Page 39 of Ship of Fools

“Then there’s me. I don’t think there’s much wrong with me, apart from obviously being a little gay, and the fact that I get off on a bit of rough sex, and then I have this humiliation kink…”

“You are absolutely normal.”

“I know. But I used to wonder. I was obsessed with… I don’t think I realised it at the time, but I think I have always got off on the risk-taking thing. As a kid I was always attention seeking, trying to find things to annoy my parents, so they would at least acknowledge me. You know, smashing up priceless vases, throwing bubble bath in the pool. You know. Then, at school I was always getting into fights, and most of them were all my fault. Then, when I discovered sex, I was looking for the bad guys, the ones my Dad wouldreallydisapprove of. I went for the guys who were bigger and stronger, and then I would goad them into getting rough. I sometimes got really scared, and the adrenaline kick of that fear? It sometimes turned me on. So, I went looking for guys who could go harder, and it would always go wrong, and I became really scared of what I was doing. I got obsessed with having safer, more normal kind of hookups, but then I would go home with these lame guys who just wanted a nice blow job, and I would be sitting there feeling empty, wondering how fucked in the head I was, not to be able to come when someone sucked my dick, because I would only come if someone was beating me up while they were shoving their cock down my throat.”

He’s crying again and I start rocking him, like I rock Baby Bob when he can’t settle down. Slow soothing movements, my lips pressed against his skin.

“You will never get hurt with me.”

“Says the guy who put me in hospital, twice.” He teases, but it’s still a sore point.

“I know.” I cringe in shame. The second time he got a broken collarbone from assembling a wardrobe. It had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with me not being able to read simple IKEA instructions. The door came off the bloody rail and took his collarbone with it. Another trip to the emergency room that I don’t want to remember.

“At least you didn’t get a boner from your collarbone being broken.” I try.

He turns around and stares at me, with mock anger.

“Bastard. Mocking my kinks.”

“I’m not mocking anything. Remember that time you came home from the office, and pretended that I was your maid? You spanked me with the frying pan! Fuck’s sake, Andreas, I couldn’t sit down for a week!”

He laughs, and for a moment I have him back. The carefree man I adore.

“Stop.” I say. Then I say it again, this time firmer. “Stop!”

“Are you safe wording, Luca Germano?” He turns in my arms. Pushes me away so he can look at me. Properly. His eyes wet with tears, his face… It’s so him. So full of love and admiration and everything that I love about him, and yet, there is a little smile on his face.

“I’m safe wording you out of your head. I don’t want you to talk like that, not anymore. There isnothingwrong with you, and there isnothingwrong with me. So, stop. Stop.”

“I’m a little fucked up, from today. I can’t help it.”

“I know,” I say, stroking the moisture from his cheeks. “So, let’s make it all stop.”

“I don’t let my family define me. I just wanted to see them, I wanted to show you off. I wanted you to see the sunset from the patio, and maybe sit down and listen to my mum sing. She sings sometimes when she’s happy. There have been good times, Luca. I know you didn’t see them today, but I do have good memories from here. Times when my family were good, and times when me and my sister got on. We used to. But I barely know her anymore.”

“Maybe she could come visit?” I try, regretting the words as they come out.

He laughs, and kisses my lips.

“No. I don’t want her to. My life in Chistleworth, with you? That’s my life, and nobody can take that away from me. I have you, and our family, and your parents have been good for me. Your mum is amazing. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I do, she’s my mum. You know. Not perfect, just there. She loves us, even you.”

“She knows… some… some of this. I told her, because… I don’t know why, she told me about your grandma drinking, and how she grew up in a house where she felt she was always walking on broken glass, because she never knew what mood her mum would be in. She told me about violence and threats, of never having enough to eat. So, I told her about my mum, and she let me cry for a bit. It was nice. You know. To tell someone.”

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want to, because you are the kind of person who would have tried to fix it. You can’t fix my family, and you know what? It’s fine. It’s okay. Things will always be like this, and perhaps that is the wrong thing to say that, but for me? It’s the way I want it. I want to live at home with you, and life will be good that way. I have shown you what my family is like instead, and perhaps, you can understand why I am not, you know. Like you. I love my parents. I just don’t like them very much.”

“I understand that.” I say softly. “Your sister?”

“She’s her own person, making her own life. She hates the UK, and never comes over. I think she got traumatised by the month Dad made her spend in the Priory Clinic. She mentioned frostbite, and being forced to eat meat. She’s, apparently, a stern vegan, but eats chicken. Explain that.” He grabs my hand. Holds it. Kisses my fingers. I kiss him back, wondering how much he can take. If he’s up for what I hope will calm us both down. I don’t want to push it. Don’t want to assume.

“Are you still chasing that adrenaline kick?” I ask instead, because he’s never explained things like that before. I’ve never thought of it either. We’re still exploring this with no handbook, and no clear rules. I don’t know what it is, apart from that it works for us, even when things go wrong.

“Yes, of course. And it’s different now, because these days I get off on the fact that I have no idea what you are going to do to me, that you will sometimes really make me squirm and hurt, and sometimes lull me into this false sense of security, and then BAM! Monster-beast Luca will appear and beat my arse to a pulp. “

“I don’t beat your arse to a pulp.”

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