Emotional dirty talk

I have always felt like I was an undiagnosed paraplegic in love. Paralyzed from my waist down. I can’t explain it. It sounds so weird cause at first I thought it was just my feelings being too big. But I realized it was physical in the sense that any type of intimacy made me shake, convulse, maybe cry.

Charlie often reassures me that I freely love so openly, so beautifully, so deeply, that it fills any room I’m in with something that feels beyond precious. I tell him that his physical presence has the same affect to me, making him gush a bit and go red.

I’m a virgin. Charlie always tends to my aftercare, not making me feel weird that I need someone to hold my junk after release. It helps me not shake or feel uncomfortable.

Or in his words, “Your body freaks out after release. It’s like, your brain can’t handle all the nervous energy and neurons firing off at once. I ain’t no expert or doctor though.”

I love Charlie so much. He has been my best friend/co-worker for over seven years. It wasn’t until recently we found out how we really felt about each other, but honestly it was overdue. I wished we had started dating sooner.

“You know I never told you this, but everything you ever done, like every time you made someone smile or happy, I smiled secretly. Even when I acted like I didn’t want to be there, or acted all indifferent…” Charlie had told me.

He talks dirty. Especially on the phone.

“I wanna lick… kiss you all up in your… suck you until your knees start shaking…”

But this time, it’s different. We haven’t actually… you know, done it yet. Just fooled around. Charlie makes me feel so wanted when he texts me dirty stuff. He complains I don’t get dirty back. Charlie jokes it is a blocker, like a, “#%$* blocker,” but I know he uses humor to keep up our spirits.

Something big has happened. It hit me hard. It hit Charlie hard. Allan is missing. No one can reach him.

I love Allan too, I know Charlie does too.

We get a weird text from a spam number, Allan’s left hand with a ring on the married finger, with this quote: 'Til death do us part" could mean by his hand, but who cared?

“What the fuck does that mean?” Glep asks as we try to make sense of the picture and quote. In parentheses it said the author (Tia Levings).

“I don’t think the writer of that quote did it. I’d bet my money that it was someone personally known to Allan. Like, shit, I know who it was.. Allan has a stalker after all.. fuck, this is bad,” Charlie said, narrowing his eyes.

“No dip, Sherlock. Of course Tia didn’t do that. She is probably a good person though I don’t personally know her. But still.. it seems like a threat. The way the quote was used..” Glep said methodically in a matter of fact gibberish.

The other problem is.. is that its…

“Oh my fucking God, Pim, his hand. It looks scarred!” Charlie showed me his phone.

“There’s a bruise.. oh God Charlie!” I gasp, covering my mouth in horror.

Glep looks angry and storms out, saying in a furious gibberish that he was going to fucking kill whoever did this.

The boss comes in and says we need to investigate this case. A critter was missing. Allan was the missing guy.

Our Allan. We all loved him.

Mr. Boss is crying, “Boys….Get my Allan back!”

“We will Mr. Boss! Don’t worry!” I say with as much confidence as I can muster as Charlie and I scout out all day and most of the night, talking to everyone from Allan’s apartment complex, the neighborhood and Crimeville. Charlie tried to shake down a group of friends near a store Allan had gone to the other day.

“A weird guy from Spamtopia was here today, looking shifty as fuck..” one of the guys mentioned. “He was buying a ring but stole it instead…”

We decided to follow up on the jewelry store owner but he wasn’t there. It was a promising lead, but nothing was confirmed.

“We won’t give up, he’s our brother, Pim,” Charlie says heroically but I feel faint thinking that Allan was not found. We stay out until twelve midnight, combing through the streets and looking out for any signs of Allan. Except this gal on a soap box, talking dirt in a poem that touched on grief and death. Charlie hugged me as we listened.

We crash at Charlie’s apartment.

“We can keep going…” Charlie yawns.

“I don’t know Charlie.. I’m exhausted…” I start shaking a bit as he takes me to bed.

“All my life in Philly and I never thought this city would get so terrible at law and order…” Charlie says as he holds me closely. “Dude, I’m so worried. I remember how paranoid he was about his landlord coming back to torment him when I went over his place. I promised him.. I promised him that if he ever came back I’d beat that sicko’s ass. God damnit.”

“That was when he gave you the makeover right?” I ask as Charlie kisses the top of my head.

“Yup. Allan did that for me. That was so fucking beautiful, like he really did such a fucking huge effort that day for me.. And I never got to repay him. Fuck!” Charlie starts to tremble, holding back tears. “That landlord did it. I know he did. He’s got some sicko obsession with Allan.”

I haven’t been able to cry either. Though I feel this intense pain lodged inside of my heart. I tell Charlie as we hold each other.

“Me too, Pimmy. Me too.”

“My body feels torn. Usually it’s my bottom that feels numb, shaky, overwhelmed with all sorts of feelings that are good, bad, weird or just strong. Charlie… Now it’s my top..” I say to him.

“You might have that body discomfort..” Charlie says, touching my face. He made a gushing sound.

“Body dysphoria?” I say as he keeps making that rushing water noise, his fingers running down my cheeks like tears.

My eyes widen as it starts to all make sense, even the dirty talk. My body feels wrong and that’s why I can’t reciprocate. I start mirroring Charlie, making a similar plink sound like a waterfall, running my fingers from his eyes down to his chest.

“Where is our friend? I miss him so much…” I say.

“What does dirt taste like?” Charlie suddenly repeats the words from that poem we heard earlier today.

I start feeling a wave of intense anger and sadness. “It tastes like this,” I say almost angrily. “And…You can’t gush. You can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t…” I make an extended version of the watery noise and Charlie says it sounds like a ghost. “I c-can’t even cry..” I say with a furious pain that stumbles up in a croaking dryness in my mouth.

“You can gush, Pim, honey.. you’re going to cry so hard… I’m going to go right after you…” Charlie kisses my face in a very sweet line of wet kisses.

“You can gush, Charlie, really hard.. so hard…” I say softly.

Thank goodness. There’s wet everywhere. I’m wet. So is Charlie.

We’re so wet, the sobs like bad weather over our heads, as we convulse and eat each other’s grief like a giant quivering flower by a grave.

Then, it’s over. We have each other. He cradles my face the same way he does after we are intimately connected, this release feels bittersweet and exhausting.

We tell our lead to the police the next day and they do a manhunt for the colorful suspect in Spamtopia. Allan was found, thank God, alive but hurt from being physical attacked (Allan tried to fight back). Mr. Landlord had kidnapped him, forced him into a fake marriage as he hid them both in the Spamtopia kingdom.

We all hugged Allan so tightly, relieved he was finally home and safe.

Glep tried to kill the insane landlord across the street in an abandoned building before his arrest, his sharpshooting skills unfortunately being out of practice, but he managed to frighten the landlord effectively with a shot that nearly missed his head. Charlie got in a few good punches right before he was taken into custody, knocking him out cold.

We had tasted a small piece of dirt from all this. We gushed. I was grateful for it. Even the bittersweet, wormy feeling. Allan had been so close to being entirely swallowed up by this stalker’s obsession that death and mourning was now entirely entrenched in his fear of marriage and love. That quote about love and death really stuck with me but I didn’t feel like that with Charlie. Charlie was my safe space. Allan didn’t have that safe space.

Charlie couldn’t stand for that, either could I. We needed to make him feel loved, so we tried to do something nice for him everyday. Running errands for him, getting him a special cheese board, not letting him feel alone. Eventually, Allan started making strides in healing from this terrifying situation.

I found myself too.

He texted me dirty talk a week later when we were at our own apartments. He texted me, referring to me in a softer, gentle, feminine energy. What u wanna do?, he texted. I texted back finally:

“Fuck.”