don’t laugh

I don’t know why he thought I might laugh when he told me he didn’t know how it worked. It hurts a little to think he might not trust me enough to not react like a child when I’m told something that’s on a sensitive subject and laugh in his face. I can’t really fault him for it, his human interaction skills are still really poor but still, it stings a bit to be thought of as someone who’d laugh when told this kind of thing.

He approached me this morning, looking uncomfortable and uncertain, fussing and huffing lightly and told me, in the most serious tone I figure he could manage, that I was not allowed to laugh at what he would next tell me. Of course, I only blinked at him, stared a bit and promised him I wouldn’t laugh. I wasn’t that kind of person, I wasn’t cruel enough to laugh at someone else’s misfortune unless they were laughing about it too, then it was different. I’d be doing so with them and not at them.

So he dropped onto my bed, something he’s never really done, he was pretty much boneless (for the most part anyway!) and he stared at my ceiling for so long I thought he wouldn’t really say anything at all in the long run so I went back to the bit of sketching I’d been doing. He was on my paper as is, so it’s not like I wasn’t paying attention.

After a few more minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence, he finally heaved a sigh, sat back up and shrugged. He was trying to gather his courage from what I could see of him from the corner of my eye and I guess my not staring at him helped somewhat. “I don’t know how to take care of it!”

‘It’. That was vague as could be and I blinked at him, canting my head slightly. My sketchbook was set down, closed of course, on the desk behind me and I turned back to him with the gentlest of smiles I could manage. “‘It’ is a bit vague, Quentin. I promised I wouldn’t laugh, so you might want to try to be a bit clearer? I can’t really help if I don’t know what you’re talking about and you know I help you best as I can whenever you need it.”

He huffed softly and I swear I could see the start of a blush on his cheeks. He fussed and shifted on my bed, running a hand through his hair before he was taking in another deep breath and closing his eyes. “I woke up this morning and it was up at attention, you know, that there,” and he did motion to his lap, “and I don’t know, didn’t know how to deal with it so I just ignored it until it went away.”

Of course I was a little hurt that he had thought I would laugh at him for now knowing how to take care of that kind of thing but I let it be and I shook my head. If that was a first for him, I admit I was a little surprised but not all of us ‘blossomed’ at the same time. I’d been an early kind of kid but I’d also had a lot of fodder to work with so when it did first happen after a particularly surprising dream, I’d just winged it, did what felt best and hadn’t really thought much about it then.

“I would never laugh at something like that, Quentin. It’s a natural body reaction you’ve had, most likely following an interesting enough dream. There’s no shame to not knowing what to do though, we all have to start somewhere.” So I did tell him some basic information. I don’t know how I managed to keep myself from blushing though halfway through the explanations I did have to snag my sketchbook to hold it to my waist. That one was all natural and it would be seen to before too long.

He was blushing though, prettily. All red. Around his ears, down his neck. His eyes were wide and surprised and I did laugh gently, just once, telling him about how red he was and he pouted at me, pouted! That just added fuel to the slow burning fire in me but the sketchbook wasn’t budging.

In the end, I told him about things he might need in case, because rug burn is just a terrible sort of thing to deal with and he went back off to his room. I doubt he was off to experiment but at least he’d have some idea as to what he was supposed to do next time it happened.

I just hoped I’d given him the kind of information he found useful. At times I don’t know what he’s thinking, what goes through his mind. It’s like he trusts me too much and I could lead him on a wild goose chase and I think he’d trust me with his eyes shut. I’m not sure how I feel about being trusted this much. It’s wonderful but also it’s frightening as hell, what if I lead him wrong?

It’s not like I can ask him to let me watch next time it happens so I can be sure I only told him things he had use for, that’s just be crass and it’s not the kind of thing that gets done as is. It’s not because we kissed—once!—that I have a right over him in any way. He’s like an innocent child in so many ways that I’m just doing my best to be patient, to not rush anything. If anything comes out of this strange relationship we have, it’ll be coming from him first. He has to initiate things.

The sketchbook on my lap though, it’s not doing me a whole lot of good and I think a shower might be in order. This is one of those rules we have that the bathrooms are off limits when the other is using it so at least I have that working in my favour. I mean we both have our own in our bedrooms but if he was in any way curious he very well could just waltz in and disturbs me while I’m dealing with this thing.

I think I’m going to snag this new extra I bought from the adult store to give it a go. I mean I have a small chest with several different pieces, most of them I haven’t tried just yet and I’m curious as to the kind of experience I’ll have with them but I have to keep in mind that sound does travel well enough around our apartment and while I’m not the loudest person around, I’m pretty sure that if I hit the right buttons, I might get to be. So what’s safest, really, is to take the slightest of toys, or the ones I know how I’ll react to. The rest I can explore when he’s out and about doing his bit of wandering in the city.

I have a whole lifetime ahead of me to discover some things and whatnot, so I’m not in a rush for that. Though I am beginning to feel a bit in a rush to deal with this so I think I’m just going to close my bedroom door, dig around in the small chest I have under my bed, find something nice and waterproof and take that shower, it’ll do me good.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s