I know I’m right’ look.”
“I’ve seen that look way too much this month."
She laughed generously, a laugh that made me feel proud for causing it. A laugh that challenged me to loosen up so I could hear it more.
“Mallory helped me embrace my femininity and sensitivity, even if growing up, society told me not to.” She paused, weighing whether to continue. A laugh bubbled up against her will as she confessed, “And when I told her that I could have both types of orgasms and the one on estrogen was better, she yelled, ‘Don’t tell the Republicans or there will be an estrogen shortage!’”
Her laugh filled the room, that magical sound that felt like it was coming from her toes up through her body, and I joined in, a full-bodied belly laugh. Her head bounced on my shoulder and she clung to me as our laughter blended to fill the room. She released me to wipe tears out of her eyes.
After her laughter subsided, I asked, “So about both types of orgasms …”
Her head burrowed into my shoulder. Although her fingertips were cold and I felt her chilly toes through her socks, the warmth of her face could have heated the whole cabin.
“What, Mal gets the details and I don’t?” I said in mock exasperation.
“She’s curious, she’s not trying to get into my pants!” Her hand covered her face, but her belly shook with laughter.
“Exactly, the one who wants to give you the orgasms should be the one who knows!” I said in a hushed cry. “Is one of them more masculine, and the other more feminine?”
“Yeah, you could say that. One’s more like jerking off and coming fast, like lightning. And the other,” she stifled a yawn, “started after a few months on estrogen, every nerve ending lights up like fireworks.”
As the moonlight peaked through the window, I saw her eyelids drooping. I kissed the top of her head. “You should sleep, tomorrow will be a long day skiing.”
She tucked closer, a soft smile on her lips. “You should too, Alex.”
“It might take me a while.”
Her eyes blinked open in confusion, then glanced down our tented blanket.
“Holy shit,” she said, and the curse word on her normally pristine mouth made my cock jerk. “Seriously?”
“You talked about topping,” I shrugged.
“That’s all it took?” she said in a shocked whisper. I didn’t want to admit how much she affected me, or how long it had been since I had sex, so I shrugged again. Her gaze drifted down our blanket, and then she said in a petulant tone, “That’s unfair. A man as hot as you shouldn’t also be hung like that.”
It took all my willpower to remain relaxed when my hand desperately wanted to stroke it for her, so I leaned on my ego instead. “You think I’m hot?”
“Stop fishing for compliments,” she said flatly. “Everyone thinks you’re hot.”
“But what do you think?”
She shifted uncomfortably and I prepared to backtrack until she whispered, “When I first saw you, I thought you were the most stunning person I’d ever seen.” The sincere words made my breath stop … until she poked me in the ribs. “A tiny dick would have balanced the scales. But I guess the Big Dick Energy is well-founded.”
Her palm slid lower as her voice got raspy. “You need help with that?”
“That’s not why I brought it up,” I intercepted her hand, lifting it to my chest. “Although you said the same thing, that first time I was Santa. You meant the costume, but … let’s say I was relieved when you told me to turn around.”
Her voice rose in surprise. “You got hard as Santa?”
“Not hard, exactly …”
Her breath warmed my neck and I felt the vibrations of her laughter as much as I heard the melody. God, she had the world’s best laugh, and it must be contagious because mine joined immediately.
Her index and middle fingers found the bottom of my sweatshirt, walking from my stomach to the top of my pants.
“Seriously, can I?” she said, tracing my waistband. “You'll sleep better …”
“I'll be fine,” I said, not wanting her to feel obligated.
“I want you to be better than fine,” she said, meeting my eyes. “Please?”
Was she really pleading to jerk me off?
And was I really going to say no to a gorgeous woman offering a handjob?
Mallory’s loud guffaw reverberated up the stairs, reminding me of an important reason to decline. “My family might hear.”
“I can stop …” her voice was a sexy rasp. “Or we can be quiet.”
I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. “Ok, yeah. Yes, please.”
