Parade.
1/1.
Jonne smiles down at me, that sweet, childlike little smile of his. I always smile back at him without thinking, it’s involuntary. He likes to dress up in all his favourite outfits and parade around in them for me. I object a lot, I always say that I don’t want to watch him prance about like a girl.
But…secretly, I love it. I love watching his hips swing from side to side and his dirty blonde hair, which constantly falls over his eyes, is gorgeous when he pretties it up. It’s always gorgeous though.
Jonne, in general, is just gorgeous.
While I sit on the couch, my expression fixed in a pretend grumpy pout, Jonne parades into the living room with assorted sparkly and glittery clothing. His make-up is bright, feminine and sparkly. It’s always done to match his outfit.
“Kristian, what do you think?” Jonne asks, spinning this way and that. “Do you think the scarf is a bit much?”
I scan his outfit, perving at the same time. “It looks good. The scarf goes with the outfit perfectly.”
“You’re just saying that because you love me,” he pouts, folding his arms. “Do I look like a princess, Kris?”
“Of course you look like a princess,” I answer, chuckling to myself. Honestly, Jonne is a princess inside and out. He has everything so down pat that I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten an invite from the Queen of England to come and join the Royal family.
But then I’d have to move to England, so I’m glad she hasn’t caught wind of his fantastic princess-like tendencies.
Jonne’s smile returned and he did a twirl before strutting back into our room. I took a sip of the beer that I was holding loosely in one hand and then took a small puff from my cigarette which was slowly smouldering away. Sitting here and watching Jonne parade around isn’t so bad, I guess.
“Kris! Where’s my white jeans? The skinny ones?”
“I have no idea,” I shout back, taking a small sip of my now warm beer before continuing, “probably where you left them.”
Jonne’s head pokes around the door. “Where did I leave them?”
“Under the bed, kulta,” I reply, shaking my head when he disappears behind the door again.
“Found them! They were under the bed.”
“Fancy that,” I mumble, taking yet another sip of my beer.
I sit silently, listening to the noises that Jonne is making in the bedroom and puff away on my thin, smouldering stick of cancer. It doesn’t take long before I grow impatient, flicking my cigarette for no reason, twisting the beer bottle between my fingers.
“Jonne, come on. I don’t want to sit here and watch you parade all day,” I call, even though I wouldn’t mind doing just that. Not that I’d ever admit it, but watching him parade around in his clothes, smiling his sultry pouty smile, is one of my favourite things to do.
“Okay, okay. Almost ready,” he calls back, making a few more shuffling noises.
I’m looking down at my beer bottle when he comes out. At first, I don’t look up, expecting him to just start parading. When I don’t hear his footsteps making their way across the room, I finally glance up at him.
What I intended to be a glance turns into a complete mouth-opened stare.
“What about this outfit?” Jonne whispers, smiling shyly. “Do you like this one?”
“It’s perfect,” I answer, my eyes glued to his body, scrutinising every inch of it.
He pads across the room slowly and tentatively, his destination inevitably being me. And, just as slowly, he moves to sit on my lap. I open my arms and welcome him, helping him to sit on my lap, his legs either side of me.
“Do you like this one better than the rest?” Jonne asks, shyly, his watery blue eyes looking softly into mine.
“Maybe,” I answer with a small smile.
“But I’m not wearing anything.”
I smile at him. “That’s the point.”
His lips press against mine and I immediately respond, my arms snaking loosely around his waist.
“You like my parades, admit it,” Jonne mumbles against my lips.
I smile and kiss him again. “I don’t think so.”
“You do too.”
“Whatever you say, kulta,” I reply, going to kiss him again.
He gives up, for this time, and kisses me back.
But…secretly, I love it. I love watching his hips swing from side to side and his dirty blonde hair, which constantly falls over his eyes, is gorgeous when he pretties it up. It’s always gorgeous though.
Jonne, in general, is just gorgeous.
While I sit on the couch, my expression fixed in a pretend grumpy pout, Jonne parades into the living room with assorted sparkly and glittery clothing. His make-up is bright, feminine and sparkly. It’s always done to match his outfit.
“Kristian, what do you think?” Jonne asks, spinning this way and that. “Do you think the scarf is a bit much?”
I scan his outfit, perving at the same time. “It looks good. The scarf goes with the outfit perfectly.”
“You’re just saying that because you love me,” he pouts, folding his arms. “Do I look like a princess, Kris?”
“Of course you look like a princess,” I answer, chuckling to myself. Honestly, Jonne is a princess inside and out. He has everything so down pat that I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten an invite from the Queen of England to come and join the Royal family.
But then I’d have to move to England, so I’m glad she hasn’t caught wind of his fantastic princess-like tendencies.
Jonne’s smile returned and he did a twirl before strutting back into our room. I took a sip of the beer that I was holding loosely in one hand and then took a small puff from my cigarette which was slowly smouldering away. Sitting here and watching Jonne parade around isn’t so bad, I guess.
“Kris! Where’s my white jeans? The skinny ones?”
“I have no idea,” I shout back, taking a small sip of my now warm beer before continuing, “probably where you left them.”
Jonne’s head pokes around the door. “Where did I leave them?”
“Under the bed, kulta,” I reply, shaking my head when he disappears behind the door again.
“Found them! They were under the bed.”
“Fancy that,” I mumble, taking yet another sip of my beer.
I sit silently, listening to the noises that Jonne is making in the bedroom and puff away on my thin, smouldering stick of cancer. It doesn’t take long before I grow impatient, flicking my cigarette for no reason, twisting the beer bottle between my fingers.
“Jonne, come on. I don’t want to sit here and watch you parade all day,” I call, even though I wouldn’t mind doing just that. Not that I’d ever admit it, but watching him parade around in his clothes, smiling his sultry pouty smile, is one of my favourite things to do.
“Okay, okay. Almost ready,” he calls back, making a few more shuffling noises.
I’m looking down at my beer bottle when he comes out. At first, I don’t look up, expecting him to just start parading. When I don’t hear his footsteps making their way across the room, I finally glance up at him.
What I intended to be a glance turns into a complete mouth-opened stare.
“What about this outfit?” Jonne whispers, smiling shyly. “Do you like this one?”
“It’s perfect,” I answer, my eyes glued to his body, scrutinising every inch of it.
He pads across the room slowly and tentatively, his destination inevitably being me. And, just as slowly, he moves to sit on my lap. I open my arms and welcome him, helping him to sit on my lap, his legs either side of me.
“Do you like this one better than the rest?” Jonne asks, shyly, his watery blue eyes looking softly into mine.
“Maybe,” I answer with a small smile.
“But I’m not wearing anything.”
I smile at him. “That’s the point.”
His lips press against mine and I immediately respond, my arms snaking loosely around his waist.
“You like my parades, admit it,” Jonne mumbles against my lips.
I smile and kiss him again. “I don’t think so.”
“You do too.”
“Whatever you say, kulta,” I reply, going to kiss him again.
He gives up, for this time, and kisses me back.