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I've Got Your Back
Glimpse of heaven
The sun is just rising and in this stolen light I will tell you what happened last night. Still I am worried about this falling into wrong hands but I can hold this in no longer. I shall start on the day I refused to write about, just three days before I left. I said before it was beautiful and in truth it completely was - despite what people say.
We were riding out like usual, silent under the glare of the sun when he asked me if I wanted to stop for a while, rest in the shade and let the horses drink. We did, and as they drank from the cool stream he lay on the grass, head propped on his hands. “Lie down then,” Matthew told me playfully, “it’s peculiar looking at the world this way up.” I did as he told me and from our backs we studied the pattern of the dappled leaves above our head. His eyes were so curious, so deeply engaged with nature and I soon found myself looking at them and not the greenery. I honestly can’t say why I did it but impulse caused me to brush my hand across his cheek. I think I wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. He turned his face to mine, shock rippling across his perfect face. I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t explain what had happened and so remained silent. Then, so slowly it was painful, his hand stirred from his side. He cupped my face with it, brushing my lips with his thumb as gently as a whisper.
He moved his body closer to mine, and our eyes locked on each other. I was just about to ask him what he was doing when he pressed his warm, perfect lips against my chapped ones, silencing my question immediately. For a few moments I did not think. I simply felt the pressure that he placed and returned it, closing my eyes for a fleeting moment in pure wonder. I had never kissed like this before, did not know such a thing could be so tender. When he pulled away it was like my body actually ached. I reached towards him desperately and our lips met once again, slightly parted and far more urgent this time. Then, once again we were forced to part. Matthew planted a soft peck on each eyelid before I opened my eyes, studying his face intently, looking for some clue as to what had just happened. I found nothing and, as in total silence we both gathered the horses, mounted silently and rode on.
We never spoke about that moment again. But sometimes I wondered if the sadness in his voice was actually regret, if he felt sorry that the moment had happened. Now I know the truth: that it wasn’t regret he felt towards that moment at all.
Last night when I went to his quarters the meal was already laid out on plates. It was chicken, in an orange sauce and he had even managed to sort out buttered potatoes. As we ate the delicious meal we talked, like we usually do, about the day. I was recounting a rather humorous tale about Private Dobson’s target practice incident when I noticed he looked angry. “What’s wrong Sir?” I questioned. Instantly I knew I had said the wrong thing, his cutlery crashed down onto his barely touched food as he said angrily “I’ve told you before to call me Matthew,” and then, under his breath he muttered “Damned hell.”
My hand reached out and rested on his arm as concern filled me, I wondered if he had received bad news from home or something like that. He shrugged me off harshly. “Don’t touch me. How dare you touch me?” he spat. Disproportionately saddened I stood up to leave, before the worst thing possible happened and I started to cry.
“Matthew, tell me what’s wrong?” I asked softly, trying one last time to help. Within a second he had stood up too, and pressing his hands roughly against my chest I was shoved against the wall. I looked at him standing above me, breathing heavily, hands still on my chest and then I understood.
I understood what the sadness in his voice meant, I understood why I had been so hurt when he had snubbed me. “I know…I know” I whispered, my breath reaching his face, needing to let him know I understood this painful concoction of emotions. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled softly, loosening his grip. His hands moved to snake around my waist as he kissed me, gentle like before at first. As our lips met, left each other and tenderly met again I could feel my body wanting more. Without thinking I pushed his lips apart with my tongue. His tongue snaked inside my mouth in response and his warm hand cupped my cheek. It tasted like nothing I’d ever experienced before. As his tongue explored my mouth I pulled his body closer into mine desperately. I needed to grip onto something and my hands wove their way into his hair. He moved his lips from mine and began to plant gentle kisses along my jaw line, he sucked on my neck and something very like electricity shot through me, warming me to the core. I closed my eyes and let a small moan slip past my lips. Our bodies were pressed so tightly together I felt him grow hard, my body responded in kind but we were both too shy and too new to this to venture into those areas just yet. I lifted his head up and began to kiss him once more, we had moved places and now it was me who pushed him playfully against the wall. What felt like hours passed of perfection, my body reacted automatically to his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was inbuilt within me to know what to do. I never wanted it to end. It did of course, with one final nibble on my lower lip and a gentle closing peck on the cheek.
Instantly I was worried about what would happen afterwards: the guilt, the embarrassment, the awkward situation we would both be in. But it just wasn’t like that at all. In fact after we had parted we laughed slightly nervously together and in that instant everything felt completely normal. “I…I…” I stumbled nervously, “I haven’t ever done that before. With a man I mean.” I felt my cheeks burning red hot as I waited for his reply, would he think I was terribly naïve? He smiled back at me reassuringly, “Me either.” That was all he needed to say, to make me realise that this was as frightening for him as it was for me, and probably just as exhilarating too. I knew we shouldn’t be doing it but somehow the taboo of it all only made it feel better.
We sat down once again and I finished the meal with one hand; the other was interwoven with his. My thumb brushed slowly over the top of his hand and a smile spread across his face. It was the first time since The Letter had arrived that I didn’t feel at all scared. Eventually I knew I had to leave and so I tore myself away from him with one last kiss and snuck back here quietly, my head awash with confusing thoughts and feelings.
I’ve heard the names before - always whispered. Names for people who do things like me I mean: Pansy. Queer. Fag. Sodomite.
Abomination.
And yet, it doesn’t feel like I have done anything sinful. How can something that feels so perfectly right be wrong? In truth, it was like touching a glimpse of heaven and if anything it will make me say my prayers a little more dedicatedly tonight – for I have so much to be thankful for in him.
We were riding out like usual, silent under the glare of the sun when he asked me if I wanted to stop for a while, rest in the shade and let the horses drink. We did, and as they drank from the cool stream he lay on the grass, head propped on his hands. “Lie down then,” Matthew told me playfully, “it’s peculiar looking at the world this way up.” I did as he told me and from our backs we studied the pattern of the dappled leaves above our head. His eyes were so curious, so deeply engaged with nature and I soon found myself looking at them and not the greenery. I honestly can’t say why I did it but impulse caused me to brush my hand across his cheek. I think I wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. He turned his face to mine, shock rippling across his perfect face. I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t explain what had happened and so remained silent. Then, so slowly it was painful, his hand stirred from his side. He cupped my face with it, brushing my lips with his thumb as gently as a whisper.
He moved his body closer to mine, and our eyes locked on each other. I was just about to ask him what he was doing when he pressed his warm, perfect lips against my chapped ones, silencing my question immediately. For a few moments I did not think. I simply felt the pressure that he placed and returned it, closing my eyes for a fleeting moment in pure wonder. I had never kissed like this before, did not know such a thing could be so tender. When he pulled away it was like my body actually ached. I reached towards him desperately and our lips met once again, slightly parted and far more urgent this time. Then, once again we were forced to part. Matthew planted a soft peck on each eyelid before I opened my eyes, studying his face intently, looking for some clue as to what had just happened. I found nothing and, as in total silence we both gathered the horses, mounted silently and rode on.
We never spoke about that moment again. But sometimes I wondered if the sadness in his voice was actually regret, if he felt sorry that the moment had happened. Now I know the truth: that it wasn’t regret he felt towards that moment at all.
Last night when I went to his quarters the meal was already laid out on plates. It was chicken, in an orange sauce and he had even managed to sort out buttered potatoes. As we ate the delicious meal we talked, like we usually do, about the day. I was recounting a rather humorous tale about Private Dobson’s target practice incident when I noticed he looked angry. “What’s wrong Sir?” I questioned. Instantly I knew I had said the wrong thing, his cutlery crashed down onto his barely touched food as he said angrily “I’ve told you before to call me Matthew,” and then, under his breath he muttered “Damned hell.”
My hand reached out and rested on his arm as concern filled me, I wondered if he had received bad news from home or something like that. He shrugged me off harshly. “Don’t touch me. How dare you touch me?” he spat. Disproportionately saddened I stood up to leave, before the worst thing possible happened and I started to cry.
“Matthew, tell me what’s wrong?” I asked softly, trying one last time to help. Within a second he had stood up too, and pressing his hands roughly against my chest I was shoved against the wall. I looked at him standing above me, breathing heavily, hands still on my chest and then I understood.
I understood what the sadness in his voice meant, I understood why I had been so hurt when he had snubbed me. “I know…I know” I whispered, my breath reaching his face, needing to let him know I understood this painful concoction of emotions. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled softly, loosening his grip. His hands moved to snake around my waist as he kissed me, gentle like before at first. As our lips met, left each other and tenderly met again I could feel my body wanting more. Without thinking I pushed his lips apart with my tongue. His tongue snaked inside my mouth in response and his warm hand cupped my cheek. It tasted like nothing I’d ever experienced before. As his tongue explored my mouth I pulled his body closer into mine desperately. I needed to grip onto something and my hands wove their way into his hair. He moved his lips from mine and began to plant gentle kisses along my jaw line, he sucked on my neck and something very like electricity shot through me, warming me to the core. I closed my eyes and let a small moan slip past my lips. Our bodies were pressed so tightly together I felt him grow hard, my body responded in kind but we were both too shy and too new to this to venture into those areas just yet. I lifted his head up and began to kiss him once more, we had moved places and now it was me who pushed him playfully against the wall. What felt like hours passed of perfection, my body reacted automatically to his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was inbuilt within me to know what to do. I never wanted it to end. It did of course, with one final nibble on my lower lip and a gentle closing peck on the cheek.
Instantly I was worried about what would happen afterwards: the guilt, the embarrassment, the awkward situation we would both be in. But it just wasn’t like that at all. In fact after we had parted we laughed slightly nervously together and in that instant everything felt completely normal. “I…I…” I stumbled nervously, “I haven’t ever done that before. With a man I mean.” I felt my cheeks burning red hot as I waited for his reply, would he think I was terribly naïve? He smiled back at me reassuringly, “Me either.” That was all he needed to say, to make me realise that this was as frightening for him as it was for me, and probably just as exhilarating too. I knew we shouldn’t be doing it but somehow the taboo of it all only made it feel better.
We sat down once again and I finished the meal with one hand; the other was interwoven with his. My thumb brushed slowly over the top of his hand and a smile spread across his face. It was the first time since The Letter had arrived that I didn’t feel at all scared. Eventually I knew I had to leave and so I tore myself away from him with one last kiss and snuck back here quietly, my head awash with confusing thoughts and feelings.
I’ve heard the names before - always whispered. Names for people who do things like me I mean: Pansy. Queer. Fag. Sodomite.
Abomination.
And yet, it doesn’t feel like I have done anything sinful. How can something that feels so perfectly right be wrong? In truth, it was like touching a glimpse of heaven and if anything it will make me say my prayers a little more dedicatedly tonight – for I have so much to be thankful for in him.
♠ ♠ ♠
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