So discovering that Rev not only is willing to accept my displays of affection, but seems to receive them with as much wonder and incredulity and gratitude as a man dying of thirst would accept a bottle of water…it’s a revelation. I have love to give, and giving it brings me joy. His response when I use my soft voice makes my heart overflow. I get to give that to him. I get to see that flit of wonder cross his face.
I want to fill his heart. I want to cradle that fragile core of him and shower it with love and affection. It’s mine, it belongs to me, and I feel a drive from the pit of my soul, in my blood and bones and spirit, to nurture that core of him.
It fulfills me.
He gives back. For him, it’s through physicality. Protecting me, yes, and making me feel safe. But he does it primarily through sex. I’ve never felt beautiful. Needed. Wanted. Desired. Treasured. Craved. He shows me that—when he yanks my clothing off like he can’t wait another moment to get at my body; when he throws me to the bed and goes down on me ravenously, demanding pleasure from me as if he gets off on my orgasms; when he fucks me like he can’t stop, can’t get enough. He shows me what sex is supposed to be, and I in turn show him that it’s more than sex. We’re both connecting emotion to sexuality in a way that’s new for both of us. He may have the experience in what to do sexually, but I’ve known a lifetime of love from my family.
I may not have known love in my marriage, but I’ve been loved all my life. I’ve been steeped in it. Seen it lived out via my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles. I’ve watched Angus, Ana, and Jordan fall in love and start families. I’ve watched Junie and Mal fall in love. It’s as natural as breathing for me to translate my emotional attraction to Rev into touch—both sexual and not.
I’m twisting myself into a logical knot, I think. Trying to pin down what love is, why I feel it for Rev.
I just do. I like who he is. I like being with him. I am deeply, wildly attracted to him, physically. I can’t get enough of him sexually. The more he opens up, the more he learns to give, emotionally, the more fulfilled I am by him, so I have more to give.
That’s love.
I guess all I know is, I crave him, physically, emotionally. I want to be with him, all the time.
So, I guess I lied to Mom—I am in love with Rev.
I feel him wake up—he stirs, sucks in a huge breath, lets it out.
I look up at him. “Hi.”
He gives me a soft, lazy, sleepy little smile. “Hey.”
“Sleep well?”
He closes his eyes, nods, looks at me. “Don’t know what it is, but when I’m with you, I sleep different. Deeper. Better.”
His eyes search me, and I have a feeling he’s thinking about what he must have overheard last night.
“Rev, I know you heard at least some of my conversation with Mom and Ana.”
He stills—he was already still, but he goes tense. “Yeah. I wasn’t trying to listen. I walked up and heard, and—”
I rub his chest, interrupting him. “No, no. I’m not mad or anything. I guess I’m wondering if you had…thoughts. Or questions, or…anything. About what you heard me say.”
He uses a fingertip to slide a lock of hair out of my face, behind my ear. “What you said about the core of me being a fragile, scared little boy.”
Oops. He’s got pride. That probably didn’t go over well. “Rev, I…”
He rolls a shoulder. “Maybe explain that a bit.”
“You never had parents. Never had family. You were never safe. You didn’t get to have a childhood. Nothing about the way you grew up was normal. You had to learn from pretty much day one to be tough, to be hard. You had to grow up without ever getting to just be a kid.”
He nods. “True enough.”
“So, to my mind—and obviously I’m no psychologist—it seems like you had to build…not just walls, but this whole shell around your heart. Does that make sense? So, the more you endured, the more you went through, the thicker that shell became. And for whatever reason, you’ve chosen to open that shell and show me what’s inside—which is the little boy you never got to be. Your body grew up, your mind grew up. You’re an adult. A man—an unbelievablystrongman, and I don’t mean just physically. But inside that shell, your heart never really got to grow.” I’m resting my chin on his chest, tracing patterns on his skin with my fingertips as I speak, holding his eyes. “So when I say that part of you is fragile, I don’t mean like a china cup is fragile, I mean like a tree shoot is fragile. When it’s first growing, that tree shoot is kind of fragile. But if it’s taken care of, given sunshine and water? It grows. Becomes strong.”
He’s quiet, and I can feel him thinking, processing. I give him that time.
“That makes sense.” He looks up at the ceiling for a moment or two. Then meets my eyes once more. “I…” He shakes his head. “I feel…a lot. For you. I don’t know what to do with it. Not good with words. Shit, I’m not good with emotions at all.” His hand squeezes my bottom, and then slides up to curl over my hip, where it meets my waist. “You mean a lot to me, Myka. A whole fuckin’ lot.”
“Rev,” I whisper. “You don’t need to put it into words.”
He frowns, puzzled. “You’re good with words. You say shit all the time that puts what you’re thinking and feeling into words. You should get that back.”
I shimmy higher. Turn my body so my weight is mostly on him, my forearms on his chest, hands on his shoulders, breasts flattened against his stomach. My hair loose and wild, messy, in my face. “You show me, Rev. Just do what you do andshow mehow you feel. You ever find the words, yeah, it would mean the world to hear them. But all I need from you isyou. Keep giving meyou. Keepshowingme that I mean a lot to you.”
