Chapter 10 #3
“Exactly.” Lex’s hands moved to her waist. “This is what transitions of attention look like. Majesty didn’t disappear. He’s still here, still connected to you. But right now, I have your focus. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“Let me show you something else.” Lex looked over her shoulder to me. “Majesty, support her.”
I moved closer, my chest against her back, my hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Instantly, she leaned into me, trusting me to hold her weight.
“Now she has both of us,” Lex explained to the watching students. “Different types of attention, different types of touch, but both present. Neither competing, both supporting.”
He leaned in close to Cami. “What do you need right now?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Yes, you do. Listen to your body. What does it need?”
She was quiet for a moment, and I felt her breathing slow as she turned inward. “I need to feel grounded. Safe.”
“How can we give you that?”
“Keep holding me. Both of you. Just like this.”
So we did. I held her from behind, my hands steady on her shoulders, while Lex’s hands remained on her waist. We didn’t move, didn’t speak, just breathed with her and let her feel the solidity of our presence.
After several long moments, I felt her fully relax, her body going soft against mine.
“Better?” I asked quietly.
“So much better.”
“This,” Lex said, addressing the students without breaking contact with Cami, “is what it looks like when everyone’s needs are being met.
Cami needed grounding and safety. I’m providing stability and presence from the front.
Majesty is providing security and support from the back.
Neither of us is more important than the other in this moment.
We’re functioning as a unit to give her what she needs. ”
I felt Cami’s hand come up to cover mine on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
“Now we’re going to try something slightly more complex,” I said. “We’re going to shift positions and show you how to maintain connection even while transitioning.”
Moving slowly and deliberately, maintaining constant contact, we guided Cami to lie back against the cushions. I shifted to her left side, Lex to her right, and we both hovered over her, close but not crowding.
“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 other had 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.”
“Too much?” Lex asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “Not enough.”
The words hung in the air between us, full of promise and possibility.
“Later,” I said quietly. “But know this, what you felt tonight? That’s real. We’re all in, Cami. Both of us.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m all in too.”
We stood there for a moment, the three of us in our own bubble while the students practiced around us. Whatever was building between us, it was undeniable.