Despite what I said, I teach him hip hop because I know that’s what I want. I just won’t tell him that.
I start with a simple rocking two-step and then teach him how to cross his legs and pop forward. He picks it up pretty quickly, revealing his natural rhythm.
Seeing that he is up to the challenge, I make the steps a little more complicated. He shows that he can keep up. Just as I’m about to put together a routine with what we learned, I feel my energy waning. My breath is getting heavier, and my moves are sloppy. I get through one more round before I have to sit.
“Fuck,” I yell, dropping my head into my hands.
“It’s okay.” His hand lands on my shoulder, and I shrug it off.
“No, it’s not. It’s only been twenty minutes. How am I supposed to do anything if I can’t last longer than twenty minutes?” I can’t stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks.
I sit up and furiously wipe them, like that will stop him from seeing it.
Looking at myself in the mirror only deflates me more. My lace edges are lifting from the sweat. Just another reminder that I don’t have hair. I look like crap, I feel like crap, and there is nothing I can do to change that.
I stand up and grab my bag, leaving without a word. I hear his footsteps echo after me.
“Monty, stop.”
I don’t listen. I just keep moving towards my car. It’s not until he puts his hand on the door, stopping me from opening it, that I face him.
“What?” I bark at him.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
I cross my arms and look down at the ground, fighting with myself not to give in to his comfort. When it becomes clear that I’m not going to answer, he lifts my chin. Looking into his eyes and seeing nothing but worry, I start to crack. I can’t look away, and that just makes me even more desperate to escape.
“Come back to my place,” he says, not sounding like I have any choice.
I want to say no, but I can’t, which makes me panic more. He won’t back down, though, so I nod, and that finally gets him off my car.
Walking into his place, I don’t know what I’m doing here. The last thing I need right now is for him to see me fall apart again. It’s like he’s present for every mental breakdown, and I can’t keep having him pick up the pieces. I can’t keep needing him.
He pulls my hand until I’m sitting on the couch next to him. I sink into his arms, unable to resist any longer.
“What’s going on?” I don’t know if he is talking about my crying in the dance studio or about the fact that I’m barely returning his texts. I opt to answer the only thing I can.
“I don’t feel attractive anymore. I’ve lost everything, including my confidence.” Despite my best efforts, this disease has hollowed me out. Every chance it gets, it takes away my femininity and my surety in myself.
“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and that’s never changing.” He kisses my forehead and runs a hand down my face. I scoff and pull away from him a little bit.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks.
I shake my head.
Lifting me into his arms, he takes me to his room and puts me down on the bed. Gently kissing my lips, he trails his mouth down my neck until he is right at my collarbone. My breath hitches, and that little bit of stirring he can cause comes to life.
I know I need to keep the distance. But when his hands roam down my body, igniting me in the way he always does, I want more.
Briefly removing his mouth, he takes my sports bra off. Then he continues his journey until he is sucking on my nipple. The feeling of his warm mouth after the cold air has them hardening under his touch.
He pays equal attention to both of them, moving between each, while kneading whichever one his mouth isn’t on.
I lose my breath as he keeps kissing down my body while removing my pants. When I’m completely naked in front of him, he stands up.
Grabbing my hand, he places it on his crotch, letting me feel how hard he is.
“Do you see what you do to me? All of the time, just by looking at me with those eyes.”
