JESSIE
It's a little daunting, the prospect of having to talk to Jorgen about sex. But I suppose we've talked about more complicated things, citizenship, moving, routines, whether or not we're likely to be compatible in a living-together situation. We talked about my mom and about his brother and all sorts of other things that are sensitive so talking about sex with him shouldn't be that bad.
I say, like my palms aren't sweating from my perch up on the counter watching him cook. Though that could just be me being attracted to him. I'm not entirely sure. The problem with having almost no experience and a lot of it be under my mom's watch is that I don't know what feelings are what. I was always just told that most of them are bad.
So him standing there, shirtless, covered neckline to ankle to wrists in tattoos, his back flexing a little with the way he just flicked the pan, I'm not sure if I'm nervous or attracted to him. Maybe both.
"Alright," he spins, sizzling pan in one hand, two plates in the other. Oh, that's just attraction.
"Yep," I look away from his collarbones and down to the plate he's holding.
"I made a few, but they're easy to just fry up, I have a bunch frozen that I made earlier in the week, so if you want more I can make more," he hands me a set of chopsticks and then sets out a little dish for the sauce he uses on these, some homemade concoction that I'm not entirely sure the ingredients of but honestly it's too good to care.
"You're blushing," he glances back at me from the fridge. "It's not going to be that awkward, trust me."
"Oh, I," I shut my mouth. "It wasn't about that, specifically."
He frowns, setting the now-full dish of sauce down on the counter next to my leg, "then what are you blushing about?" His elbows come down to the counter on either side of his plate, rocking his hips back to lean most of his eight on his arms. I watch his shoulder move to pick up his first dumpling with the two chopsticks that look rather fragile in his long fingers.
"Ah," I swallow, deciding that maybe staring at him right now isn't doing a favor to a supportive stream of thought. "So you know how my mom was like... weird with me getting into relationships?"
"Not much of it, you haven't gone into too many details," he looks up at me, hair sloppily tied up instead of its usual tight style that keeps it out of his face. This is messy and there's a little curl falling into his eyes.
"Right," I mumble. "She kind of made it seem like being attracted to anyone was a sort of sin in a way because of the implications so I never... like I suppose I just pushed it down to please her and," I purse my lips. "Sometimes it's a little hard to know what I'm feeling about someone."
"Alright," he starts, a little tentative. "So you suppressed being attracted to people at her wishes because she thought it would mean that you would start having sexual thoughts about people. Yes?"
"Yeah."
"And now because you've never explored that feeling you're confused as to what it shows up as and when it does appear you're confused by it being there."
"Also yes."
"So you're saying this now because," he knows, of course he does.
"Um," I waffle. "You're just standing there, shirtless, you know," I put my hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh off the awkward.
"I am," he's fighting a smile. "Are you telling me something?"
"Yes."
He stands up straight, leaning in and kissing my cheek, "I'll take the compliment. Even if it was phrased a tad odd."
"Shush," I shove his shoulders. "No need to be mean about it."
"Hm," he teases. "We'll help you sort out those feelings."
"Oh, we will, will we?"
"Or I can keep standing here shirtless until you get your head around the ones that apparently makes you feel."
I frown at him, "I don't like you."
"Not the emotion I thought it was going to be," he snaps his chopsticks at me. "On another note. Sex."
"Right, sex," I'm glad to get off the first topic but this one is going to fare worse for the blushing.
"So," he slips his hands into his shorts pockets, looking up at me. "I've got a hypersexuality issue."
"Huh?"
"That came out blunt, what I mean is that, as a result of what's happened to me, my brain likes to cope with sex. Physical reassurance of worth. It comes and goes but if my mental state drops, then my sex drive goes through the roof. This means that I have a lot of experience. It shouldn't have to be daunting to you."
I swallow.
"On the same note, it might be weird to be in a long term partnership with a hypersexuality issue. I've never done it, I wouldn't know what to do about it, any of that. But, consent, for me, always comes first. There's not a doubt in my mind that it doesn't. I won't fuck with anything unless you want me to. Explicitly. You have to tell me you want everything I might end up suggesting."
"Good, thank you," I blink once or twice, trying to wrangle my own feelings on the topic. "You too. After tonight, especially."
"Thank you," he seems to be relieved by this. "How... um. How vulnerable are we going with this?"
"Probably all the way, right?" I tip my head at him. "It would make this work the best for how we understand each other with... ah, you know."
"Sex, right," he closes his eyes. "So, consent, that's, ugh, I hate saying these things out loud."
He doesn't act like he hates saying sexual things out loud, which makes me wonder what he's talking about that might make him uncomfortable, "what things?"
"I'm alright, I'll preface with that. I've worked on it, I'm alright, but it fucks with me in specific situations and it's not a fun memory," he puffs out his cheeks. "Consent means a shit-ton to me because it's been skipped with me before."
My mouth dries up, just looking at him, "Oh, Jay."
"Shh, don't give me that look," he waves off my expression. "Nothing you could've done and nothing I haven't mostly healed from. I just know how much it sucks and I really really appreciate having things asked before they're done."
I purse my lips, staring at him, watching the way he's watching me, a raising quirk in his eyebrow telling me he's got a suspicion of what I might say in response, "me too, if that helps."
Jorgen has a scary little flicker that goes through his eyes when he's pissed. I'm not afraid of it but I know what it is and I know I just saw it, "who?"
"Evan, but-"
He's roaring, "that son of a bitch I'll k-"
"Jay!" I stop him. "Jay, breathe. It was eight years ago. It took me a long while to realize and I, though the situation wasn't great, did my best to deal with it. I don't know how it's going to change anything with us but I do know that I trust you, so much more than I trusted him, and the simple fact of knowing that you'd never do something like that to me is enough to squash the fear. We're alright."
"Right, right," he pushes his hands over his hair, smoothing away the stray piece. "I don't think I'll ever get over how much I don't like him but I'm... I don't need to blow up over it."
"Thank you," I breathe. "So we both need to take it easy on each other."
He nods, "maybe we should work with what we did tonight until we're more certain we're comfortable doing anything more. It sounds like both of our last experiences with this were... pretty bad."
"Yeah," I breathe. "I mean, my last experience was the guy I dated a little right there but he... he was fine. Nothing like you."
"Nothing like me? Hopefully that's positive," he gives a half-hearted tease.
"No, it is," I stare at the little nick in the corner of his counter. "I just didn't ever feel anything for him. He was my mom's pick so I always just... he was nothing to me, which sounds mean but I was so apathetic with it nothing even felt real. With you, Jay, it was sex, sure, but more importantly it was you. And I got to make you feel good and I got to watch you and be there with you. Call it overly mushy but that's what I liked best of that," my cheeks are a furious red and he's just giving me a soft smile.
"Same here," it comes out in a small half-whisper before he clears his throat, gently, if that's possible, "though I will be making it better on a physical pleasure note as we get into this. I adore the lovey type of sex, though I think I've only managed to have it with you, but the second we decide we're good to go, I'm going to rock your world."
"Cocky."
"Watch me," he kisses my cheek. "Join me on the couch?"
"Yeah," I slip my fingers into his and fall less than gracefully off the tall counter, slinking behind him and then crawling under a blanket the second I'm on his couch, only interrupted by him wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me over him, cuddling up.
"Anything else with it?" He pushes back my hair. "Anywhere you don't want me to pay attention to? Any insecurities with it? Hesitation?"
I think about it, "I suppose yes."
"Tell me," he shifts.
"Stretch marks," I blurt. "Don't pay attention to them."
"Alright, got it."
"I also," I think on it. "I'm nervous to have actual sex with you, if that makes sense?"
"That was actual sex," he mumbles. "Oh, wait, you mean penetrative. Okay, got it. Ignore that, I'm a little tired."
I blush and he just smiles back, kissing my cheek, "yeah, that. It's always hurt for me and the only time I remember it not hurting is once or twice when we were high."
He hums a little, "so that's not anatomy, really, more anxiety and arousal stuff. Do you want a science lesson before I geek here?"
"Sure, hit me."
That gets a smile, "sure, people come in all shapes and sizes and shit but most of the time, whether or not sex hurts is a matter of being into it or not. If you're not, the guy is going to think you're tight and it's going to hurt for you, most likely. If you're turned on, your body naturally changes some of the muscle tension in you and both makes you looser, thus meaning it won't hurt as much, and pulls the passage backward to allow for penetration. So, if something hurts, you need to tell me, of course, and it just means that something is bugging you and keeping you tense, you're not turned on enough, you need more foreplay, you don't want to go through with it, a whole host of things. I don't ever want it to hurt for you."
"Okay," I mumble, a little irritated that nobody bothered to teach me that rather important tidbit of information. "What dimensions are we talking about here?"
"Dimensions?" He frowns. "Like, in you?"
"Uh," I swallow. "Didn't phrase it right but yes."
"God, I don't know," he pauses. "It's not well researched. That's a big thing with human sexuality is that it's so severely under researched. People are so convinced it's indecent that nothing ever really gets funded and if it does nobody really wants to do it. But, from field observation, it varies. A lot. Obviously there's going to be smaller and bigger and I haven't seen two that look alike but I'd give it... ugh, maybe six or so inches deep if aroused, maybe a circumference at the opening of about two? Do you think that sounds right?"
"I have no idea."
"I've only not fit once, and she was itty bitty small," he breathes in. "I'm talking like four foot something, and we've done this before so it's not like I'm going to have that issue again."
I frown, "why would you attempt... four foot something? Like four eleven, hopefully?"
He smiles, "I attempted because I was a little tipsy and it had been a while and she was really nice, and yeah, probably around there."
"Really nice."
"Okay I was also sad," he runs his fingers through my hair. "But we should be alright, it's worked in the past with us, and granted we're both a little bigger than we were at that age but it should balance out. We just need to go into it easy, try to take some of the anxiety off. Obviously we're both going to still be a little anxious, it comes with the territory, no pun intended, but it's... it's just something we're going to have to accept the fumblings around. I mean, I have a chronic anxiety condition, and you've told me you're not all that comfortable in your body quite yet so that's just going to mean that we're going to be more awkward than most cases."
"Right," I draw a little circle on his chest with my fingertips. "Anything you want me to know about you before we do anything else? Things you want me to ignore, pay attention to? Anything you like or don't?"
"Ah," I breathe. "Clearly I'm not very comfortable in my body. You know that. But I trust you. I just don't like it when things are pointed out because it makes me remember them and ultimately I think it'll turn me off. But I don't want it to feel like you're not into it, do you get that? Sort of?"
He nods, "I do. I'm the same way with a lot of things about the way I look. You don't want me to act completely indifferent because then, in the haze of a moment, it makes it seem like I'm not into you because of them or doing my best to ignore them. But you don't want me to pay special attention because you don't want to be reminded. Sound right?"
"Mhmm."
"For me, those things are the scars I have on my hips, my leg, and my tattoos. Though I'm getting more used to the tattoos with all the time you spend ogling me when they're out," he teases. "Don't think I don't notice."
I bury my face into the side of his chest, "embarrassing."
"You're cute."
"Jay."
"And I like it when you stare at me, it makes me a little more confident in things that I thought nobody liked. Because if you like it, nothing else really matters."
I pick up my head, "I like everything about you."
He just kisses me, gentle, just his lips, "I know you do. And I like everything about you. But insecurities are a hard nut to crack."
"Yeah," I flop my head back down onto his chest. "Anything you're into that you want to tell me about now? Or are we doing that when we get there?"
He shrugs, "I like it when it's rough, but that's not something you have to cater to. I like it when I can be in charge, again, if you don't like that, we don't have to play with the dynamic. I don't like being tied up, at all, in the slightest, not even a little restrained, it makes me anxious."
"I can see that," I mumble. "I don't really know what I like but I think taking anything further than very plain at first isn't a good idea."
"Right," he kisses the top of my head. "Do you want to watch a movie or something?"
"Yeah, please."
***
i normally write chapters all in one day but this was such a struggle for some reason to get through, divvied up by school starting again, new classes, getting back to school, all that, this is honestly a mess
anyway
-rabid