Pretty Thing (Naughty Things 1)

He looks down again, pointing to another string of words. “And this one, here,” he says, pointing to the words across his chest. “It says, ‘You can climb to the top of the mountain and still not see the stars.’”

“I like that one,” I say. Because I’ve read it before. During sex my eyes couldn’t help but see the letters and unconsciously read the words.

“It means that sometimes what you’re looking for isn’t the prize you thought it was.”

“Did you write all these?” I ask.

“Only some,” he says. “At first I’d use other people’s words but then I realized… it’s my body. It’s my art, I guess. So I wrote my own after that.” He leans forward to kiss me, his hands reaching for my breasts. Gently squeezing them in his palms. “You are the stars for me, Kali. And getting you here in this moment was like climbing a mountain in some ways. But in other ways it was easy. Because really, all I had to do was show up.”

“I love you,” I say. The urge inside me to tell him this is overwhelming. “I’ve always been yours.”

He hugs me tightly then. I place my head on his shoulder and hug him back. Resting, finally. Because for the first time in my life I feel whole and complete. Like there is no obstacle in my way. No hurdle to get over.

He caresses my back with his fingertips. Gently passing them up and down my spine until that chill he always seems to find shoots through my body.

I feel him starting to get hard again underneath me, his cock pressing against my inner thigh. “More?” he asks.

“So much more,” I say, lifting my hips and taking him in my hand. I place him at my entrance and close my eyes when he enters me. Then I sit down in his lap, my back arched over his chest, my forehead resting against his, and we begin to move.

It doesn’t take much. That’s something I’ve learned about us. It doesn’t need to be hard, or fast, or punishing in order to climb that mountain and see those stars.

Just slight movements are enough. Inches, that’s all it takes. Just a few inches of forward shift fills me with excitement.

This is how we make love.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Tenderly.

And the climax isn’t about bursting explosions or fireworks going off.

It’s more like… happiness sinking into my soul.

“Kali,” he says, as we come together.

“Yes,” I say. “My answer is just… yes.”

Later, after we shower and eat, I tell him all about Alison’s plan. All about the new venture we have in mind and how I’m going to move out of this place and share an apartment with her so we can get the business off the ground.

He smiles at me the whole time. Holding me close in bed as our day winds down. Confident that no matter what, we will work out.

But after he falls asleep I have one more thing to do before I can rest. So I get up, put on my robe, and take my phone out into the living room.

I take a few minutes to collect my thoughts, then dial Kyle’s new number.

Just saying those words in my head makes me feel better. Kyle’s new number.

He’s not gone.

I mean, I hadn’t seen him in a long time before he died and he wasn’t gone. So even though he’s dead now, he’s still here. And this phone number proves it.

I listen to his message again. Not with sadness this time. Not with apprehension. But just so I can hear his voice. Appreciate the way he sounds. How, when he recorded this, he was having a good day. I know this without knowing. He’s my twin, my other half, and his voice is filled with everything I loved about my brother.

After that’s over I wait for the beep and start talking.

“Kyle,” I say, smiling into the phone. “God. OK. I can do this. I’ve decided you’re not gone. And, no. I’m not delusional, I can just feel you still, so as long as I know you’re in my heart, you’re here. I don’t know where that is, but it doesn’t matter. So I hope you’re OK with me calling you. I think my life is about to change and I’m gonna wanna tell you everything. Just like old times, right?”

I settle into the couch cushions, bringing my legs up as I lean my head back. Like I would settle for any long conversation.

And I tell him everything. All the things that have been happening. Not just since he died, but before that too. Catching him up on my life.

And even though he doesn’t talk back—this is a true, one-sided conversation—it feels normal. Like no matter what, this message will find its way to him eventually.

It’s like writing letters, I guess. You put your thoughts down on paper and then send it out into the world, never knowing when it will arrive at its intended destination. Never knowing if it will be read. Never knowing if it will be answered.