Chapter Twenty-Six

Loncey

I can't sleep. We turned the lights off long ago, but still I can't sleep.

Maybe it's the nap I took. Maybe it's because I still keep thinking about Harley and after Miko's latest update, it doesn't seem like she's calmed down much. Or maybe it's because of the tossing and turning Irish woman in the bed next to me.

And I don't mean it's her fidgeting and rolling over that is keeping me awake. It's more her. Just her. I'm aware of everything she does. My ears are tuned to hear just how heavy her sighs are. And my body is doing all the things I wish it wouldn't do, pumping blood in all the wrong directions when I think about her hands on my scalp less than an hour ago, about her thoughtful little pouts as we talked all day and nearly all night, and the way I saw that mole and the natural blush in her cheeks again after she'd taken her make-up off.

While I feel safer having an erection in the comfort of my own bed, I still feel like I'm betraying some of the trust between us. Maeve is fast becoming someone I'd like to keep in touch with, to build a real friendship with, and it feels like experiencing a one-sided sexual pull to her is disrespectful to that bond.

Maybe I just need to masturbate. It's been a few days.

I grip my hard-on through my boxer shorts and squeeze as hard as I can, relishing the surge of sensation it gives me. But then I immediately let go.

Because Jesus, not now.

Another sigh, and another rustle of bedclothes fills my ears as she rolls over in bed yet again.

"Can't sleep?" I call out.

It's dark enough in the room that I can only make out the outline of her body as she sits up in bed and rests her back against the padded headboard.

"I'm in my head again," she says with a soft grunt.

"About the keynote?"

"Yeah," she says, and her voice sounds so small, so sad, it takes some considerable effort not to jump out of bed and reach out for her and pull her into my arms.

But that's fucking ridiculous. Maeve is not one of my friends who I've already established a close physical relationship. And Maeve definitely doesn't need saving.

"Wanna talk about it?" I turn onto my side and prop my head up, facing her.

"We've been talking about it all fecking afternoon." she sighs again. "I just… I just want it over with. It's making me stressed out and I hate getting stressed out."

"What normally helps when you get stressed out?"

There's a silence I don't expect.

"I can't tell you that," she says eventually, again in that small, sad voice.

"Why not? Does it involve criminal damage? Bodily harm?" I joke.

"No, worse."

"Jesus, Maeve. What could be worse than that?"

"It's not bad for other people but it's bad for me. Well, not bad, I guess, but weird. It's a really weird thing for me to do."

Feeling very intrigued, I make sure my voice is as gentle as possible. "Try me. I hope you know me well enough by now to know that I'm not going to judge you."

There's another silence but this one isn't unexpected and I wait it out. I wait for Maeve to be ready.

"When I'm stressed, I…" Silence returns. "Jesus, why is this so fecking hard? Especially with you."

I don't know what she means by that, but still, I wait.

"I like to… Well, like is not the right word. I sort of need to, you know, when I'm stressed… I need to… masturbate."

That final word comes out in such a rush I almost miss it and I have to replay it in my mind to check I've heard correctly. And yes, I'm a little shocked, but I'm also very aware that my shock is the last thing Maeve needs.

"Well, I guess that's something we have in common," I say eventually.

The light flashes on and I bring a hand to my eyes to cover them because it's a little blinding.

"You do it too?" she asks, the volume back in her voice. "As stress relief?"

"Sure," I say, lowering my hand but still squinting at Maeve who's sitting up in bed in her lilac silk pyjamas. "I think a lot of people do. It's a quick and easy way to feel good, after all."

She makes a noise that's a grunt of air being pushed through her nose. "I wouldn't say it feels good," she says. "I mean the end bit does, but the bit before, I don't know… it just sort of feels necessary, even though I wish it wasn't."

I push my body up so I'm also sitting in bed. I adjust the silk wrap Maeve has loaned me again. "You know, it's okay if masturbating feels good to you, Maeve. It doesn't make you any less asexual if you enjoy self-pleasure."

"Self-pleasure, Jesus Christ. You sound like one of the books Ma got me from the library when it came to talking about the birds and the bees."

"Hmm. And I'm guessing your mom didn't talk to you about the possibility of being asexual?"

"Of course not. My ma and da didn't even know asexuals existed until I told them about it."

I pull in a breath and look at Maeve, waiting for her eyes to find mine. "That's hard," I say.

"Well, do your parents know about asexuality?" she asks and it's not accusatory as much as defensive.

"My mother has an awareness, yes, but that's because she's a well-read queer Black woman who works with a lot of queer people. And who knows what my father thinks about anything. I haven't heard from him in over three decades years."

"Your mum's queer?"

"Yes. Pansexual, like me. It's what made coming out so easy."

Maeve smiles one of her real smiles. "I'm glad you had that."

"And I'm sorry you didn't."

But Maeve waves it away. "Oh, they weren't arseholes about it. Not at all. I'd softened the blow by coming out as queer a few months before, so when I told them I was asexual it wasn't a huge deal but I think it's been a learning curve for them, having to learn more about what being asexual actually means. And that's the part I hate the most about telling people I'm ace. It's the not understanding or the misunderstanding. And then there's just this automatic burden on me to help them understand. It always feels like it's my job to educate them."

"Is that why you talk about it online?"

"Partly, yeah. Although not all of my friends are on social media, you know. I mean, my brother also had no clue about it, but to be fair to Marty, he never made me feel like I had to explain myself to him. In fact, he just gave me a hug and told me he was going to ask Jenna, his girlfriend, a million questions about it so he could be more supportive."

"And did he?"

"Yeah, of course. My brother's a lot of things but he nearly always does what he says he's going to."

"Let me guess, he's an Air sign? Or has at least some Air signs in his chart?"

"He's a Gemini."

"There we go. They're the do-ers of the stars."

"Are we really talking about this bollocks again?" She rolls her green eyes at me, but it's a gentle eye-roll, not a severe one like I've been on the receiving end of before.

"Would you rather talk about masturbating as stress relief?" I challenge.

"I mean… no, but also, yes. You don't think… you don't think I'm weird for being like this?"

"Maeve, I would like to think you know enough about asexuality to know that libido and attraction are two very different things."

"But that's just it, I don't really have a libido. Whenever I've been dating someone, I never wanted to, you know, have sex or even do other stuff with them. Apart from like hand-holding and hugging and kissing. But anything else, even touching myself, no, especially touching myself, was so far from something I would want to do with them."

"And that's okay," I point out.

"But it doesn't feel okay," she replies quickly.

"Because that's what our world does to us. It feeds us false narratives, broken messages, wrong information. It makes us feel like we need to live or feel or love a certain way in order to be enough or worth something, and it's just not true." I turn on my side so I'm facing Maeve. "You were brought up thinking that desiring people and wanting to have certain kinds of physical intimacy with another person wasn't just normal but it was healthy and right. In the same way that I moved around the world being given all these messages about what it means to be a Black man, but I just didn't relate to them. And you don't relate to the messages of compulsory sexuality."

"I know all this, and I know that although it made me feel broken, that deep down, I'm not broken. I know on a very clear level that there is nothing wrong with me, but I also feel like… no, I just wish it could be different."

"What do you wish for, Maeve?"

The look she gives me before she speaks again is so sad and lost, I have that urge to rush to her again, but I swallow it down and give her an encouraging nod.

"I wish… I wish I could share physical intimacy with someone, a partner. I don't know what it would look like, as I'm pretty sure I'll never want to have intercourse or have them touch my genitals, or vice versa, but I wish… I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not aromantic, like you. I still crave a romantic connection with someone."

I find my lips itching to part, to say something, but I have no idea what. So I keep my mouth firmly closed.

"And who knows," she keeps talking, "maybe one day that could include me having my silly stress relief wanks in front of somebody. Although." She stops and winces, very noticeably.

"What?"

"This is going to sound terrible," she says and covers her face with her hands.

"Again, as long as it's not criminal, I'm all ears."

"I don't know if I would want to watch them do the same," she says into the palm of her hands.

"You mean, watch your partner masturbate?"

"Yeah." She parts her fingers just enough to look at me through them. "Does that make me like a total two-faced, pernickety, double-standard-having, selfish cow?"

I chuckle. "No, Maeve, it doesn't. It makes you somebody who knows what she wants and frankly, there aren't enough people in this world who do."

"But how would anybody think that's okay? Like who in their right mind is going to sign up to a sexless relationship where I don't even want to see their genitals!?"

"Maeve, do you know how many people in this world happily stick their penises or fingers up people's asses but wouldn't dream of having even a toothpick put up their own butthole?"

Her hands drop and she gives me a wry look. "I don't know, a toothpick would be kind of painful."

"But you understand what I'm trying to say? It's not double standards. It's just what makes us feel good, or not."

Maeve looks down at her hands which are playing with the duvet and she keeps her eyes downcast. "But you… I bet you like, well, everything."

I swallow. "Well, actually, no. I like a lot of things, sure. But there are some things that are hard nos for me too."

"There are? Like what?" she asks, and her eyes are back on me, all big and innocent.

"Like… piss and poop play, I'm not into those things."

Her eyes widen. "There are people who are?"

"Yeah," I say. "And blood play. I'm okay with period fun but actual blades and shit. No. Thank you."

Maeve's eyes look like they're about to pop out of her head. "I'm not sure if this is helping me."

"Okay, I'll think of something more vanilla." I look up at the ceiling. "Got it. Armpits. I don't really like armpits."

She cringes. "Who does?"

"A lot of people. I've had several partners want to spend ages kissing and licking my armpits. And I've been asked to return the favor and I just don't… get it. I mean, I think it looks hot, watching other people do it, but it's the last place I want to put my mouth when it comes to intimacy and when I get it done to me, it really fucking tickles!"

"So what do you do when people ask you to do it?"

My mouth goes dry. "Well, I still do it."

"But why?"

"Well, like I said, it looks good on camera." And it's my voice that is now small and quiet.

"Honestly, all the more reason why you should probably say no. I can imagine talking about limits and holding a boundary during sex is something that isn't seen in porn very often," Maeve muses and every word lands heavily with me. "I mean, I understand why, it's not sexy, but isn't it also normalizing doing shit you don't want to do?"

I pull my lips into my mouth and nod my head for a few seconds. "You know what, Maeve, you're absolutely right."

And then I kick my legs out of bed and stand.

"What… where are you going?"

"To give you some privacy," I say, reaching for my jeans.

"Jesus, I'm not going to have a wank now."

"But would it help?" I look back at her and watch as her legs tense under the covers.

"Sure, yeah, maybe."

"Then do it, Maeve," I say. "I'll just go for a walk. How long do you need? Twenty minutes? Thirty?"

She shakes her head vehemently, making her hair fly out over her shoulders.

"I don't want you to go. You had a shit night's sleep last night. It's not fair if you—"

"I don't want you to go. You had a shit night's sleep last night."

"I really don't mind," I say, pulling my jeans on.

"But I…" Maeve trails off.

"What?"

"I don't want you to go," she says finally.

I hold my breath. "You want me to stay? While you…"

"Yeah," she says softly, and her eyes have transformed from that light leaf-green to a dark glass bottle-green.

I straighten up. "And what do you want that to look like?" I ask, and I don't intend for my voice to sound so low and raspy, but it does, my God, it does.

"I don't… I don't know. I just don't think I want to be alone. I don't want you to watch, and I'm not going to take my clothes off and give you a fecking show, but I just… I want to see if I can… share it with someone. If what you're saying is true. If what I wish for in my future could possibly be true."

It's that sad and lost voice again, except it's altered somewhat. Now it's laced with something else.

Hope.

I want to nurture that hope.

"How about this?" I sit down on the end of her bed. "I will lie in my bed and you will lie in yours. We'll turn off the lights and I will lie very still and quiet."

"But then it will be like you're not here, and that you're hiding," she says. "That's fucking pointless."

"Okay, what if you talk to me?"

She snorts. "And say what?"

"Tell me how you're feeling." I force myself to swallow because my mouth gets even drier. "And if you want, you can tell me what you're doing."

She scrunches up her nose at that. "Like dirty talk? I don't think so."

"Well, how about I talk to you?"

"What… what would you say?"

"I would tell you how well you're doing. I would tell you how proud I am of you for giving yourself pleasure. I would tell you that it's okay to feel what you feel."

Maeve blinks once, long and slow. "Do that," she says, and then adds, barely audible. "Please."