Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Christina
Unable to wait one minute longer, I snatch up my phone to text Danny.
Me: Did you read it??
Our first matching copies of erotic short stories arrived in our mailboxes earlier this afternoon, and we agreed to read the first one this evening.
Danny: I read it.
I shiver involuntarily. Knowing that Danny would be reading the same filthy words as me … well, that might have had something to do with how much I liked the story. With why I tended to imagine him as the male lead. With why I was still imagining his face when I sunk my fingers into …
Danny: What did you think?
I take a deep breath and go for a simplified answer to that question.
Me: You were right. I do prefer sexual expression, celebration, and arousal in the form of aesthetically-driven literature
Danny: Make sure you write that definition into the online dictionaries
Danny: Give me the break down
I grin. He knows me well enough to know I’ve got a dissertation’s worth of thoughts over here.
Me: Off the cuff …
Me: (1) The writing gives equal description to the senses, but they are all slowed down, one at a time, sentence by sentence. It feels less overstimulating/overwhelming in that way, especially since I can take them at my own pace
Danny: And somehow MORE arousing because there’s more time to catch all the senses and go back and reread to connect them
I’m dying to know what lines in particular Danny found arousing. But perhaps we should keep this focused on an academic analysis of the literature.
Me: (2) Getting inner monologue and a sense of who they are as people makes the sex so much richer and more meaningful
Danny: Without question
It’s maybe what surprised and pleased me most. I was always told sex can only be meaningful within certain religious boundaries, but even casual sex can be rooted in people’s emotions and identities and connections without any spiritual overtones.
Me: (3) I know for a fact no one is performing because it’s fictional characters
Danny: Blessed assurance
I snort a laugh at his reference to the old-timey hymn in this very non-hymnal conversation.
Me: (4) The emphasis on female pleasure is EVERYTHING
Danny: Everything
I stare very hard at that word typed with his own fingers. Maybe I should take this conversation in a different direction before I embarrass myself.
Me: I’ve switched to some of our less charged reading for the rest of the evening, though
Danny: Please tell me you’re in your Cozy Corner
Grinning, I hold my open book up so only my eyes are peeking out over its top, and I snap a selfie from far enough back that he’ll recognize the red chair and twinkle lights.
I watch the dots bounce on his end for a minute before a picture appears. He’s mirrored my selfie with one of the banned books I lent him up to his eyes, but he’s clearly in his bed.
I straighten to examine it, my pulse ticking up.
He’s propped up on a few big pillows—dark greens and grays—and his beautiful brown hair is messier than I’ve ever seen it, as if he just got out of the shower and let it air dry without brushing it.
I hate that the book is keeping me from seeing it tumbling messily onto his shoulders—his bare shoulders that are just visible on either side of the book.
They’re more defined than I might have imagined, given his thin frame.
Staring at those shoulders causes my fingers to literally twitch as I grip my phone harder.
He’s sent me a shirtless selfie from his bed.
Lord, have mercy.
But it’s his eyes that I’m always drawn back to. Those big, melting eyes.
They scorched me when he agreed to lay our cards on the table. When he told me he would do anything I wanted him to. That he would do things I don’t even know to want.
I had been two seconds from climbing him right there on my couch and begging him to show me.
Danny: It’s not as good as the Cozy Corner, but it’ll do in a pinch
Danny: This book is stressing me out, btw
Me: I can guarantee a happily ever after for that one, if it helps
Danny: It does help, thank you
Me: We get so few guarantees in life. We should at least get some in our fiction
Danny: If you could get a guarantee on anything in life, what would it be?
I hesitate. That’s a heavy question. We obviously have gotten into many heavy conversations, given the nature of the documentary, but it feels different after our unscheduled day together yesterday. It’s not just for the documentary anymore. This is between us.
Me: You first
Danny: That my pizza would always be the perfect temperature to bite into, no more burned roofs
I burst out laughing. He’s flirting with me. And he’s maybe even having some fun, which fills me with so much relief that I’m clicking his contact without thinking.
“Hello?” he answers in surprise.
“I want a guarantee that it will only rain on Sundays.”
A beat. Then that rough laugh when he realizes I’m simply picking up on our text thread. “Any guarantee in the world, and you go with rain on Sundays?”
“It may not be as altruistic as perfect pizza temperatures,” I start, and he laughs again, “but rainy Sundays are magical. You coze up and open your windows to listen. Rain on any other day is a nuisance.”
“But you look so good in your boots and trench coat.”
He says the words playfully, yet my heart races anyway, especially when I recall he’s shirtless in bed.
“Well, I’m happy to take advantage of any weather-based fashion choices if I have to live this guarantee-free life.”
“Should I get a trench coat?”
I gasp. “Absolutely not! Won’t the fabric of the universe unravel if you’re not in your leather jacket?”
I can feel him roll his eyes. “Very funny.”
“What do you even wear in the summer?” I continue, barely able to contain my laughter. “I’m imagining you still wearing the jacket and just sweating buckets.”
“Hey, people pay a lot to achieve that level of sweat.”
Now I laugh fully, and he chuckles too.
“I guess you’ll just have to wait until the summer to find out what I wear and its effect on the universe.”
I simply hum in my throat. I haven’t yet thought about Danny outside our past month together.
I haven’t thought about what it might be like to see him through the changing seasons, through the rolling years, through the different phases of life.
Will his brown hair eventually turn silver? Will he keep it long as he ages?
“How were your classes today?” Danny asks.
It’s as if now that he has me on the phone, he simply wants to catch up, even though we were together until nearly 2:00 AM.
“Well, no required devotionals, so I’ll take that as a win.”
“Take ’em where you can.”
“Indeed. Ally and I spent the afternoon at the coffeehouse to get started on some midterm papers coming up.”
“Will those be intense?”
“Nah, I’m like a well-oiled paper machine at this point. Senioritis is real.”
His voice is warm and earnest. “I’m glad you’re almost finished.”
“Were you able to get work done today?” I ask, fully understanding why he asked about my day. I need all the updates.
“I did sleep in a bit, but I still filmed some scheduled interviews this afternoon and was able to cut some of yesterday’s footage.”
My cheeks heat. “I’m almost afraid to see the footage from the couch.”
The footage where I watched pornography right beside Danny, feeling his eyes on me, as well as his barely controlled breathing. Ally was tickled pink that her video selections contributed to such a charged moment between the two of us.
Danny’s voice is steady—maybe too steady. “I think it will be groundbreaking for the doc. Your shame-busting approach is gonna mean a lot to a lot of people.”
I let that hopeful note sink in. Then I ask, cautiously, “Can you see me blushing on film?”
He doesn’t answer for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his tone has dropped an octave. “Yes.”
I swallow and bite my thumbnail as heat steals across my chest. “Are you blushing on film?”
Another long pause. I fear I may be pushing too far with this question, but I need to know.
The single word is like crackling cinders. “Yes.”
I squirm, both of our breathing audible over the phone. “At least we’re in it together,” I manage.
“Yes, Christina.” He is firm and clear even as his voice still simmers. “We’re in this together.”
My heart swells with mixed emotions. The “it” we’re in together feels a little on the ambiguous side, but I’ve lost the courage to clarify. In fact, I’m grateful to this chaotic universe for Runzhou’s technically random but still timely interruption last night.
There’s a reason the TJL item is to Have a one-night stand instead of Have a meaningful sexual relationship.
This is my time for hookups and learning what I like and taking control of my sexuality as a modern, sex-positive woman.
No strings, no expectations, no roles. Casual only, thank you very much.
And Danny is not casual. Not as a person, and not to me. I’ve known it since the day he sat by me on the curb, lit up his cigar, and offered to move in front of the camera with me. I knew it when he made me his go-to comfort meal. When he told me he’s proud of me.
I know it every time he looks at me. Every time we touch.
Adding a sexual component to our deepening emotional connection would no doubt drop me on a path that only has one lane and one destination.
We would suddenly have roles to perform, obligations to fulfill, titles to live up to, futures to consider.
A romantic relationship with Danny would define me.
Limit me. And I won’t ever do that again.
Until last year, my entire life was decided for me by the performance required of an obedient fundamentalist girl and pastor’s daughter.
Instead of choices, there were only commandments.
And the stakes of not following those commandments were literal damnation.
I couldn’t just be who I wanted at any time.
I acted myself into the ground meeting all of the damaging expectations, and when I finally let the mask slip an inch—just one inch—I got thrown out on my ass.