A midday nap in his arms.
The room had originally been half sun-room, half parlor, a small walled off addition in his aunt’s Victorian-era apartment for visiting guests to drink tea and gossip. In these recent times, it housed storage, a collection of light hungry plants, and a small bed for over-night guests. It was our home now, and that little niche was our space. After Matt’s parents kicked him out for being gay, I ran away from foster care with him to his aunt’s home two hours away. Matt called her in tears; she immediately bought us a bus ticket and told us to get our butts on it. We arrived with a duffel bag each, hungry and exhausted, but holding hands and smiling.
She’d set us up in this tiny room and let us have our privacy. It wasn’t going to be easy. I needed to finish my GED since I failed my senior year; we needed to get our footing and pick a direction for us to go. My baby, Matt, I’m so proud of him though. He’s from a wealthy family and never had to want for anything, but the morning after we arrived he went and got himself a job serving at a diner. I knew it couldn’t have been easy on his pride, his confidence. Did I mention how much I love him? It’s hard to know at this age if “love” is “forever love” or just “stupid love”, but I think it’s a little of both.
Matt got back from working the early breakfast shift and went right to bed for a nap. He was so worn-out. I took a break from doing chores, intending to reward him for his hard work with slow, lazy sex, but he was already asleep. My poor Matt. I spoon up next to him, wiggling my arms around his shoulders.
“Hey,” he mutters, more of a grunt than anything, but the corner of his lip goes up.
“Sorry didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, kissing the back of his neck, “You’re so nice and warm though.”
“Mmm, itsh nice. Love you,” he smiles again, before drifting back off. It’s the beginning of a wonderful afternoon nap together, like two lazy cats in the sun. When he’ll stir a a couple hours later, I intend to greet him with lube and a condom and make slow love to him. Wake him up with my hand between his legs. He loves that, when he’s in just the right mood.
Of course, my chores might not get done in time, but we need to make sure we take time for each-other. I worry that we’ll become so obsessed with ‘making it’ on our own that we’ll lose focus of why we’re doing it. Matt is my reason. I am his. I sniff the back of his neck. It smells faintly of strawberry conditioner, diner coffee, and him. God, I love this boy. I hope this really is the start to the long, long story of us.
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Text is fictional. Been trying to caption this picture for months and am pleased with the results.
