“Cami,” Lex said. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to practice moving your attention between us while we both touch you. Notice how it feels to have multiple sources of input.”
“Okay.”
I placed my hand on her stomach while Lex placed his on her shoulder. Simultaneously, we began gentle touching. I traced patterns on her ribs while Lex massaged her shoulder and collarbone.
“Look at me,” I said.
She did, her pupils dilating as I held her gaze while my hand continued its exploration.
“Now look at Lex.”
She shifted her attention, and I watched her reactions as Lex held her focus while his hand moved to massage her scalp.
“Back to me.”
We continued this for several minutes, having her practice shifting attention while both maintaining physical contact. I could see the challenge of it on her face, the desire to split her focus, the difficulty of being fully present with one person while another was touching her.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” I asked gently.
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s normal. You want to attend to both of us at once. But true presence requires focus. The gift you give me when you look at me is different from the gift you give Lex. Both are valuable. Both are necessary.”
“How do I do both?” she asked, frustrated.
“You trust that even when you’re focused on one of us, the other is still there,” Lex explained. “You trust that my attention doesn’t disappear just because you’re looking at Majesty. Trust is what makes this sustainable.”
Understanding flickered across her face.
We spent another ten minutes demonstrating various configurations—me giving her primary attention while Lex supported, then switching. Both of us engaged with her simultaneously. One of us stepped back entirely while the otherhad her complete focus, then rejoined. Through it all, Cami remained present, responsive, and increasingly comfortable with the transitions. Finally, we brought her to sit, both of us flanking her.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Seen,” she said simply. “By both of you. Even when you weren’t the one I was looking at, I felt seen.”
“That’s what we want you to take away,” Lex said to the students. “The person not in the spotlight still has presence and value. The key is maintaining that connection even when attention is directed elsewhere.”
We helped Cami stand, and the students broke into spontaneous applause. She flushed, clearly not expecting that reaction.
“Now you’re going to practice,” I announced to the class. “Same structure we demonstrated. Take your time, communicate constantly, and remember that this is about emotional intimacy and attention, not performance.”
As the groups spread out to practice, Cami moved to lean against the wall, her legs visibly shaky.
I brought her water. “You okay?”
“That was intense.”
“You were incredible,” Lex said, joining us. “Seriously, Cami. The vulnerability you showed, the trust—that gave them permission to try.”
She smiled, still catching her breath. “Can I tell you something?”
“Always.”
“I didn’t feel like I was demonstrating for them. It felt real. Like you were really seeing me, claiming me somehow.”
“We were,” I said simply. “And we are. This wasn’t just a demonstration, Cami. That was us showing you and them what we want with you.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”
