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Saturday January 20

When Tori woke Michael was already up. She could hear the shower going and grumbled, reaching for her phone and checking the time. Barely seven. Why was he up already?

            She laid there and stared at the ceiling. Today. She would tell him today. At the very least he should know how she felt about him. That she was attracted to him, like that. Most of the time. More or less, anyway.

            God, was that what he would want to hear? I’m more or less attracted to you? Charlie had said he was always attracted to Nick, but maybe that was just him. He was a teenage boy, they had a certain…reputation.

            The shower squeaked off and Tori quickly licked her fingers, swiping them under her eyes to try and make herself look a little less dead.

            “Good morning,” Michael said, walking into the bedroom completely starkers.

            Tori chuckled in surprise. “Sure is.”

            He laughed, but seemingly didn’t pick up on her tone, as he turned away and started rummaging for pants and socks.

            “Why are you up so early?”

            Michael paused. She saw his face fall slightly. He pulled on his trunks and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I need to go see my father.”

            “You just saw him.” And he nearly broke you, she thought to herself. She didn’t understand why he kept subjecting himself to that arsehole.

            “I hurt his feelings,” Michael said. Tori had to stop herself from laughing. Michael hurt his feelings? What a fucking joke.

            “He was angry because I didn’t come on Sunday,” he continued, his eyes on his hands. “He was expecting me. I guess he made himself a note, and then when I didn’t show he was upset. I know,” he added, “I know. But I can’t help it. He’s alone. And he’s ill.”

            A memory came to Tori, of when was Charlie in inpatient. He’d told them not to come that weekend, that he didn’t want any visitors, but she made her parents drive her there anyway.

            Does it make you feel better, he’d spat at her, his eyes sunken and cold, to be around someone more miserable than you?

            It had been quite mean, but she couldn’t blame him. So instead she just sat next to him in silence for an entire hour and then she got up, told him she loved him, and left.

            “Okay, well, call me when you get home, if you want.”

            Michael smiled, leaning over her and pinning her to the mattress with his broad chest.      

           “Stop pouting,” he said, kissing her chin. She grabbed onto his upper back, still warm from his shower.

            “I’m not pouting. I just thought I was going to have more time with you today.”

            He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. Make it up to you?”

            “Oh yeah? How?”

            Michael cocked an eyebrow. Yes, I am flirting! she thought. I am attempting to flirt!

            “Mid-week date? We haven’t had Ethiopian in a while.”

            She bit his shoulder lightly. “Can we just have dinner here? It’s too cold to go out.”

            “Ow! Why are you biting me?” He laughed and rolled over her into bed.

            “Hungry,” she teased. Was she teasing? Or was she just making a total fool of herself?

            Michael pursed his lips. Something seemed to be clicking. He grumbled. “You want toast? I’m sorry. I wish I could stay, but I feel really bad. I need to fix this.”

            Tori wanted to argue that his father, a: probably didn’t even remember what happened last weekend and, b: wouldn’t remember this gesture either. He might not even recognise Michael as his son. But she also knew it wasn’t for him.

            “Are there croissants?” she asked. “In the freezer?”

            She very carefully attached her teeth to his bicep. It was fun, biting him. He laughed. “Yes. I will go preheat the oven before you eat me alive.”

            He pulled his arm away from her mouth and kissed her a few times then hopped out of bed and left the room.

            Tori pulled the duvet over her head with a groan.

            You are pathetic.

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            Michael found his father where he’d left him a week ago: in bed, watching television, a cup of Sprite on his bedside table and a knitted throw pulled up to his chin.

            “Hello,” Michael said cheerfully. His father spared him a sideways glance, furrowing his brow.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “Visiting,” Michael said, coming round the bed and sitting in his usual spot. Daniel peered at him suspiciously for a moment then paused his film. Indiana Jones. Michael would watch that.

            “Didn’t I just see you?”

            Michael tried for a smile. “Yes.”

            Daniel nodded. “Okay. Good. Just checking.”

            “What are you watching?”

            His father glanced at the television as if just remembering that he was watching something.

            “Bah, who knows. Some shite.”

            Michael pulled his bag into his lap. “I brought you some DVDs, from home. You mentioned that they didn’t have a great selection here.”

            He took out a small stack of his father’s favourites and held them out. Daniel recoiled for a moment as if afraid, but then he took them, confusion plain on his doughy face as he stared at the DVDs.

            “What’s this?” he asked, holding up a well-worn plastic case.

            “Bullitt. Steve McQueen, driving around San Francisco, being cool.”

            Daniel stared at it for another moment and then put it aside.

            He held up the next one. Michael swallowed roughly. Would he ever come here and not cry? Was it even possible?

            “A Few Good Men,” Michael said, clearing his throat. “‘You can’t handle the truth!’ you know?”

            His father grunted a laugh, apparently remembering the line, but not the film.

            Michael turned towards the window as his father held up the next one, quickly wiping his eyes. When he turned back round his father was staring at him.

            He braced himself for some rant about how crying was for fannies and a reminder that he was pathetic, but instead his father said, “Always be closing.”

            Michael laughed, wiping the corner of his eye again. “A: Always, B: Be, C: Closing. Glengarry Glen Ross. That’s right.”

            “This one,” his father said, holding it out to him. “And tea. It’s fucking freezing in here.”

            Michael nodded. He put the DVD in and pressed play. “I’ll be right back.”

            It was not freezing. It wasn’t the least bit cold in this place. He was only wearing a t-shirt and he was sweating. Was that a symptom of something worse? Was everything a symptom?

            “Please don’t tell me you are leaving,” Mark said as Michael approached reception.

            He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. “No, just need two cups of tea, please. And, um, could Charlene or someone check on him? He’s complaining of being cold but, obviously–” He gestured to Mark, who was wearing a very light short-sleeve button down like it was the middle of summer, “–it’s not.”

            Mark smiled. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, his voice kind but his eyes sharp and piercing.

            “He doesn’t deserve this,” Michael replied, grabbing a few more tissues and gesturing vaguely around the waiting room.

            Mark placed two cups of tea on the desk, smiling tightly. “No one does.”

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            Tori spent the afternoon on her laptop, but she was restless. She paced her room for a bit, listening to Charlie banging on his drum kit. Once he quietened down she went into the hall. His door was closed. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, but eventually, she knocked.

            "Uh, just a second!" he called.

            "It's me," she said.

            "Oh. Can you come back in 20 minutes?"

            "Twenty? Jesus," she muttered, going back to her room and flopping on the bed.

            Only ten minutes later Charlie knocked on her door.

            "That was quick," she joked as he slid into the room looking somewhat sheepish, but with that tell-tale glow that made her a bit sick. Not that she had any room to talk.

            "Yeah well..." Charlie trailed off.

            "Well?"

            Charlie chuckled. "You don't want to know."

            "Maybe not. But I did need your advice."

            "Spring Sibling Sex Chat? Again?"

            "Well if it bothers you," she grumbled, tucking down into her blankets and reaching for her headphones.

            "No!" he protested. "It doesn't. I'm just surprised is all. For an asexual you want to talk about sex more than anyone!"

            She fidgeted with her duvet, not looking at him. "Yes, well, about that. There have been some...developments."

            Charlie ran over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Really? Tell me everything!"

            "Definitely not. Anyway, I didn't want to ask about that."

            Charlie's face fell. "Well, what then?"

            Tori grumbled again, sitting up and staring at a bit of chipped paint on her wall. "I was just wondering if you or Nick ever wanted to do something that you worried the other person wouldn't want to do."

            Charlie flushed, as per usual. "Um, sure. I guess, when we were starting out, we were both nervous the other person wasn't ready for certain things."

            Tori shook her head. "I'm not talking about that. I mean something else. Something...out of the ordinary."

            He considered her for a moment then inclined his head slightly.

            "Really?"

            "I'm not elaborating!"

            "I wasn't asking you to!"

            They sat in silence, both waiting for the awkwardness to pass. "My question," she started again, "is how one goes about telling the other person about something they might like to do."

            “Can’t you just tell him? Like just say, ‘Hey I want to try this thing?’”

            Tori flushed. “I’m worried he’s going to think I’m a freak. I’ve made his life complicated enough as it is, with all this being asexual, but then…I don’t know, being something else. Some…demisexual…pervert!” She huffed, flustered, fidgeting with her fringe and scooting back into the recesses of her bed.

            Charlie furrowed his brow, a small smile cropping up on his face. "I'm dying to know what it is."

            "You don't want to know."

            "This is the struggle between being your brother and being a gossip hungry gay."

            "The struggle is real," she muttered sarcastically.

            "Well, to answer your question, Nick told me he wanted to watch a video together. And after we watched it, he said he might like to try what we watched."

            Tori blinked at him.

            "You don't want to know," Charlie warned.

            "Right. So that worked then? You were fine with how he handled it?"

            “Oh, I’m always fine with how he handles it,” Charlie quipped, chuckling.

            She threw a pillow at him. "That's not what I meant!"

            "I know! But come on!" he said, throwing the pillow back at her.

            "Come on yourself!"

            Now they were both laughing. Tori pressed the pillow to her beet red face. "Christ! That is definitely not what I meant!"

            Charlie was wiping tears from his eyes. "Victoria, oh my God!"

            They calmed down after several moments and Charlie shook his head.

            "Just did, anyway."

            Tori pretended to be sick.

            "If I'm being honest," Charlie said, pulling the pillow she flung at him into his lap. "I kind of wish Nick would've prefaced the whole video watching thing with some context. Like ‘Hey, I saw this thing I might want to do, but I’m too shy to say what it is, will you watch it with me?’ That way even if I was grossed out or something I would've kept it to myself. So yeah, if you decide to go that route, I'd recommend some sort of introduction to the idea first."

            Tori groaned and flopped back on bed. "I hate this."

            "Why? Is what you want so far out there that you think Michael won't want to do it? As far as he knows you don’t even care about sex. Surely he'll be thrilled to try anything."

            "Maybe."

            Charlie stretched out next to her. "Please tell me?"

            "No."

            "I'll tell you mine."

            Tori side-eyed him. She didn't really want to know. Although, what if it was the same thing? They certainly had a lot in common.

            "What is it? It is horrible? Am I going to be able to look you in the eye afterwards?"

            "You can hardly look me in the eye now."

            Tori nudged him.

            Charlie sighed. "In the video, the one guy was going down on the other guy."

            Tori nodded, surely that was not it.

            "Well, the guy…um, finished, in, um, his mouth, and then that guy, he, um, well, they kissed."

            She furrowed her brow. "That's it?"

            "He hadn't swallowed."

            Tori flushed. "Right."

            Charlie rolled away from her to look at the ceiling. "Anyway!"

            Tori couldn’t help but laugh. "You happy you told me that?"

            He glanced at her. "Kind of. Nice to tell someone."

            She stared up at the ceiling trying with all her might not to think of her brother swapping fluids with Nick Nelson.

            "So, what's yours?" he finally asked.

            She sighed. If she really didn’t want to tell him, she wouldn’t have started this insane conversation in the first place. "Have you heard the term 'impact play'?"

            Charlie furrowed his brow. "No, what is that?"

            Tori went red. She laid there in silence, ignoring Charlie's eyes boring into the side of her head.

            Finally he tutted and pulled out his phone.

            "Ah. I see," he said, staring at the screen.

            Tori chewed her lip.

            Charlie was scrolling now, his eyebrows raised.

            "Stop googling," she finally said.

            "Well, you aren't saying anything."

            "What do you want me to say?"

            "I suppose you could narrow it down. As per usual the internet is showing me quite an intense array of things."

            Tori glanced at his phone and groaned. "Christ, do you have any safe search settings?"

            Charlie laughed. "No! What's the point of that?"

            Tori shook her head. "Not that," she said, gesturing vaguely at some of the more brutal thumbnails.

            "So, what then? You want Michael to hit you?"

            "Not 'hit'." That made it sound so violent. It wasn't like that. This was what she was worried about.

            "Spank?"

            "Ugh don't say ‘spank’."

            "Well, that's the word. Is that what you are talking about?"

            Tori inclined her head.

            "Oh, come on, Tor! You think he'll be freaked out by spa–that?"

            Tori shrugged. "Well, it's not just...that. But seriously, can you imagine Michael doing something like that?"

            Charlie flushed. "I try not to imagine Michael doing anything sexual. For one, he’s kind of a weirdo. Fit," he added at the look Tori was giving him, "but not my type. And two, anything he might be doing would be with my sister, so, yeah.”

            "Fine, well I can't imagine him wanting to do that. He's so nice! Everything about our...sex...is nice."

            "And that's bad?"

            Tori sighed, exasperated. "It's not bad. It's just not...what I always want."

            "Well can't you just say to him? Like if you want it to be…I don’t know, rougher or something?" Tori stared at her brother. His face was fuchsia, but he was trying, and even though what they were talking about was certifiably deranged, she felt a surge of affection for him that almost brought her to tears.

            She sighed. "I try, sometimes. And he does for like a second, but then it just gets all, lovey-dovey again."

            "Well, I guess it could be worse."

            Charlie was right, it could be worse. There was nothing wrong with their sex. It was fine. No, that wasn’t fair. It was much better than fine. Lately, it had been great. But now she knew what would make it amazing. Would Michael think it was amazing? That was the question.

            “How are you feeling?” Tori asked. “About Leeds?”

            Charlie’s face flashed with surprise. “Hell of a subject change.”

            “Yes, well, you haven’t said anything about it since the other day. Just wanted to check in.”

            Charlie sighed, hugging the pillow to his chest. “I’m so proud of him. It’s great.”

            “So you’re okay? You’re fine?”

            He sniffed. “No, I’m not.”

            “Yeah, I figured.”

            “I talked to Geoff about it, and he said that change, especially when it’s out of my control, can be really triggering. You know, OCD is all about control. So having it taken away…yeah.”

            “Are you…struggling?” she hated that word, but it was a good catch all in this moment. 

            “No, no, I'm okay. I promise,” he added, looking at her. 

            “What else did he say?” Tori asked. She did not have OCD, but the anxiety that she felt when things were out of her control was something she could do without.

            “He gave me some ‘homework’ as he calls it. Journaling and stuff. But he also told me to focus on the things I can control. And to see this as a win for Nick, instead of a loss for me.”

            “He’s pretty good, Geoff.”

            “Yeah. You want me to see if he’s got any free slots?”

            “No, thank you.”

            “What are you going to do about Michael?”

            Tori grumbled. “No idea.”

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Wednesday January 24

Michael smiled as Victoria came up behind him and squeezed him tight, her lips pressed into the centre of his back.

            “Hang on, let me put this knife down,” he said. She let go of him and he went to wash his hands. When he returned she was still standing where he’d left her, staring out the window into the dark.

            “Hi,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “Did you want to help me?”

            “I don’t know. I didn’t do so well last time.”

            “I’ll give you something easy.”

            Victoria stared up at him with those wide blue eyes. God, she was so sexy.

            “What?” he finally asked. She never stared at him that long. Victoria cast her eyes down and took his hands, pulling him closer. Actions good, timing bad. He wasn’t so skilled at Ethiopian and he did need to follow the recipes, but he certainly wasn’t going anywhere right now.

            “You need some attention?” he asked, kissing her head. She looked up at him again, her cheeks just slightly pinker than they had been a few minutes ago.

            Forget Ethiopian, he thought. They could order a pizza if he was reading this correctly.

            “Um, after dinner,” she began and he swallowed roughly.

            “Mmhm?”

            “Well, um, you think I could have that massage?”

            He chuckled. “Sure.”

            “Okay.” She let go of his hands and stepped away, straightening out her fringe. That was it? She was being so shy, Michael thought she was going to ask him to pin her against the wall again.

            Which he was dying to do.

            He grabbed another cutting board and some carrots and set her up with a work station.

            “Just slice them,” he said. “Or whatever. They just need to be in smaller pieces than they are now.”

            Victoria nodded and pushed up her sleeves. She began to cut but then paused and looked back at him.

            “Massage is code, by the way.”

            Michael fumbled his onions and one rolled across the floor to stop at her foot. She bent down and grabbed it then placed it in his hand.

            “Is that okay?” she asked.

            “You’ve reached your quota,” he joked. “No more ‘Is that okay’s for you.”

            Victoria smirked and turned back to her carrots.

            It took Michael a few minutes to recover, but once he pushed down his primordial monkey urges he went back to his recipes and tried not to get distracted.

            Michael considered Victoria’s asexuality and her somewhat neutral feelings towards sex as the norm, not the exception. So the times she’d wanted to have sex recently had been a pleasant surprise. But there were any number of reasons why she had been more open and excited about things.

            For one, they were getting closer, emotionally. The more they talked, the less anxious they both were. And there was no pressure, for him to try and make her come, or for her to enjoy it more than she was able to. So perhaps she was just more relaxed now and that made her more comfortable initiating or saying what she wanted. Or maybe she was just ovulating.

            Also–and he didn’t want to take all the credit here–it was getting better. Way better. The way she reacted to his touch now was so encouraging, it was difficult for him not to want to touch her all the time. Well, he did want to touch her all the time, but unless she seemed particularly keen, he knew it was better to just wait for a sign.

            “Michael?”

            “Hm?”

            “Is this good?”

            He leaned over her and assessed her chopping. For someone usually so meticulous, it was actually impressive how she could not seem to cut anything into even pieces.

            “It’s great,” he said, kissing her head.

            Victoria pushed the cutting board to the side and turned to face him. “Lift me up?”

            He grabbed her waist and placed her on the counter. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was lovely, her warm body pressed against his, hands rubbing over his back, legs squeezing his hips, but he did need to keep an eye on the food.

            Victoria lifted the back of his shirt, her fingers dragging lightly over the skin right above his trousers. He chuckled.

            “I’m trying to make dinner here,” he protested. He wasn’t actually complaining, but if she kept touching him like that they were definitely ordering pizza.

            “Is it going to take a long time?” she asked.      

            Michael tried to laugh but it got stuck in his throat. Failure accepted in three, two…

            “Yeah.”

            Victoria pouted and he grabbed her around the thighs with a squeal.

            “Off we go!” he shouted, carrying her halfway across the kitchen before doubling back to the stove.

            “Turn that burner off, would you?” he asked.

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Friday January 26

"So how did it go?" Charlie asked as they finished the washing up.

            "No."

            "No, it didn't go well? Or no, you didn't tell him?"

            "No, we aren't talking about this."

            "Why?"

            "Why do you care?"

            "I’m your brother! I care about your happiness."

            Tori rolled her eyes.

            Charlie leaned against the counter. "Listen, I know it's cringe, but it means a lot, to know I always have a non-judgmental person to talk to about these things."

            "You have a million friends."

            Charlie shrugged. "It's awkward though, I can't talk to any of them like I talk to you."

            "What about Tao?"

            "Are you joking? No, he is not mature enough. He gets grossed out so easily. You think I could tell him…what I told you?”

            Tori snorted. She still couldn’t believe he had told her that. But he was right, despite the fact that it was objectively disgusting, it didn’t make her feel any differently about him.  

            “And, I mean, other than him and Isaac, the rest of our friendship group is Nick's friendship group. It feels too personal."

            Tori frowned.

            "Look, you were the first person I came out to. You were the person I talked to when I wanted to take things further with Nick."

            "Technically Michael was the person you talked to. I was just there."

            "Whatever. I just mean, it's always been you and me, looking out for each other. I trust you. You were my best friend for so many years."

            "Were? Wow."

            "You still are...one of them. You obviously don’t have to talk to me about this stuff if you don’t want to, but don't think you can't, just because I'm your brother."

            "Okay, fine."

            “Also, you’ve already told me so much that I’m kind of invested.”

            Tori sighed, fidgeting with the dishcloth.

            "I haven't brought it up yet. I'm...waiting for the right time."

            Charlie nodded. "The other day, you called yourself demisexual. Is that the development you were talking about?"

            "Yeah, I guess."

            "That's cool. What did Michael say?"

            Tori sighed. "I haven't told him yet."

            "Why not? I thought you were talking about stuff with each other?"

            "We are! And I wanted to. But then he had his race and I still wasn't sure. And then I was sure but all this stuff happened and now...I feel weird. I mean, I'll probably tell him soon. Maybe this weekend. I doubt it'll come as a surprise."

            "Oh?"

            "Not elaborating."

            Charlie chuckled. "Fair enough."

            After dinner Tori went upstairs and put in her headphones. She had a little bit of work for maths, but otherwise she just let herself stare unfocused at the ceiling while a million thoughts raced around in her head. 

            Why hadn’t she told him? He would be happy, wouldn’t he? Or would it change everything again? Would he start to expect her to be attracted to him all the time, to want sex all the time? Probably not. But still, it felt like they were just finding a place in their relationship and their sex life that made sense to both of them. Why did she have to blow it all up?

            Because you love him, she thought. And he deserves to know.

            Tori grumbled, putting the volume up on her music as if that would drown out this more sensible part of her brain. 

            She couldn’t actually believe he hadn’t noticed anything was different. She thought he was going to ask her, on Wednesday, if she still thought she was asexual, but he hadn’t. What he had asked, however, had ended up being amazing. That was definitely her new favourite position, as long as he was doing all the work. 

            Tori closed her eyes and turned to clutch her pillow to her chest, spooning it as if it were a person. She pressed her face into the corner, forcing her breath to slow and her body to get that warm fuzzy feeling that came so easily when she was with Michael. 

            It was decided. She would tell him tomorrow. 

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Saturday January 27

"I need to tell you something," Tori blurted into Michael's chest. He was queuing up music videos on YouTube, blissfully unaware of her internal turmoil.

            "Is it that you love Mulan and are really chuffed I just added one of the songs to the queue."

            "What? No!" She pushed the hand holding his phone away so he'd pay attention. 

            He looked down at her peeking up at him from his chest, only her eyes visible. 

            "What is it?" 

            Tori whined against his torso. She was so nervous. She did not want to have this conversation, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd been so close on Wednesday, when they were having sex. All it would've taken was one sharp whack to her arse and she definitely would've come. 

            "Victoria? Is everything okay?"

            She nodded. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath. "I had an orgasm."

            "What!" Michael shouted. He was so excited Tori would’ve thought she just told him she'd won the lottery. "When? How?"

            Tori exhaled a laugh, lying back to look up at the ceiling. "Um, the first time was like ten days ago."

            "First time? How many have you had?" He was practically vibrating with excitement next to her. 

            "Well, I've only done it twice, but I guess I’ve had three?"

            Michael rolled on top of her and kissed her. "That's amazing, I'm so happy for you!"

            She rolled her eyes. "Thanks."

            “Was it good?”

            She laughed. “No, it was horrible,” she said sarcastically. “Yes, it was good.”

            He smiled at her, genuinely thrilled at this news. "So what changed?" he asked.

            Tori took a deep breath. This was it. He was going to think she was a freak. He definitely wasn't going to want to do it, which was fine. But she really hoped he wouldn't break up with her. 

            "Um, well you know Becky's sleepover?"

            The smile fell from Michael’s face. He flopped back on the bed.

            "Michael let me finish."

            "Sorry but what could you say after that that isn't 'I’m a lesbian'?"

            "It was a real sleepover not a porn sleepover."

            He looked at her, his eyes already glassy. 

            "I'm not a lesbian."

            He exhaled. "Okay. Sorry."

            "You have to let me finish."

            "Okay."

            She sighed and sat up, sitting cross-legged in front of him. 

            "Can you pass me my top?"

            "Do I have to?" 

            "I'm cold."

            Michael reached behind him and grabbed his t-shirt. 

            "Close enough" she said, pulling it on. 

            "So, when I was at Becky's, there was a point when I was laying in her bed–let me finish!"

            "I didn't say anything!"

            "Your face said enough," she muttered. "Look I know I could just tell you, but then I know you'll ask 'How did you figure that out?' so I need to tell you the whole story if you want to know."

            "I do," he said quietly. 

            "Okay," she said. "Well I was laying in the bed and my phone slipped down onto the floor between her mattress and the wall. So I was getting it, but I couldn't really see, so I was sort of bent over for ages."

            Michael's eyebrows shot up. 

            "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

            "I couldn't possibly."

            She sighed. "If one of your friends was bent over for an extended period of time, what would you do?"

            "Nothing?"

            "What might someone else do then?"

            Michael stared at her for a minute. "Victoria, just tell me."

            Just kill me. "They would slap their arse as hard as they could."

            Michael chuckled. "Ah yes, of course. Classic. So wait, I'm confused."

            Tori could feel her entire body turning red with embarrassment. She felt sick to her stomach. 

            "So I was searching for my phone, and Becky, well, she slapped my arse as hard as she could."

            "Okay?"

            "And I, well…I didn't hate it."

            Michael stared at her, completely speechless.

            "It wasn't about Becky! It was just, the sensation."

            "What did you do?" Michael asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

            "Nothing. I mean, I yelled at her. I was so embarrassed I almost cried, so I guess she thought she really hurt me. But she didn't."

            Michael said nothing, but his face was flatter. She squirmed.

            "Anyway! The next day I went home and I looked some stuff up, about…that. Then, I guess it was Tuesday, no one was home and I sort of, found a video of things that seemed interesting, and I tried it myself."

            Michael was moving his mouth around as if he was tasting the information she was giving him and trying to decide if he liked it. 

            "So yeah, that's that."

            "I'm not following. Can I get the ADHD version please?"

            “I don’t want to say it.”

            “Say what?”

            “Michael, please.”

            He stared at her, clearly confused. She took a deep breath.

            "I like spanking. And some other stuff, I think."

            Michael blinked at her. 

            "And I know it's weird and you don't have to do anything differently, I'm just telling you because I don't want to keep anything from you."

            Michael didn’t say anything. She could see his brain working overtime.

            Tori fidgeted with the t-shirt, trying with all her might not to cry. "Do you think I'm a freak?"

            Michael started as if just realising she was still there. He smiled. "Not any more than usual."

            She grimaced. "It feels like you are upset."

            Michael leaned forward and took her hands. "Not upset, just trying to process. Lots of information being shared. I'm still back at the sleepover!"

            "Nothing happened at the sleepover!"

            "Sounds like something quite monumental happened at the sleepover."

            "Well okay, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't sexual."

            God, she shouldn’t have told him about Becky. She could’ve just made up some lie. 

            Michael’s brow was furrowed, he was clearly cataloguing questions into important, unimportant, and save for later. 

            “Can you say something please?” she asked. This was so fucking brutal.

            “Sorry. Hey, are you upset? It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

            “Are you sure? You keep going off into your own world. I don’t know what you are thinking.”

            Michael sighed. “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I’m just confused.”

            “About?”

            “How it works. Are you spanking yourself until you come?"

            Tori pressed her hands into her face. "This is mortifying.”

            "You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to. It's your body. I’m just trying to understand."

            “It’s not just…spanking.” God why wasn’t there a better word? “I, um, combine it with other things.”

            “Like?”

            “Michael.”

            He smiled tightly. “I swear I’m not being obtuse on purpose.”

            This was awful. Every word she thought of got stuck in her throat. Finally she just held up two fingers and prayed he’d get the point. 

            Michael exhaled heavily. "Hm, wow." 

            “What?”

            “No, just, that’s really hot.”

            "Is it?"

            "Just imagining you touching yourself like that is a huge turn on for me, so yes, very hot."

            The relief that washed over her made her feel a bit woozy. He wasn’t disgusted. He was turned on. Thank god. "Heh, okay good. I really thought you were going to think I was weird and gross."

            “I would never think that,” he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing. "Still confused about the mechanics, though. How can you spank yourself?"

            "It's not that difficult."

            "Maybe you can show me?"

            She barked a laugh. "Definitely not."

            "Why?"

            "Because it's embarrassing! And, I mean, it would be weird if you were here."

            “Why?”

            “Because…well, I don’t know. I think about you, when I do it.”

            "Really, you think about me?"

            "Who else would I think about?"

            Michael shrugged. "Sort of assumed you wouldn't think about anyone. From what I've read, sex-favourable asexuals focus on the sensation, not an attraction to another person."

            Tori hesitated. Should she tell him now? Actually, I think I’m demisexual. Talk about information overload. No, one thing at a time.

            "I guess, I think about you doing it. What it might be like."

            Michael shifted on the bed. 

            "Like I said, you don't have to."

🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂

            Michael nodded. People spanked. People got spanked. He knew that. It was relatively common. But there was something about the way Victoria was behaving that worried him.  It was as if she were only scratching the surface, testing the waters, to see how he would react. 

            How would he react? A pat on the bum was no big deal, but he wasn’t sure how comfortable he’d be with anything more than that.

            "Can I try it?" he asked. 

            "What, now?"

            "Sure. If you want. I'm just curious."

            Victoria chewed her lip and nodded. 

            "Do you want to flip over? How do you normally do it?"

            She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. Michael knew they should probably slow down here, maybe talk about it a bit more, but he couldn't. He had to know.

            "I've only done it a few times,” she finally said. “But, um, I guess I start standing up. That's easiest for me."

            "Okay. You want to stand up?" 

            She stood before him, so radiantly beautiful. He wanted to kiss her from head to toe, not hit her. 

            It's what she wants, he reminded himself. 

            Michael sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand between his knees. Then he lifted his shirt over her head and ran his hands down her back, relishing in the softness of her skin. He kissed her between her breasts, right over her heart. Her skin was burning up.

            Slowly, he dragged his hands down over her bum and waited. 

            Victoria was looking at a point in the distance, her cheeks flush and her body tense. 

            "Do you want me to?" he asked.

            Her eyes darted to meet his for a moment before casting down to his lips. "Mmhm."

            He lifted his right hand and brought it back down on her right cheek. It bounced against his hand in not an unpleasant way. She jostled slightly against him and smiled. 

            "You can do it harder than that."

            Michael took a deep breath and tried with the left hand, bringing it down slightly harder. 

            This time Victoria gasped a little. That was okay. That was nice. 

            "Better?"

            Victoria nodded. "Can you go harder?"

            "Really?"

            She looked away, nodding.

            Michael swallowed roughly. He was not so experienced, but he also wasn't a prude. He understood there was a fine line between pleasure and pain. It was the fear of crossing it that was making him hesitate. 

            He brought his right hand down again, just slightly harder than before. Victoria moaned.

            "Good?"

            She looked at him through heavy eyelids. "Yes. Can you do it again?'

            Michael nodded, kissing her along her breast and flicking his tongue across her nipple. She moaned again, gripping his shoulders. 

            This was good. Different, but sexy. Yes, he could get into this. 

            He brought his left hand down, not quite as hard. The angle was difficult. He tried again with the right. She gasped. 

            "Is that okay?"

            Victoria nodded, her breath ragged. “Harder?”

            Michael's fingers were already starting to sting. If his hand hurt, he could only imagine how it felt on her arse. He lifted his hand higher. He could bring it down faster and that would be enough, surely. Or too much? Would she cry out in pain? Would she look at him in horror, shocked he would think she wanted it so much harder?

            "I-I can't. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you," he finally said. She stepped back from his embrace, her face impassive. He had failed. 

            "That's okay," she said. And it did seem okay, but he was so disappointed with himself he couldn't quite believe that she would just be fine. 

            She crawled back into bed and patted the space next to her. 

            "Come here," she demanded. 

            He laid beside her, placing his hand on her hip. 

            "Are you okay?" she asked eventually, the silence filling the room to capacity. 

            "Just a little overwhelmed. Sorry."

            "For what?"

            "For stopping. For being shit at this."

            Victoria offered him a small smile. "It's not like I'm some expert. And I'm really grateful, that you even tried. That you aren't freaking out."

            He glanced at her. She smirked. 

            "Are you freaking out?"

            "A little. But I'll be fine. It's fine. Just need a little time to process."

            "Sure," she said, turning to kiss his head. 

            They laid next to each other in bed, Victoria's breathing now back to normal. God, she'd gotten so turned on, why did he have to stop?

            "Wait, you said some other stuff too. What other stuff?"

            Victoria's cheeks went a little pink. "Maybe we can save that for another time."

            "Why? Is it worse than that? Not that that's bad! Just, what is it?"

            "It's not anything different, there's just, other places, that it feels good."

            Michael's eyes searched her body. Where else might she want to be slapped? Then he remembered a few days ago, that bruise on her thigh. 

            "Here?" he asked, moving his hand over the soft flesh.

            She nodded. 

            "Ah. Is that how you, uh, finish then?"

            Victoria nodded again. 

            "I see."

            He rubbed his hand over her thigh, squeezing gently. He couldn’t picture it, smacking her there. It felt so…aggressive.

            "That's really nice too," she offered. He couldn't tell if she was just trying to be charitable or if she really did like it. Probably wouldn't make her come. 

            "Anywhere else?"

            She went beet red. Michael waited. If she wanted to tell him she would. And he could not react badly. He felt like they were at a precipice. One wrong move and there'd be no turning back. 

            Please not the face, he thought to himself, his stomach in knots. Please.

            After what felt like ten minutes, she took the hand that was resting on her thigh and moved it between her legs. 

            "Here?" he whispered. She nodded. 

            He was completely, utterly, out of his depth. 

            After a minute of his hand just resting between her legs Victoria said, "Maybe I should go home."

            Michael moved his hand away and rolled back on the bed. "Did I fuck this up?"

            "No, not at all. I did. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

            Michael goggled at her. "Don’t apologise, are you crazy?"

            Victoria sat up and wrapped herself in the duvet.

            He sighed. "I'm really glad you told me. I'm sorry I'm having such a weird reaction. It's just a lot to process. I'm just feeling…overwhelmed and, maybe you are too?" he added. 

            Victoria nodded. 

            "That's what I thought. So maybe we can revisit this another time? I do want to, revisit it, if you do."

            She nodded again. 

            "So maybe we could just cuddle?"

            He'd hoped for a third nod, but instead she said, "I need to go home."

🌿🍃🌱🍃🌿

            Tori walked to the bus by herself, despite Michael insisting he would accompany her. It was only 7 pm, and despite the winter darkness, it was hardly dangerous. Thankfully, he respected her wishes to walk alone, needing some time to think and clear her head before getting home. 

            She texted her mum from the bus, saying she was on her way, but she didn't get a response. They were probably already having dinner without her. That was fine, she wasn't hungry anyway. 

            Tori put on some loud music and tried not to think about what had just happened. God, what had just happened? She was confused, too confused to talk about it with him right now and too embarrassed to lay there next to him and pretend everything was fine. She wanted to crawl into a hole, or, failing that, her own bed. 

            Twenty minutes later she let herself into the house. There was music playing in the dining room, some horrible soft rock. 

            She heard her mother laugh; a rare sound. 

            She closed the door and locked it, slipping off her jacket and hanging it up. She hazarded a glance in the small mirror Charlie had insisted on "for last looks" to see a pathetic, pale, utterly miserable face staring back at her. 

            Why would he want her? Why would he want to do that? Why did she always have to make everything so fucking complicated? 

            "Hello? Charlie is that you?"

            Tori shuffled into the kitchen. 

            "Ah, right," she muttered. 

            Her parents were sitting at the table, which was laid out with the nice China and two lit candles, their plates half picked at and two glasses of wine half drunk. 

            It seemed she was ruining everyone's relationship tonight. Maybe she should pop round Nick's and interrupt their romantic evening too. 

            "Sorry," she said, stalking to the fridge. 

            "Don't be sorry, darling," her father said. "Is everything alright?"

            She nodded, filling a glass with diet lemonade and digging her preferred plastic straw from the drawer. 

            "I thought you were staying around Michael's tonight?" her mother asked and Tori could swear she heard a tinge of resentment. 

            Well it wasn’t like she’d asked to be born.

            "I got the days wrong," she lied. "He has training really early. I texted," she added.

            "Well, that's fine,” her father said. “Did you eat? There's plenty here!" 

            Tori didn't even look at them. "I ate. I’m going to bed."

            "Oh, well, okay, goodnight!" her father called. 

            She wanted to tell them both to fuck off. It was an irrational response, but it was just so frustrating, to be constantly surrounded by people who just…worked. Nick and Charlie worked. Her parents worked. But it was her, she didn't work. And if she couldn't work with Michael, she couldn't work with anyone.