Page 64 of Light Up The Night
"Yeah…."
"On the opposite end, obviously, is sex."
"Ah." I think I'm starting to see where this is going. Maybe.
"My question, then, is this: what is between kissing and sex?"
"Touching that is sexual in nature but not sex. I dunno how linear it all is, though. I mean, me caressing your ass is a step in that direction. Touching each other under clothing. Taking off clothing and kissing and touching each other while naked. Then, right before sex, you have foreplay. That's touching each other sexually, like…" I trail off, trying to figure out how graphic I should be.
"Like what?" she presses.
"Trying to figure out how to put it. I don't wanna be crude about it."
“I would rather you be crude and honest than circumspect and vague or dishonest.”
"Using your hands to make each other come,” I blurt.
She blinks slowly. "Oh. I see." She rolls away from me. "I must seem so childish to you. So naïve.”
"No," I protest. "Not at all. Innocent, but not childish or naïve.”
She's silent awhile, then, and I watch her breathing come faster and faster. "Riley?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I…" A shaky breath. "What is it like? To share that with someone?"
"Depends on the person, honestly." I can't stop myself—I pull her to me and cradle her against my chest. She cranes her neck to look up at me, chin on my chest, eyes as wide and bright as the moon. "Ask what you really want to ask, Cadence."
"I would like to share…that…with you." Her voice is so soft, so quiet.
My entire being tenses. "Cadence, I…"
I feel her deflate at my hesitation. "Oh. I see."
"No, no, no," I murmur, cupping her cheek. "You always assume the worst reason for what I say or don't say."
"Because that is my experience when it comes to allowing myself to hope," she murmurs.
"What is it you're hoping for?"
"To feel…" she trails off with a sigh. "I could stop there and say ‘simply to feel.’” She gnaws on her lower lip, looking up at me with trepidation and hope in equal measure. "My whole life, Riley, I have been…amind." She taps her temple. "This is who I am."
I frown, not quite following. "I mean, yeah. Me too."
"No, Riley. It is different. You are, by and large, one cohesive individual. You are your mindandyour body. Your body simply works. You do notfeelyour body, youareyour body. You think and you feelautomatically. Your mind is…ispartof your body.:
“Hmmmm. And it's different for you?"
"Yes. Very. The term is dissociation. I feel physical sensations intensely and acutely. With the mental noise I constantly experience, that hypersensitivity causes me to be easily overwhelmed by physical sensations. It is not merely being overly sensitive, like, 'oh, just toughen up,' as I have been told by plenty of physicians and therapists in my life—those who do not understand autism and ADHD, and especially how differently it manifests in women versus men. It ispainful. Loud noises areexcruciating. Rough, gritty texture on my skin is…like nails on a chalkboard or a fork dragging across a plate."
My stomach twists. "Really?"
"Yes. It is not just me being a silly, sensitive girl, Riley."
"That never crossed my mind,” I tell her.
She smiles, resting her cheek on my chest and continuing to talk. "In a world of overwhelming noise, visual stimulation, olfactory input, and tactile sensation, with a mind that is already at a metaphorical redline at all times, the only way I can function day-to-day without being in a constant state of fight-or-flight is to dissociate from my body. I learned to do so at a very young age. I did not cry almost ever, I am told. My parents had to learn to check my diapers on a schedule because I simply would not cry if I had soiled myself. Same with hunger, or heat, or cold."
