“Good morning, sorry for the delay, I was on another call.” I say cheerily as the head of Damgaard Graphics comes into view with his suit jacket and immaculate hair. And here am I, sitting butt arse naked on my office chair, letting Louis's spunk run down my leg and the lube on my arse smearing all over the cheap Italian leather.
“Not to worry.” Mr Damgaard says, and introduces me to his team as my screen fills with little squares with professional faces smiling politely and I nod and try to smile as Louis tiptoes in on the side, stark naked, carefully avoiding my webcam as he places a steaming cup of coffee next to me.
“Thank you.” I mouth politely to him as he winks and caresses his cock, doing a little slow dance back towards the kitchen as my face blushes and I stutter out some half-arsed reply with regards to contactless payments and automatic invoicing solutions.
I love him. I fucking love him, and I don’t care what anyone says.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I involuntary laugh out loud, looking at the surprised faces staring back at me on the screen. “My boyfriend just brought me a coffee, and is making faces. The little shit.”
Not professional at all, but they all laugh and Leonie from the German office lifts her coffee cup up to toast me and Mr Damgaard says he wishes his wife would make him coffee, and somehow. Somehow the mood shifts.
I nail the contract.
I fucking nail it.
Then I go and fuck Louis to kingdom come.
Chapter Fifteen
Louis
My arse hurts. Not badly but I’m sore and feeling like I have run a marathon with a stick up my arse, despite all the yoga and stretching I’ve done. No, not that kind of stretching. I grimace to myself. I suppose that sexing it up as much as the two of us have been doing over the last month, is kind of a good thing for discovering muscles and tendons forgotten and stashed in your body. But damn. I’m bloody sore. Everywhere. Which makes me want to go and have a shower and clean up to try to soothe the itch and ache down there, but there hasn’t really been much time for things like personal grooming.
Not when you have all this yumminess to contend with. Not when you have a boyfriend. Not when you come back after a hard day’s slog dealing with all kinds of crap and then you walk through the door, that frighteningly starts to feel more and more like home, and he just stands there and… Yes. One thing leads to another and last night, I ended up getting dicked in the hallway and fucked to kingdom come on the floor.
So, yeah. I’m sore. Fucking arse-itching stitching bloody uncomfortable. But nice. It’s all a bit of a confusing mess in my head.
And sitting here driving down the motorway towards my parents’ house in Birkerød. My home, well, the place that I have called home most of my life, and I have this gorgeous bloke sitting next to me in the van, who no longer has a bruise flashed across his forehead and is currently sporting the most ridiculous smile on his face? Yeah. It’s hard. NOT HARD LIKE THAT. Although I think that there might be a very plausible risk that I will have to pull over at the next services and find a remote parking space so I can just bend over and suck Pontus’ dick. Like. Now. Maybe.
“Fuck you.” I say out loud, and Pontus snickers.
“Not now, thank you very much. We would crash.” Pontus snarls back, and I can’t help but laugh. Raw. Unapologetic.
“You are as bad as me. I bet you anything you were just thinking about sex.”
“No.” Pontus says, but his voice is full of laughter. “I was not thinking about sex. And anyway, the minute I think about sex I can only picture your mother all naked with flappy boobs and running on that treadmill, and I feel a little bit worried. Are you sure they will be dressed?”
“You are like a fucking child.” I laugh. “How many times have we been through this? Mum ironed her kaftan earlier, and Dad was wearing slippers. They are fully on board. Promise.”
“I don’t trust you.” Pontus mutters.
“My arse doesn’t trust you.” I say back, half serious. Half wanting to laugh. Half hoping I can exit off the motorway faster than his dick takes to thicken up. All Pontus has to do is open his mouth, and bam. I get a hard on.
“You sore?” Pontus says, and his hand lands heavily on my thigh, which makes me jolt. Because. Yeah.
“Yeah” I sigh in defeat. “We need to buy more lube and I need a break. My arse can’t take more for a few days. Sorry.”
“Sorry.” Pontus almost whispers. “Should’ve gone easy on you, but you kind of… You need to tell me when I am being too rough.”
“You weren’t too rough, and anyway, I was the one screaming for more and trying to ride you on the hallway floor. It was pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” Pontus shrieks. “You did see those spunk marks on the carpet? You put those there? Remember? Bouncing on top of me, screaming my name and faster and fuck me Pontus and all that?”
“Shut up.” I mutter, but my mouth is smiling. And Pontus’ hand squeezes my thigh. And there we go. I miss the exit for the services and I kind of swear a little under my breath. At least we will be on time for dinner. And I will just have to control myself. At least until later.
I park ridiculously close to the house, my nerves showing as I can’t line the van up properly despite parking on this drive every bloody day. And Pontus is fidgeting and chewing a fingernail and looking terrified again, and I stomp my feet on the doorstep in a clear warning to my parents to cover themselves up or face my wrath, and I even angrily buzz the doorbell before tugging the door open.
“EEELLLO!” I shout. Like a fool. Like I always do, but then it’s not every day I bring someone home. And then I rip my t-shirt off in sheer panic as Pontus’ face goes all white and I remember that this is supposed to be a clothed evening. No nakedness. I take a deep breath. Pull my t-shirt back on as Pontus carefully toes his shoes off. Wiping his hands on his trousers and tugging at the strings on his hoodie.
“Darling? Is that you?” Comes my mum’s voice from the kitchen followed by a stern, “Bernt, the boys are here, get yourself covered up dear.”
“I am not covering up in my own home. Dear.” Comes from another part of the house.
“Dad!” I whine. Because here we go again.
“I’m allowed to do whatever I want in my own home!” My dad roars from the chair where I have no doubt that my imposing father is sitting stark naked with his iPad on his lap. He may be old and awkward, but Bernt Ramsdahl has not let technology get the better of him and I have no doubt that Pontus is about to get an earful of my dad’s ideas and ideologies and all that crap he spills out. It’s fine if it’s just us around, but he bloody promised.
“Dad.” I warn, dragging Pontus with me by the hand as I sweep into the living room, where Dad’s face cracks into a blinding smile and he takes a couple of steps towards Pontus and shakes his hand vigorously.
“Pontus, is it? Dear boy, come in, come in, take a seat. Louis has told us so much about you, welcome to our home. I’m Bernt, and don’t be shy, boy, come sit down. Louis. Bring your boy a beer. I bought that German brand you like, and Mother has bought wine. It’s organic from New Zealand so none of those pesky Australian preservatives.”
My dad looks at me and smiles triumphantly. Like, Look? He’s fine. I’m not getting covered up in my own home just so other people can feel more comfortable about their own insecurities.
“I’m so sorry, Pontus.” I whisper as Dad rolls his eyes and taps the screen on the iPad.
“Now Pontus, I read this article about the future of computer graphics, and I wanted to ask your opinion.” He passes the iPad to Pontus, who accepts it with a pale smile, looking at me for the non-existent reassurance written all over my face, and I just sit my sorry sore arse on the sofa and let my head hang into my hands.
“You promised.” I whine.
“Your mother promised. I said nothing of the sort.” My dad replies, and crosses his arms over his bare chest.
“You are as bad as each other, you silly stupid men.” Comes
the cheery voice from the hallway as my mum sweeps into the room, carrying a tray of glasses, wearing her favourite flowing kaftan, the one that is made by Colombian workers in the eco-factory sponsored by the Copenhagen Naturist Society. I stare at her and I honestly want to scream. This is not the kaftan she said that she ironed this morning. The one she ironed this morning is not bloody see-through with the evening sun glaring through the large windows facing the fields at the back of our house.
“Louis, darling, you are looking a little pale.” My darling mother comments and strokes my hair as she sweeps by, then she grabs the iPad from Pontus and drags him up into one of her hugs. The ones where she strokes your back and whispers secrets in your ear and makes the world a better place.
I hope.
Because this is all about to go wrong, and Pontus is about to walk out and never return, and why on earth did I think that this was a good Idea? Really? Why?
I can’t quite make out what Mum is whispering to Pontus, but Pontus is giggling softly and Mum holds Pontus’ face in her hands and she nods and he nods back, and I’m kind of about to swallow my own tongue in fear. This is not good.
“Dinner smells delicious, Isabell. Don’t you agree boys? I made the bread and Mother has done her spicy stew, and there is fresh sorbet for dessert. Arne came over earlier. He had made a fresh batch. It’s blackberry, if I remember rightly.”
“Arne makes the best sorbet.” My mum coos. And Pontus falls back down on the sofa with a thud.
“Mum. Dad.” I start, forcing myself to sit up straight. “This is Pontus. My boyfriend. Please don’t make me look bad by embarrassing the hell out of me. Not on our first date.”
It kind of is, our first proper…date. We’ve never gone out anywhere together before. It’s not like we have had the time with working and having…sex.
“This is your first date?” Mum questions and claps her hands like a little girl. “Oh, I love it, my boy brings his lover home to meet us on their first date, it’s definitely love then. Don’t you think Bernt?”
“Isabell, you closed my Safari windows again, I have told you to be careful with the iPad.”
“You can save them in your History? Then they will re-open again?” Pontus doesn’t sound convinced, his voice far too wobbly for my liking.
“Show me?” My dad says, looking over the rim of his reading glasses. “See Louis? I like this boy already.”
“Pontus, we are so pleased to meet you.” My mum says, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table. Which is not good. Far too close. “We, Bernt and I, want you to feel at home here. If anything makes you uncomfortable or if you have questions, we are very open to hear them. I understand that you are new to the lifestyle, and we are very keen to integrate you in a way that you feel relaxed about naturism and how we live our lives in general. I’m sure Louis has explained it all to you, but please talk to us and tell us if there is anything that concerns you.”
“You can always talk to us, Pontus.” Dad mutters, and then he cheers loudly. “Look, the windows opened again. Fantastic. I love this iPad thing. Now, where were we? The future of computer graphics.”
“No Bernt. We were inviting Pontus to voice any concerns about Naturism.” Mum says shooting Pontus a warm smile.
“Yes, and Pontus, I am happy to answer questions, but I draw the line at what I choose to wear, or in this case, not wear, in my own home. I like slippers. Look? Slippers. I wear them to greet guests.”
“Yeah, Dad, because you think your toenails are disgusting.” I pipe up. How old am I again? Three?
“I agree, my toenails are not my finest asset. I do though have exceptional pecs.” Dad continues, flexing his chest muscles, which is simply his way of ensuring my total embarrassment, and then he laughs while Mum just shakes her head.
“I tried, Louis, I really did, baby.” She giggles, and reaches out to ruffle my hair. “Now Pontus, has Louis offered you a beer? Let’s have a drink and relax. I want to hear all about your company, and Bernt has questions. Also, you are an accountant? No?”
“Pontus is a website designer.” I stutter out... I think. I haven’t been paying attention, obviously.
“I have degrees in both IT and economics.” Pontus says, his eyes briefly flickering to mine.
“See, Louis?” Dad says, taking a sip from the bottle of beer he has sitting on the floor next to him. “Pontus is absolutely fine. No need to go into this full panic about being clothed at home.”
“It’s fine.” Pontus stutters, when I can see that it’s anything but. Pontus is not fine. This is fucking awful. Or is it?
“Louis, it’s fine.” Pontus laughs. “You look like you are about to combust. If your clothes bother you, just strip. Honestly. You are going to faint if you are going to sit there and hold your breath for the entire evening.”
This, is a different Pontus. One I haven’t really seen before. And Mum is ruffling Pontus’ hair like they have known each other for ages, and she waltzes off into the kitchen, returning with some of her home-made oven-roasted vegetable crisps and the spicy tomato dip that I really like. My parents are trying, I can see that. And I do love them. Adore them.
And perhaps Pontus is right. Perhaps I need to breathe. Chill. I slowly pull the t-shirt off over my head. Let the cool air in the room soothe my skin. Better. I can breathe a little better.
“Good.” Pontus says, and pats my arm. “It’s fine Louis. It is.”
He is smiling, which kind of eggs me on.
“I like that you support Louis, and don’t restrict him in the way he chooses to live.” Dad says, and stares at Pontus who just nods.
“He needs to be who he is.” Pontus says, and swallows. Loudly. Like getting that off his chest takes a lot of effort.
Guts. Pontus has them. And, fuck, I’m bloody proud. Then he floors me with honesty.
“I don’t think being a naturist is for me, but I can see the benefits. I understand a little of how Louis functions, and I see it works for him. He is calmer when he can be… himself.”
“Textiles do that to you. I’m very much the same.” My dad says, nodding at me with a smile. “Stick a coat on me and I don’t know how I am supposed to behave. I struggle when I go out to run errands, I feel all self-conscious, and unsure if I am wearing the right thing. Mother gets all uptight. It’s just easier to live like this. It suits us. And we can follow our ideologies and be close to nature. The way we were intended to be. It’s not something that suits everyone, Pontus, and whatever Louis says, we are not some sort of cult that want to recruit you into our depraved lifestyle.” He chuckles like he has told a joke, as I nervously strip out of my joggers and socks. Take a deep breath before removing my boxers and letting them drop to the floor.
“Louis, I’m not your laundry service. Go put your clothes away, what will Pontus think? That we live in a pigsty?” Mum is not joking, and Pontus sits up straighter as she places an ice-cold beer in his hand, and offers a plate of my grandpa’s secret family recipe Cocadas. That’s the vegan version, by the way. I made them, and they are pretty-much perfect. I want to tell them that, but my Dad is off on another tangent, that Mum swiftly interrupts by waving her arms in the air.
“Now, Pontus. Tell me about designing websites. Did you have a chance to look at ours? I think an upgrade is due, and I would love to hear your views. Now Bernt, pass me the iPad and I will show you what I had in mind. Perhaps you can suggest some changes?”
I can hear them as I walk over to the hallway, and throw my clothes in a pile on the floor. Let my arms stretch above my head, the joints cracking as I move.
Perhaps it will be fine. Perhaps.
Well, anyway. It’s okay. Pontus is okay. I can hear him laughing with Mum. Despite her being pretty-much naked wearing a see-through excuse for a kaftan. Despite my dear father now pacing the room arguing with Pontus over the need for online-payment options. Despite the purple bruises on my hips that I perhaps shouldn’t let my parents see.
Perhaps.
I smile. Perhaps this can work. Perhaps even become something really good. Perhaps this will last for a few more weeks, and then he will break my heart into splinters. Perhaps not.
My grandpa always says that I shouldn’t worry so much about tomorrow. I should enjoy today instead, drink a glass of wine and let the sunshine soothe my skin. He says we can’t control the world, and that we should just try to be the best people we can be. Love. Live. Enjoy the gifts that life throws at us.
I trace the small bruise on my leg with my finger. Find another one on my arm. A small smile forming on my lips.
Perhaps. Perhaps we will make it. Perhaps this will be good. And anyway, he’s mine today. He’ll hopefully still be mine tomorrow, the man out there laughing on the sofa. The one who carries my marks on his own skin.
Perhaps. Perhaps I love him. Perhaps life is treating me well right now.
He loves me too, I think. And that’s all that matters.
Chapter Sixteen
Louis
A year later
I live here. The realisation still hits me like a sledgehammer at the most random moments, like right now, when I am standing here in the kitchen decanting large steaming ladles of chilli into bowls ready for our guests. I am wearing an apron. Because yes, cooking is a dangerous sport, and hello? Burns? Not cool. But wait for this? I am wearing underpants. Nice dressy ones, with pink flamingos all over my arse. They are just H&M ones, but are the only ones out of all the pairs Pontus has bought me, that I can actually stand wearing.
Not that I wear them much, but there are certain occasions where Pontus will drag that drawer open and choose me a pair to wear. Like when his parents come over for dinner. Or when we have dinner parties. Yes, I know. How very grown up and adult. Pontus will roll his eyes, like he did when I suggested this little Valentine’s Day gathering.
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