21. Jonathan

" Y ou're surprising," I said, pressing their body further into my arms.

This. THIS!

I was still in a state of bliss, stark naked on my back, with their head against my chest, an arm slung around my shoulder and their lips against my skin. It felt as if something huge and incredibly heavy had been lifted from my chest. This whole awful, awkward secret I'd nursed and carried and fed had just evaporated.

Well, it wasn't fully gone. I knew better than that. I'd had enough therapy to teach me that nothing was solved overnight.

But I'd still jumped. For once, I switched off all those inhibitions and asked for what I needed. What I wanted. What I craved.

"I'm just who I am. I like what I like," they said, nuzzling closer, that big fat cock of theirs nestled comfortably against my leg.

"You're perfect," I said, once again having to move hair out of their face so I could see them.

"You mean you have a thing for large dicks."

"I do, but even so, everything about you is perfect."

"There's still so much stigma around not fitting into the cis norm of existence, I never felt…perfect. I hate that word."

"You shouldn't. You're kind, and wonderful, and thoughtful, and warm and…it's strange. You make me feel comfortable. I never have. Not with myself, with my body. I heard you say once that you try all these things and seem to fail at them all. I think that's wrong. Your experiences make you who you are. Well-rounded. Gorgeous."

I wished they wouldn't cringe so when I complimented them, but I would keep doing it because…well. Mabel Donovan was truly the most beautiful person I had ever known.

"I always knew who I was," they continued. "Always felt like this split personality that I somehow had to merge. It's not easy when you're young, but I'm older now. I don't care as much. And then life happens, and you start to think that you'll always be alone and single, and you start to be okay with that. Like, you settle into some kind of spinsterhood and…I mean, I know how to crochet. I just need a cat."

"No cats. I'm allergic."

"Shit."

I chuckled and rubbed their shoulder, relishing this skin-to-skin contact. My nakedness that would have embarrassed me before; now it felt like an asset, a comfortable robe.

"Remember that old fairy tale? The Emperor's New Clothes?"

"Who doesn't? We read it in school when I was a kid, but I think it's banned no. No nudity for children!"

"Outrageous. All I was going to say was this whole…being naked with you…it's surprisingly pleasant. I don't even sleep naked."

"Because you don't sleep, but we're changing that. I'll put nakedness on my list. Might work."

"You'd make a terrible doctor."

"I would. I would ignore their obvious gash to the head and make them a cup of tea and discuss wine, ask intrusive questions about their sexual habits."

"You would."

"So how are you feeling?"

"Like that emperor, lying here on display with all my bits out and no shame at all."

"You're stunning, Jonny. You need to know that. I mean…"

There went their fingers, soft strokes down my cock, gently cupping my balls, long nails scraping against my leg, making everything tingle.

"It's kind of…small," I said, a little bashful now.

"It's average. Trust me. I spend an awful lot of time in the changing rooms of a large drag club, and I see a lot of penises. Every single one is different. Long, thick, short, stubby. And you know what? The bitchiness in that changing room can be fierce. Queens gossip. About other queens' dresses, their wigs being old and worn, their aging chest plates, make-up skills or lack of…you name it and someone will be whispering about it behind someone else's back. It's life. But no one in that room will ever point at someone else's dick and laugh. Because we all have them, and it's never, ever about size. It's about what you do with them, how you use your hands, the words coming out of your mouth."

"The whole package."

"Yep, whatever its size."

"That makes me feel much better about my minuscule dick." My sarcasm had come out to play, but it was fun. I was having fun.

"It's not minuscule. Average. Nice shape. Works perfectly well. And if you don't stop complaining, I will put my mouth on it and make it bigger."

I laughed and headed the threat off with a kiss. I still couldn't quite fathom it—that they were here with me, naked, in bed. I still had spunk on my hand, the taste of theirs in my mouth. Thinking those thoughts were enough to make me want to retreat back into my shell, but Mabel wouldn't let me.

I was beyond grateful that they had given this to me. Peace.

I felt at peace. With everything.

"What about you?" they asked, fingers still playing over my skin, sending tantalising tingles down my stomach. "What did you want to become when you were a kid? A property tycoon?"

"Not at all. I wanted to be a pop star. I wanted to be on the cover of Smash Hits . The magazine?"

"I remember that. I preferred all those girls' magazines—the ones with glitter on the covers and models with really bad perms."

"Oh God. My mother had one of those perms."

"So did mine." They paused, then continued, "Even as a kid, I was the last person anyone would think was straight. My parents were on to it before I knew I liked boys. You, on the other hand—you're like a straight bloke. I didn't even clock you until my staff started making comments."

"Those eye-fucking ones?"

"Yeah. You did, though. I liked it, so don't deny it."

"I have no intention of denying it, but I much prefer the real thing."

"Well. Of course you do. I'm perfect."

"You are." I grinned into their hair. No lies there. "My mother knows…me, but I don't think it's something my father wants to acknowledge. He's settled to the fact that his son is weird—do you know he had me investigated at school, to see if I was slow in any way? He was desperate for a reason why I wasn't quite like everyone else's kids. Mum told him I was just introverted, and I concur. I wasn't a social child and preferred to stay in my room and read. I studied a lot. I suppose studying was my safety net. At least I was good at that."

"I get that," they said. "I like studying, and I'm really good at it too. But not everything in life can be learned from a book. Sometimes you have to go out and actually live. Learn from your mistakes."

"Jump off cliffs."

"Yes. Good jumps. Good cliffs."

"This was a good cliff."

"It was. And I have more cliffs to tackle tomorrow, so we need to turn off this light and sleep. Or rest, in your case. I'll be right here. Just wake me if you need me. Talk to me. Don't let things overwhelm you, okay? Just rest. Close your eyes, and I'll just lie here and hold you."

I didn't understand why I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Why there was wetness in my eyes. Why my usual nighttime panic seemed lighter, and instead of spasming in fear, my body seemed to relax, lying here in their arms.

Rest. That I could do. Lie here and listen to them breathing. Warm skin against my face.

A few weeks ago, I would have given my right arm to have had something like this, and now I did, I wanted this to last. To go on.

I could suddenly see Christmas trees. I'd never had one. Never decorated anything in my life, but now I wanted to. I wanted to ride in their car, visit their parents, see this mythical place they called home, where they'd lived before they met me.

I wished I'd met them sooner. I wished I'd been braver. I wanted this. I would fight for this—to the death if I had to—even if it meant being honest about who I was. Out in the open.

I would have to dig deep and find all that bravery.

I didn't remember anything after that, other than thinking that I'd taken my sleeping tablet hours ago and was still awake, so they obviously didn't work.

Then I slept.