“Say goodnight, Magnus,” I instruct the lump of satiation in my arms.
Magnus deigns to open his eyes, looking at the camera. “Goodnight, friends. I hope you enjoyed Trent torturing me. I think I’m going to make him do it more. Leave a comment if you like this kind of content and want more of it. Also, leave a comment if you want us to go back to solo vids only.”
As soon as he finishes, he reaches for the end session button and ends the live stream. He moves the laptop out of the way, turns in my arms, and rearranges us into a reclined cuddle. “Did you like that?” he asks, head pillowed on my chest, hand stroking my dick over my pants.
I’m not hard. I don’t think I got hard while I worked him over, even though I loved touching him and making him come. Nervousness and vulnerability make my heart stutter. I want to make him stop touching me, but it’s not because I don’t want his touch. It’s because I don’t want to expose my weakness to anyone, but my therapist says that open and honest communication is the best way to grow intimacy between me and my partner.
So, “I enjoyed everything about what we just did, including the audience. My dick is not an indication of my enjoyment,” I confess softly.
Magnus starts to pull his hand away, understanding that there’s something wrong with me.
“You can touch me.” I stop him, taking his hand and putting it back. “I can get hard. I just can’t get hard every time I try. There’s probably nothing physically wrong, because I didn’t take any damage to any parts of me that should affect my abilityto get hard. Emily says that it’s probably a psychological issue that will resolve itself as I heal, and if not, there are plenty of workarounds for erectile dysfunction.” I fucking hate saying that aloud.
“Obviously you can get hard. You got hard when we kissed earlier. Do you want me to find a solution, do you want me to sympathize, or do you need something else from me?” he asks, massaging my dick.
It feels good, and I want to take off my pants, but I don’t want him to think that means I’m going to get hard. I might not, especially not with how I’m feeling toward my own fucking dick. “I had to practice what to say to you about this with Emily today. It’s not helping,” I confess, staring up at the ceiling.
“What did you say when you practiced?” he asks, opening my pants and reaching into my underwear.
Skin feels nice.
“I said, I need you to not make a big deal about it if I’m not hard, and to not make a big deal about it if I get hard. I don’t know what I want. I just don’t want a big show of anything.” It’s too much pressure if I can’t get hard and too much pressure if I can. “I fucking hate this.”
He grips my dick without stroking me, holding it in his warm palm as he talks. “We’re going to face challenges as a couple, and one of the challenges that almost every couple faces is our sexual compatibility. What I want from you is for you to know and act as if my own libido isn’t your responsibility.”
His excitement vibrates through him and he sits up, pulling his hand out of my pants and helping me out of them and my shirt as he continues his little speech. “I want you to touch me, but it’s not your job to do that. If you want to touch me, I’m always going to say yes. If you don’t want to touch me, I’ve got two hands, and I’m building up a beautiful toy collection. Even if you never want to touch me again, if you want me in your heartand in your company, I’ll be happy. I know that is not where we’re at right now, but I think establishing that expectation now is important, especially since we’re adult content creators. My dick isn’t your job, and your dick isn’t mine. If our dicks align, that’s perfect, but if they don’t, that’s also perfect. I love you. Your dick is just part of the whole.”
He leans down and kisses my dick, licks it, and sits up with a little smile on his face. “Do you want me to kiss your dick for a little while? You don’t have to get hard. I like having you in my mouth. Hard or soft.”
“How about you kiss my lips for a little while first, see how things go from there?” I counteroffer.
Magnus’s smile lights up our bedroom and he dives for my lips, banging his teeth against mine before settling in with his weight on me, mouth to mouth.
I wrap him up in my arms, squeezing his ass, and rolling him under me as I take my pleasure in his kiss. I’m going to love him forever, and his little speech about sexual responsibility is one of a thousand examples of why.
But hopefully I get over whatever mental block is keeping me soft.
Chapter 45
Trent
It’sa big deal because it’s a graduation and two bachelor’s degrees, and I finished this shit while recovering from an abduction and injury. I’m proud of myself, but I’m also trembling in my dress shoes. Magnus’s schedule for today had him leaving early, and I won’t see him again until after the ceremony. I’m meeting my family afterward, and Magnus said he would find us. They know about him, but they don’t know about us, and it’s going to be weird to tell them I got married this semester without hurting someone’s feelings. Probably.
“You are not responsible for other people’s feelings. You are only responsible for your own actions and reactions,” I whisper to myself as I sit in the auditorium and the chancellor of the university greets everyone and introduces Magnus’s mother as the first speaker. She’s a vibrant speaker, much like her son, and while I don’t think I’m going to remember what she actually says, I will remember the hopefulness that she gives me for my future.
After her speech, the commencement line begins, and being summa cum laude, I’m in line before most of the rest of the graduates. I’m the third undergraduate to cross the stage, and it’s weird to shake Magnus’s hand on my way across. Hecongratulates me with a big smile on his face and pulls me down for a kiss on my cheek that leaves me a little flushed with pleasure and embarrassment.
A year later, when every person has their empty diploma frames, Magnus gives his speech to end the commencement ceremony, hats are thrown, and the celebration ends. I breathe deeply in my chair as people exit the auditorium, and I take a few minutes to prepare for seeing my family. I haven’t told them what happened. I don’t know why, and time with my therapist hasn’t helped me make progress on this. She says there are a lot of things going on with trauma therapy, and we don’t have to focus on everything all at once. I decided to put telling my family low on the priority list. I don’t know why it throws me into a panic attack when I think about telling them, but even sitting here thinking about not telling them has my heart racing and my fear rising.
“Hey,” Magnus says, sitting beside me.
He places his hand on the back of my neck and offers me his other, and I take it, holding on to him as I breathe through the panic trying to drown me. His touch gives me a starting place to ground myself, and frustration with my own brain interrupts the spiraling thoughts, giving me an out that stops the panic in its tracks.
I squeeze his hand, growling at myself. “This is so fucking stupid. I know I’m safe. I know I can tell them anything and they’ll still love me, but my brain is still on high alert.”
“Please don’t speak unkindly about yourself,” he murmurs. “Your brain deserves kindness. You’ve survived something meant to kill you. You did that, then you finished your schooling and earned your degree. You’re amazing, and your brain is doing right by you. Panic attacks are not a reason to give yourself a hard time. Thank your brain for helping you, for keeping you safe and alert for problems.”
I take a deep breath, processing his words, and then decide why not? I thank my panic for keeping me alert and safe, and that kind of helps give me a better perspective. I turn to look into my husband’s pretty dark eyes. “I’m ready. I’ll tell them over dinner.”
