“I prefer it there. It’s not this part that bothers me. Not when I’m the one doingit.”
I keep working down there in a very mechanical sort of way. Nothing particularly erotic about me trying to push past thispart.
Jesse doesn’t press me, acting as patient as he’s been every time we’ve donethis.
Between the games, yoga, and the time we’ve spent in Troy’s office, I’m able to relax with him in a way that surprises me evennow.
After making a list of where I’ve seen progress, like Troy asked me to write, I recognized how I’m handling so much that I couldn’t even conceive of at onetime.
In this moment, I’m not as worried or tense or nervous as I would have beenonce.
I don’t worry about Jesse’s judgment. He’s here to support me, and I know that viscerally, with every fiber of mybeing.
That doesn’t make the next step much easier, because I’m still battling my personal demons, but ithelps.
I take the toy, as I’ve done before, and slide it down to my crotch, beneath my balls, to my hole. I press the tipin.
“Certainly not as big as your cock,” I say, which makes himlaugh.
Jokes are always nice. They help make this all a little moretolerable.
We press on through the experience as I play around in my hole with thetoy.
I accept the thoughts that race to my mind, familiar as they are. They don’t hold the same power over me they once did, particularly when I used to fight so hard against them. I see Uncle Andy, not assaulting me, just him in other times when I thought he was my friend. But I’m not the fun, frisky kid I normally was around him. I’m powerless, defeated,weak.
It’s taken my work with Troy and Carolyn to remind myself that, despite what Uncle Andy told me about being my friend, what he wanted from me had nothing to do with love or appreciation. It was about power and control, which is why that image of me as the fragile kid is so acute in moments likethese.
I wait it out—let those feelings settle, relax into them before whispering, “Okay.”
Jesse slides his hand down my chest, to my abs, before asking, “Eric, do you mind if I set my hand against thetoy?”
This is the next step, the one we discussed evolving to in this particularsession.
“I would like that a lot,Jesse.”
I look him in the eyes as I say the words, because I want him to see how much I want to share this with him—my pain, myall.
He places his hand on it gently, not applying any pressure, and I still feel some discomfort, but not like the first times we did this, when the chills would course through my body and at times I would be left feeling feverish. The thoughts haven’t dissipated, but their power over me hasdiminished.
“Kiss me,” I beg him, and Jesse glances arounduneasily.
“Are yousure?”
“Yes, please. It doesn’t feelbad.”
I tear up just saying that. The tremendous relief of making progress—real progress—is visceral, potent, and not something I’ve been able to say through most of the steps we’ve takentogether.
His lips crush down against mine, and I relax into the experience, pulling my hand away from theplug.
As the sensations become more tolerable, I tell Jesse, “You can push it ingently.”
He applies just enough pressure to stir that familiar tension in me. The thoughts, the images, the horror, it’s all there still, but I take to some breathing exercises Troy and I have worked on together. And when I find my tension easing up, I open my eyes once again, and Jesse’s looking at me with that affectionate expression of his. He’s here to help me, to protectme.
The gentle tension from his touch against the plug offers a new sort of connection between us. I haven’t been able to feel it in previous times when we practiced this—too wrapped up in my own thoughts. But this time, it’s like I’m letting him into me, not in my body, but in mysoul.
I chuckle as tears race from myeyes.
Jesse recoils, removing his hand. “Eric.” His voice is rife withworry.
