Jesus. Okay. I'm spiraling. This was the only way he would see me, so it's going to have to just be enough. I have a lot of work to do to earn his trust back if I want to be in the "boyfriend" camp. So, that work is going to have to be done in the "client" camp.
I take a deep breath in and out, balling my fists and shaking my hands out. I wrap the towel around my waist and open the bathroom door.
Trey's resting on the bed, his back against the headboard, his shirt off. I can't help but stare at the dark skin over his smooth pecs. He’s broad, built, and is sporting six-pack abs I can see even though he's not flexing. Dark, soft hair trails between his pecs, down his stomach, and beneath his slacks. My hands itch to touch him, even as my heart races. It's beating so fast and so hard that I’m dizzy.
I drag my gaze back up to his copper-colored eyes.
"I'm really fucking nervous," I half whisper, half chuckle.
He's silent for a moment as he takes in my body. God, I hope he likes what he sees. What are his other clients like? Is he attracted to any of his other clients?
"Have you heard of the stoplight method?"
I shake my head 'no'.
"I'm sure you can guess at what it means. While we do this, I'll check in with you and your comfort, and you can give me a color. Green for everything's good, yellow for if you need a break or to slow down, and red for a hard stop." He stands from the bed. "Can I trust you to be honest with yourself and me about what you need?"
I nod. I can do that. That gives me a less embarrassing way to tell him if he's going too far, too fast. My shoulders droop a little in comfort.
"Have you done any experimenting with yourself?"
I shake my head 'no'. I thought about playing with my asshole, but it felt weird. Even in the comfort of my own home, in the dead of night.
"Alright. We'll start slow. Lay down face first on the bed."
I eagerly climb into the bed, secure the towel around my waist again, and lie face down, my arms above my head.
"I'm just going to start with light touching. Nothing sexual. If you're okay with that, we can go further."
I let out a sigh. I'm not sure I have the words to express just how grateful I am that he's making this easy for me. He seems to understand how deep the homophobia runs, and he's not judging me.
He kneels on the bed next to me. I think it also helps that I can't see him. He's too much to look at. Too big, too intense, too sexy.
He trails a finger up my spine from my lower back up to the base of my neck. I shiver.
"Color?"
"Green."
He repeats the movement, this time dragging four fingertips up my spine.
"Color?"
"Green."
This time, he flattens his hand and drags his palm up my spine.
"Color?"
"Green."
Now two hands run up the sides of my spine, palms digging in a little in a massage. My body melts under his touch, even as my heart rate thunders through my bloodstream. He's touching me. His warm hands are on my body. It's not sexual, yet, but the feeling of his hands is as exciting as it is drugging. I don't know what I was expecting tonight. All I knew was that I wanted more time with him. Just having his hands on me is thrilling in a way that makes me wonder what the hell I'm going to do when he does touch me sexually.
"Can I take this off?" he asks, his voice startling me, as he slips one finger under my towel at my waist. I swallow around a ball of nerves but nod.
"I need your words."
"Yes. Green," I whisper, my voice shaking a little.