I know I told Artie, but I’m not sure he fully understood until now. He pulls me into his lap and buries his face in my neck. We hold each other and rock. “Never gonna let anyone hurt youagain. And I love you, just the way you are, okay?” His hand runs down my back, lower this time, and traces over the bump that’s left of my tail. Down to where my feet are tucked under my legs as I half-sit, half-kneel in his lap. Light strokes over the hard, flat sole. “Does it hurt?” he whispers.
“No.”
“Thank God.”
“You said you love me. Just like I am.”
“Yeah. I’m not going to take it back.”
All the pain of telling him my darkest secrets is blotted out in a burst of blinding light, a flare that seems to come from my heart outward.
I reposition myself, legs wrapped around his waist, and our kissing continues.
This time, I know what the bulge I’m pressing against is. I let my hand leave his chest and move lower, pushing my crotch against him. The jolt of pleasure makes me gasp, and when his hand rests on my thigh, I move it inward.
We don’t speak. Just rub through the fabric, my hand on his erection, his hand where I’m damp and every touch is electric.
“If I keep doing this, and you show me what feels good, I can make you come. You don’t have to do anything back, okay? This would just be so you can enjoy being touched, and if you don’t like being touched, we don’t have to do these things. There are lots of couples who have different ways of showing affection. If you don’t want a physical way—”
“I want to be physical. I want it so much, I’m just not sure how to do it,” I repeat my words from earlier.
“How about if tonight, we just do a little exploring, and we can do more later?”
I love this man. I nod and squeal when he lifts me up and carries me to the stairs. Then stops.
“Yeah, I’m not as strong as I wish. If you walk up the stairs, I’ll pick you back up at the top?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Twelve: November Seventh
November 7th, 2025
Pine Ridge, New York
AKA Euphoria
I asked for the lights off, so they are. I asked to be in my room, so we are. The only light is the digital numbers on my phone screen, showing me that it’s already midnight.
The rest, I leave up to Artie, even though he keeps trying to leave everything up to me.
We lay side by side, hands over clothing, rubbing and stroking.
His fingers find their way under my waistband first, and I hold my breath when his hand finds my wetness.
Is that gross?
“Ohh, you feel so good. And you like this!”
“How can you tell?”
“I always thought the wetter the better?” he asks, worry in his tone. “Wait, is that a myth? I’m not very experienced, either.”
“That isn’t a myth. I’ve never felt like this, never let myself.”
Artie leaves kisses across the skin of my neck and works lower as I keep unbuttoning one more button, each one a few minutes later than the last. The heat keeps building. Growing. Artie nuzzles my breasts, the same pale pink as my skin, topped with small dark-maroon nipples. When his tongue flicks over one, first hesitant, and then deliberate, my back arches, and my hips collide with his hand.
“Artie, yes. Like this. Like that!” I cry out, lost in sensations and too overwhelmed to explain. Overwhelmed in the best way, with my breasts on fire under his tongue and my crotch soaking his hand as he explores the layers of silky folds that guard my warmest, wettest secret spot.
