Page 11 of Monarch
“You’ll come on mine. On the back. Have you not seen people doing it?”
“Yes, but I’m not Dutch. I’m pretty sure I’ll fall off and go splat under a tram.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say, and I grab hold of their hand and lead them to my bike.
*****
“Oh my God, this is harder than it looks!” Mari calls out from behind me. Their hands grip my waist as I pump my legs and take us down Kerkstraat, swerving to miss a small group of people. “Fuck, don’t move like that!”
“It’s move like that or have an accident!” I call back.
They start to giggle, and I don’t know why, but that doesn’t stop me from laughing with them. By the time we emerge onto Weesperzijde, we’re both cackling loudly and contagiously. Our shared laughter doesn’t stop until I’m pulling up outside my apartment building and planting my feet on the ground so Mari can get off.
“I survived!” they say with childlike amazement.
“You survived,” I agree with a smile as I lock my bike up. It’s only when I straighten that I can feel the slight ache in my stomach. I haven’t laughed like that in months. I haven’t laughed like that since… Lex.
I turn to Mari and bring my hand to their face. “Thank you,” I say.
They look startled, puzzled. Blue eyes wide and dancing around my face. “What for?”
“For making me laugh again.”
“Oh, I’m glad my near-death experience on the back of your bike made you laugh.”
“You were laughing too!”
“Don’t you know the sound of nervous near-death laughter?”
I laugh again and stroke their face. “Can I kiss you?” I ask before my giggles have even stopped.
I’m pretty sure Mari is also still laughing when they nod and say “yes, please” before pushing up on their toes towards me.
There are a handful of seconds while our lips are pressed together when we’re still chuckling together, unable to control our mouths as they keep wanting to laugh. But then a greater needsurfaces, at least it does in me. We begin to kiss in earnest. Blending lips, open mouths, sweeping tongues. I grip both sides of their face, not wanting to let them go. Their hands spread out across my back and hold me just as close.
It's only when a group of teenagers start ringing their bells at us and shouting vague obscenities as they approach on bikes that I pull away to shout something back at them, but Mari is much quicker.
They have their middle finger poised at all of them and are shouting, “Fuck off, wankers!”
I bring a hand to my mouth to hide my smug smile, but also to taste the wetness they left there.
“They probably don’t understand me,” Mari shrugs when their attention turns back to me.
“Oh, they will have understood you perfectly.”
“I don’t give a shit.” They tuck strands of my hair behind my ear. “Can we go inside now?”
*****
Once inside, we are a hurricane of clothes and shoes and Mari’s kilometre-long scarf. We strip as we stumble into the hallway, kissing the entire time. I lead the way, past the small kitchen, and only slightly bigger living space, past my bathroom, and then finally into my bedroom. One step inside the space, I spin Mari around and push them onto the bed. They fall with a delicious wobble of all their flesh – they’re somehow already down to their bra and their overalls hang folded over at their hips – and I can’t wait to get lost in their body.
But first things first.
I pull my sweatshirt over my head, revealing a spaghetti-strapped vest top. “I’m on HRT, but I haven’t had any surgery.”
Mari nods and keeps their gaze on me as I take my vest top off, and then my bra. “You’re beautiful,” they say on a jagged breath.
“Honestly, I don’t hate having a dick,” I say as I start to unbutton my jeans, feeling Mari’s gaze still on my fingers.
