Harry’s dick flops out. He’s soft.
“What?” The word slips out of my mouth before I’ve thought it through.
Harry flinches again. It’s as though I’ve tried to slap him.
I want to correct my mistake, make him feel at ease, but some other greater emotion stirs inside me. “Is there something wrong with me?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Oh my god! Is there?” For some stupid reason, I jump off the bed and run to the mirror. I look the same as I always do, but I feel hideous. Repulsive.
Unwanted.
Harry is beside me in an instant, zipping up his jeans in the process. “No. God, I promise there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s . . . just . . . fuck, I’m so fucking nervous. I’ve never done this with a guy before. Shit. I’m not normally this . . . this . . . I’m not normally like this, I promise.”
He sits at the end of the bed and wraps his entire hand around the lower part of his ear.
“It’s . . .” I don’t know what I want to say. It’s fine? It’s not fine? It’s like you’ve taken a knife and sliced right through my sense of self-worth?
Damn, how stupid does that sound?
It’s the first time this has ever happened to me. Once a guy couldn’t maintain his erection because he was almost OD’ing on molly, but Harry’s only had a few beers, he’s perfectly lucid.
“You’re not hard either?” he says. I think it’s a question.
My fight, flight, or freeze response kicks in, and I stop dead in my tracks.
“How—” I meant to say,“How do you know?”but my words weren’t wording at all.
Harry seemed to understand what I was getting at. “When you were kissing me on the bed, my knee was wedged between your legs and . . . I couldn’t feel . . . like it was all kinda squishy down there.”
I half want to laugh. I don’t, though. “You’re the first guy who’s ever . . .” Noticed? Cared? “I’m . . .”
Urgh. I cut myself off before I go spilling everything and flop down next to him on the bed.
“No, you’re right. I’m not hard. I’m never hard. Well, almost never.” I rake my hands through my hair and lie back on the mattress. “It’s not a medical thing.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry says, his voice soft. “I’m sorry I couldn’t . . . and tonight wasn’t . . . We can try again if you like? I’m just nervous and . . . Fuck, I knew this would happen. You’re fucking gorgeous, though, so don’t think this has anything to do with that.”
I open my eyes, and Harry has tilted his face towards me but isn’t looking at me.
“D’you wanna try again? Something else?” I ask from my spreadeagled position. “I’m fire at BJs. It doesn’t matter how long it takes you to get there.” Not that I’ve ever had a flaccid dick in my mouth before, but if it helped him along, I would gobble that thing up.
If it meant I knew he thought I was desirable.
Harry laughs and scrapes a hand down his face.
“Or . . . do you want a tour of my house?”
At this, he turns to look at me.
“On our way around, we could grab some snacks from the kitchen, some wine from my dad’s cellar, and watch a movie?”
“I get to pick the movie?” he says.
“Sure, so long as it’s not action,” I reply, hauling myself up and chucking his T-shirt back at him.
“So, what’s your favourite film?” I ask as I show Harry the smallest of the kitchens.
