Chapter Six #3
“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said. “I don’t like loud noise I can’t control. If it’s my music, that’s okay, because I can have it as loud as I like. But if it’s someone else’s loud music, I don’t like that. I can’t control their noise, and I get agitated.”
“Like when you’re on the bus and someone listens to music without headphones.”
“Yes!” he said, smiling. “Exactly.”
“I don’t like that either.”
“Okay, your turn,” he said, smiling as if this was a game.
It somehow made it easier.
“I don’t like being touched,” I said, which he already knew. “But it’s okay if I do it or if I expect it. Like if Dad pats my shoulder, that’s okay.”
He smiled. “If you can control it,” he said. “Like the noise. And if you trust that person not to overstep.”
I hadn’t really thought of it like that, but yes.
“It’s not easy for me,” I said. “And people don’t understand. I make them uncomfortable.”
He frowned now. “Sounds to me like they weren’t the right people for you. Real friends would understand.”
I shook my head. “People at college made fun of me.”
“Oh, Deacon, I’m so sorry.”
“In my first year, I went to a party. My first real party. But the music was too loud, and the room was too crowded and hot. Most people were drunk, and I made myself stay because I wanted people to like me and to have friends, but Marcus Hardwick kissed me and I freaked out so bad, Lacey and Jessica had to take me home.”
Winter’s face was one of shock. “Oh, Deacon, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have done that. That’s not acceptable behavior.”
“He said later he just thought I was shy. He didn’t know I was . . .” My tummy ache was back. “He thought I liked him, so he was . . .” I made a face. “There were a lot of people kissing at that party and he thought that’s what I was there for.”
“I remember those college parties,” he said gently. “I only went to one. I left early and never went to another one.”
“I did like him, but not after that,” I admitted. My face felt like it was burning. “I do like guys. I’m gay. But I . . . I have never . . .”
He smiled and chased my gaze until I looked at him. “I like guys too. I’m gay as well. But I’m asexual. I don’t want—”
“Asexual?” I asked, stunned. I looked him up and down, so confused. “How?”
He wasn’t smiling now, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. Like I often did. But I was still so stunned. How was it possible?
“What do you mean how?” he asked. He took a step back, his face sad. “I thought you’d understand. I’m sorry if you think there’s something wrong with that.”
Wrong with it?
“It’s not wrong,” I replied. I’d hurt his feelings, I could see that, and it was the last thing I’d wanted to do.
I quickly clarified. “It’s just not that common in the animal kingdom, and certainly not common in vertebrates.
Well, there are Komodo dragons, of course, and certain sharks.
I’ve read about it in my studies. The ability to reproduce through parthenogenesis—”
“Wait, what?” He stared at me, eyes wide. Then he realized something and waved his hands and let out a laugh. “Oh. Oh. Not that kind of asexual. Not asexual reproduction or biology. That’s not . . . that’s not what I meant. I forgot you’re a vet. Of course your mind would go there.”
Well, now I was just straight up confused. “What?”
“Asexual, as in doesn’t experience sexual attraction or sexual feelings. That’s what I meant. I’ve never experienced sexual desire.”
I stared at him, my cheeks burning. “Oh. I’m . . . I’m not familiar with that . . .”
But he was smiling again, thank goodness. “That’s okay. It just means that while I feel a romantic attraction to guys, I have no desire to have sex with them. I’ve never looked at anyone and thought, ‘Gee, I’d like to have sex with them.’”
Oh.
Oh my . . .
I thought my face might actually catch fire. “Sex.” I shook my head. “That’s . . . That’s . . .”
I was so mortified, I couldn’t even get a sentence out.
Winter chuckled. “It’s okay, Deacon. Does that embarrass you? I’m sorry.”
I was so conflicted. I needed this conversation to end, but I didn’t want to leave. Tonight had been a roller coaster, but it also felt as if I’d taken a big step forward.
I looked at the boxes still yet to be unpacked. “We have more cataloging to do. We should do that.” I checked my watch. “We’ve already wasted a lot of time.”
Winter nodded, but he was smiling as if me not running out of there made him happy. “Good idea.”
I tried to relax, the cataloging, the inventory, the repetitiveness was methodical for me. Yet I kept thinking about what he’d said.
He was asexual, but not in the biological sense. I’d definitely have to read up on that so I could better understand.
He said it meant he didn’t feel sexual attraction.
I wasn’t entirely sure what that was either. I knew what the textbook definition would say, but had I ever experienced that? I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t want to have sex with anyone.
I didn’t want them to touch me.
I knew sex was supposed to feel good. I knew when I touched myself, it felt good. I could do that well enough. Not that I did that often.
Did I want to do that with Winter? Did I want him to touch me like that?
The idea was . . . overwhelming. Too overwhelming.
I could picture that in my head, and it made those jittery feelings sink lower than my belly.
Oh.
I stood up and away from the computer. “I need to go now,” I blurted out.
Winter turned to me, books in hand, his eyes wide. “Oh, sure. Is everything okay?”
I blinked, trying not to think about how my body felt so wrong.
Wrong size, wrong shape, and wrong temperature.
Too hot. “I need to go home now,” I said, taking my coat from where it was slung over the counter.
I checked my watch. It was 9:42 p.m., almost time to leave anyway, and we were almost done with the last box of books.
“Deacon, are you okay?” he asked, coming over to me.
I put my hand up, stopping him from coming closer. “Yes. I’m . . . fine. I just . . .” I shook my head. There was no way I was telling him what was actually wrong. I pulled on my coat and opened the front door; the cold air cleared my head a little. The shock of it felt nice.
A relief.
I spared a glance at Winter before I left.
He seemed confused and concerned, but he lifted his hand as if to wave me off.
Then, remembering something from earlier, I took my gloves from my coat pocket and put them on the closest shelf.
“You should have these,” I said. “I meant to ask. One of my questions . . .”
That I never got around to asking.
I couldn’t look at him though. So I ducked my head and ran to my truck.