“I love you,” you say. You catch his beautiful blue eyes and smile. “You know me so well. You’re the only person that knows me at all.”
“How could I be the only one?” he asks. “You came out of the closet years ago.”
You nod and stroke the purring cat, her tail wrapping around your calf. You know the truth if not the right words to express it.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
He chuckles. “No, I’m not. Who is?”
You shrug. It is still a touchy subject. Still…always. “They don’t know what to think. They don’t understand. That scares them.”
“It can make some people nervous.”
“Afraid to talk to me.”
“Unsure, maybe, of what they can handle gracefully.”
“Or are willing to accept.” You lick your lips and suck the lower one between your teeth. The words are not enough as usual, but the thoughts beg to be expressed.
He takes your hand and kisses your fingers one by one “Give them a chance,” he says. “You gave me one.”
So simply yet so intelligent, he always knows what to say. “You’re different,” you say.
“How so?” He sounds so innocent, but you know he only wishes you to draw your own conclusions. He knows you can be just as brilliant with a little prodding. That’s what he says anyway.
“You never treat me like a woman,” you blurt out.
You cock your head and study his relaxed demeanor. He never tenses or avoids eye contact. He knows how sensitive you are about gender identity but he never hedges or waivers.
“I was born–”
“Do you expect me to react to that still?”
You glare at him but he does not apologize for interrupting you.
“You are biologically female, but you and I both know you are a man in this house, and a hell of a bottom at that.”
You blush but nod. “That’s how I know. I love how you treat me like a man–”
“–even in bed.”
“This is about sex?” He laughs. Amusement shines in his eyes. He leans forward to capture your mouth. The tender kiss promises much more. Later. Soon. “Then you, my love, are most definitely a man.”