Hiding in plain sight. It's what I do best. Getting people to believe in "secrets" I'm trying to hide. Having the freedom to name my fears, out loud, to someone and not having them know it. To be known and to not be known.
I look at Beecher and he's looking at me, and I can see what he's thinking. I can tell him "I love you" a million times--there will always be that doubt. That small, niggling doubt, even after all the shit I've done for him: "Does he *really* love me?"
It's better that way. He's up for parole in, what, another year? Maybe in months? I ain't going anywhere. He's gonna go back to the world and he's gonna start adjusting--one of, if not the, first things he's gonna have to deal with is this little bout of prison love. He's gonna be trying to find a way to dismiss this whole thing, to find a way to rationalize it for his heterosexual well-being: "It wasn't *love* love. It was some sort of... desperation. I was weak, I was needy... besides, he didn't *really* love me."
Well, I do love him. But he'll never realize that. Not in the truest sense. Just like he'll never know that I really love Vern, should I ever decide to tell him that. Of course I love Vern. Fucking bitch now, sure, but back then... Nazi prick had his moments. He really did take care of me. And he'll know me in a way no one else ever will. Not even Beecher.
His hands are moving tentatively across my shoulders. He's gauging. All these years in Oz aren't going to destroy the lawyer in him, the part of him who quickly compartmentalizes a situation in order to deal with it effectively. Right now he's trying to figure where to put this experience of me lying on top of him. And there's probably some part of him still trying to deal with being in love with a man.
He does love me, you know. I can see it. And I meant what I told Sister Pete, even though she now thinks I'm full of shit: I am pretty fucking worthless, and I do like it when someone still loves me after they've seen how fucked up I can be. Validation for my existence, nothing--more like power. It means to me that I still got it, that I can still make things go my way. That I'm still fucking surviving. I'm still here.
"Chris." He's not meeting my eyes. He's looking down. Probably at my flat chest.
"Hm?" I let that rumble through me. I know he felt it 'cause his cock jerked.
"Mm--" he inhales "--when... when did you first have sex--"
"I mean, with a man."
I grin. "15."
"You lost your virginity and had sex with a guy in the same year?"
"Yup. Same person, too."
He finally looks up at me, floored. "You lost your virginity to a *guy*?"
I nod, and drop a kiss on his Adam's apple. "I've always been open-minded."
"Well, I'm open-minded, too--" (Yeah. Keep believing that, Beecher.) "--but I never even thought about sleeping with a guy."
I give him a slow smile and shift my weight. I grin when he can't help but moan. "Oh, c'mon," I say with a low voice, "you've thought about it. Probably even tried to picture it, too. But your little middle class self couldn't deal."
Beecher looks uncomfortable, and not because of my weight. He doesn't like being reminded of how things used to be for him. I really wonder how he was gonna deal with shit once he got out.
I decide to be sympathetic. "I didn't have much of a choice, anyway."
A concerned frown. "Did he rape you?"
Aw. He cares so much. "Toby, you sick fuck. He *blackmailed* me, man."
"Oh." Heh. "How?"
"He caught me trying to jack a car. He threatened to rat me out. I'd been to juvey a few times, but not jail, and they were beginning to say next time I'd be tried as an adult. I figured that I was so smart that I'd be able to do whatever he asked real easy. He told me to bend over."
"Holy shit," he breathes. It's good to see that ol' crazy-ass Beech can still be shocked.
"Not as bad as it sounds. I knew him; he had a thing for me. He was pretty considerate, even--lube and a reach-around."
"But still... goddamn. Did he know you were a virgin?"
Shit-eating grin. "Why do you think he wanted me?"
I hold the grin a little too long for his taste and I can see that doubt coming back. You'd think, after all the shit's that happened to him in the past few years, he'd realize life can get pretty fucked up for some people, but I'm a person he can't trust entirely telling him a story too outlandish for him to take.
I give a good grind of my hips and see all that doubt vaporize in an instant. Hopefully, the whole fucking story, too. I don't give him anymore time to reflect on what I just did and I just give him one of my patented mind-fuck kisses. He responds nicely, his hands working their way down inside my pants to grip my ass. I grind into him again and I get this beautiful, deep-throated groan out of him. I'm starting to get kinda hard myself. He's kinda urging me on now, pulling on my ass, and I don't disappoint. It's time for us to fuck.
Afterwards, I whisper to him that I love him. He looks at me, and it's enough that for one moment, he believes me.