Your Voice

I shiver in the cool air, wrapping my scarf tighter around myself and wishing I had worn more layers. I hadn’t thought it’d be so chilly when I left my house. I almost felt embarrassed wearing the rainbow gear Gemma bought me, but then I figure why bother being embarrassed when I’ll never see these people walking the streets again? I’d never cared before how I came across to others. After all, I could never discern what others thought about me. Even if they verbally wanted to tell me, it’s not like I could hear.

I was meeting Mark at a little bakery just outside London; I’d had to take the train a few stops but I didn’t mind. During the holidays it was less crowded at daytime hours. I hadn’t seen Mark since the Christmas party at Dylan’s work, but we had texted a handful of times. I was glad he was such an extrovert, he didn’t seem to mind if I asked him questions pertaining to Dylan’s relationship with me. Whether they were sexual or not. And it was nice being so open to someone. The internet wasn’t always the best option, I needed someone actually in a gay relationship, you know?

I’m grateful when I finally get into the bakery, which is warm and toasty and smells like fresh baking bread. Mark isn’t here yet, which is a slight disappointment, but I decided I can order myself food anyway. It’s not the first time I’ve had to order without a hearing person around to speak for me, I was sure I could manage.

Behind the counter is a disinterested teenage boy, probably my age, with blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail and tucked into a beanie. He looked so bored, but I can’t really blame him. The place was dead; it was the awkward mushy middle between rush times. I smile slightly, feeling weird. My stomach is uneasy; it’s not every day I have to order myself something to eat without Dylan or Gemma or Chris to sign my order to, who then relay it to the waiter or cashier, but I can’t rely on them so heavily. I mean I have to be independent don’t I? That was the point of going back to a normal college, so I could prepare myself for when I might someday be off to Uni.

At first I stutter with my hands, making an awkward gesture. The kid seems pretty confused, but a few awkward signs and motion to my ear and he gets the idea that I’m deaf. His eyes are wide and his cheeks turn red and he definitely seems caught off guard, but he grabs a paper menu from behind the till and passes it over to me. Perfect, I think.

I end up going for a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a scone, which he says he’ll bring to me once he has made them. He moves his lips almost insultingly slow but I can’t be mad at the hearing for attempting to accommodate me. This is how they all act. Meet a deaf mute, and they think we are mentally incapable of any and everything. Like I can’t read lips or like I haven’t been to a bakery and have enough common knowledge to get they’ll bring me my drink once it’s done.

But I just smile, trying to be nice to the boy and nod my head, giving him the sign for thank you despite the fact I’m sure he’s no idea what I’ve said. And his cheeks turn pink, and I can tell I’ve embarrassed him. Actually, it might be a little bit more than that. I blink and for a moment I think the guy is kind of cute, before I take my change and head for a table in the far corner to wait for Mark.

I’m only stuck alone for five minutes, max, when Mark finally strolls in, wearing many more layers than me and his cheeks so pink I definitely know he walked here. I smile, giving a wave and he waves back enthusiastically, the cold not deterring his peppy mood one bit. Lucky guy. He heads to the counter before me and orders his own food, before he nearly skips over to the table I’ve selected.

“Sorry I’m late!” He signs and speaks, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck and pulling off his knitted cap. I can see that his nose, too, is bright red. I lift up my chocolate milk as if to say it’s alright, passing him a smile. Maybe it’s the warm hot chocolate or the cool weather but I’m feeling lighthearted this morning. “John says I will never be on time for anything,” he laughs, sitting down across from me and scooting closer. “How was the ride in?”

“Not bad,” I sign once I set my drink down, hands toasty warm. I’d been afraid I might be too frozen to sign in the first place, so it’s a good thing I was early. “Not many people at all.”

Mark grins, happy with the news. He settles into his seat, casting a glance over toward the boy behind the counter who’s busy making his coffee. “That’s good, that makes me feel better. Surprisingly, John was home when I woke up this morning. We ate bowls of cereal together and everything, we haven’t had breakfast together for a while.” I grin, and I’d make an awe sound if I really wanted to. But Mark seems to hear it despite the fact I never made the sound. “Yeah, he seems to really be in the holiday mood.”

“You didn’t have to come see me, if you wanted to spend time with him.” I sign, because I know they didn’t get much time together. Less time than Dylan and I, and it was hard enough to leave my boyfriend at his house. I’d just wanted to stay curled up under the covers while we were both on break, but I also really wanted to come talk to Mark in person. It was just so easy with him.

“Nonsense! We haven’t actually hung out since the party. I wanted to come,” Mark insists, hands moving rapidly before he blows hot air into his palms. I imagine he’s still cold.

Right on time, the barista brings over Mark’s muffin and coffee, smiling as he sets it down on the table. I see his eyes flit quickly over to me, which is confusing for a split second before he sets down a napkin with digits written across and quickly turns and books it back to his spot behind the counter. My eyes are wide as I stare down at the napkin, only just registering that it is definitely a phone number. A bloody phone number. The barista just gave me his phone number.

“Oh my god,” Mark says, or I imagine I don’t quite catch words on his lips, but he chokes on his hot coffee and reaches over with fast hands to grab the napkin as if to inspect it. I’m guessing he is just as in shock as I am. He is giggling I can tell, and pushes the napkin back over toward me as he tears off a piece of his muffin and shoves it in his mouth. “I wonder what Dylan would think about that. That guy just hit on you Kade! He thinks you’re hot.” He signs, and I feel my cheeks burn so red I’m sure it looks like I’m wind burn. I shake my head, pushing the napkin aside and setting my drink on top of it so I don’t have to look at those numbers. Nobody in my entire life has ever so bluntly hit on me. Who gives their numbers to random deaf boys in their bakery?! This can’t be normal. I don’t even want to think about it right now.

“Speaking of Dylan, we need to talk about him.” Mark signs, quirking up an eyebrow that doesn’t help with my blush. “You know I have no problem with you asking for advice and stuff. You can ask me whatever you want,” he shrugs, alternating between drinking his coffee and eating his muffin.

I sigh, nodding my head as I reach for my chocolate again and promptly ignore that little paper napkin. “I guess I did kind of want some advice,” I say, and Mark grins widely and nods as if to prompt me on. “You do remember when you said to wait until I love him to have sex?” I ask, and Mark gives a slight nod, paying close attention to my hands. At this point I’m not sure my blush will ever go away. “I- I love him. I know I do. We have just never said it and I don’t want to be the first.” Mark makes as if he is about to say something when I quickly wave my hand because I want to keep going while I still have the courage to. Saying all this felt weird, but also I felt relieved. ”But I want to figure that out on my own what I mostly want to talk about is…. Sex.” The sign is foreign and weird and I have to take a glance around, as if anyone here might actually speak sign language.

“So ask away Kade,” Mark signs, and this time his lips don’t move. I kind of like that we have a secret language to freely talk about sex in a public place. Chances are no one in the place knows what we are saying, and that makes me feel at least a little bit better. “Don’t be shy and I won’t either. I’ve had a lot of gay sex, trust me. I can help you out.”

Is he trying to make uncomfortable? Because it’s working, but he is right. I need someone to talk to and ask questions, and Mark is the perfect guy.
~

It’s nearing dinner time when I finally get back to my village, and it’s only gotten colder. I haven’t really stayed much at my parent’s house since I’ve been on break but I haven’t heard any complaints from them. Or Dylan, for that matter. Of course he doesn’t mind, we end every night with making out and at least a couple with something more.

I smile when Dylan rushes to hug me when I get inside the house, his body warm and soft and he smells like a fresh shower. I wrap my arms around Dylan’s waist and rests my head on his chest, closing my eyes and wishing not for the first time that I could hear my boyfriend’s heartbeat. Sometimes when I’m lucky I can feel it.

Dylan kisses me, soft and wet, and I squeeze his hips tightly at he pulls back and smiles cutely. “I missed you,” Dylan says, knowing I could read his lips better than any other lips on the planet. I smile and nod my head in agreement, leaning up to give Dylan another gentle kiss before I finally pull back and start to take off my coat and layers.

“Gemma is out with Chris,” Dylan signs, and I literally freeze for a moment with that news.

We have the entire house to themselves, then, for god knows how long. It could be hours. And that doesn’t happen often and I imagine neither of us are very quiet when we’re in bed together, and I literally can’t get Mark’s advice out of my mind.

Basically, Mark had told me to work up on everything. We had been getting each other off for a while now, blow jobs and hand jobs and dry humping. Nothing much more serious than that, but Mark gave me the advice to try taking things a little…further. A little dirtier. I can’t get the image out of my brain that Mark put there, of Dylan moving his fingers past my private sexual organs, down between my thighs and back somewhere I’d only sparsely imagined anyone touching. But I had to admit the mere idea had me twitching in my jeans and awkwardly even clenching up a bit, if you catch my drift.

I shake my head and smile, looking past Dylan’s slightly worried glance. I act as if I’ve just zoned out, and technically I have but Dylan doesn’t need to know that I zoned out to the thought of Dylan attempting to stretch my asshole. Dear god, this is such a weird new thing for me but I am not opposed to the idea.

I suggest we make some sandwiches for dinner and Dylan agrees, taking my hand as we head into the kitchen together. While we’re slicing cheese, I gasp and suddenly turn to Dylan, obviously scaring him a bit if the look he gives me is anything to go by.

“Oh my god Dylan, the boy who served me my drink and stuff?! He wrote his number on a napkin and gave it to me!” I sign fast, hoping he catches it all and I know he does if the sudden hardened look is anything to go by. I hadn’t thought he’d be angry at the news, more amused like Mark was but maybe I was wrong… “I didn’t keep it,” I say quickly, a frown pitching my lips and a line forming between my brows. Dylan shrugs and glances down at the cheese, finishing up the sandwiches and my stomach clenches up hard because shit. Was I not supposed to tell him that? “I threw it away Dylan I swear,” I sign, softer this time, and Dylan must see my crestfallen face because he releases a sigh and finally smiles at me.

He moves to wrap his arms around my waist, squeezing my hips and leaning down to press a quick kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, he lifts his hands to sign, “I know you didn’t baby. It’s not that. I mean, you’re hot I’m not surprised he tried hitting on it. It’s just…” He struggles for a second, hands dropping.

I bite my lip and grab his hands, squeezing them tightly, before I pull back and sign, “You just what? Tell me. I didn’t think you’d get mad.”

“I’m not mad!” He says quickly, hand movements firm so I know how serious he is. I nod and he continues. “It’s not that. It’s that I wasn’t there, and I guess I’m kinda jealous because you’re my boyfriend, you know? He needs to back off.” He doesn’t sign the last sentence, rather mumbles it and I can just barely understand what comes off his lips.

Feeling my cheeks suddenly warm, I hadn’t thought someone else’s jealousy might turn me on. Or make me happy, nonetheless. Dylan is cute, all jealous over some random teenager giving me their number, like I’d actually go for someone like them when I had Dylan back home. Yeah right. It’s really cute. But also… sexy. And again, I can’t stop thinking about what Mark said and I find myself swallowing the thick lump in my throat and decide I might as well just go for it.

“I am your boyfriend,” I sign, moving slowly toward him until we’re almost pressed together. Dylan narrows his eyes, staring down at me like he’s trying to read my mind. I’m glad he can’t considering what’s going through my head- I can’t help it. Blame it on the hormones and my age. “I couldn’t imagine being anyone else’s. I’m thinking maybe you can…. Prove I’m yours?” I say, moving my hands toward his shoulders and biting my lip. Dylan’s eyes get impossibly wide and his cheeks redden and I’m afraid I’ve made some terrible mistake, and suddenly lose my nerve. There goes the seduction attempt.

I shake my head and quickly step away, probably making an awkward noise as I rub the back of my neck. “I just,” I sign with one hand, not looking Dylan in the eye. “I wasn’t trying to ask you for sex or anything I have just been thinking that making we could try taking it one step further.” I swear my cheeks will never go back to normal after this, but if I can’t talk to Dylan about what I want then I shouldn’t be with him in the first place.

“Baby,” Dylan laughs, grabbing my hips and yanking me close, making me lean back against the counter as he kisses me. “You know I always want you,” he murmurs lowly, pressing his hips to mine in a way that makes me gasp and thrust up and I am totally hard already. It’s pathetic. Dylan kisses my jaw, moving back to my earlobe and nipping it gently. He squeezes my hips and pulls away so he can still communicate, his pupils blown more than they should be. I swallow thickly. “Tell me what you’re thinking specifically?” He asks, and I whine and shake my head, pressing my face into his shoulder and feeling his chest vibrate in a chuckle. This is so embarrassing. But Mark said I should be able to talk to Dylan about this stuff, especially if I want to start experimenting with it. Take it a piece at a time, he said. Don’t just rush into sex. Let Dylan explore my body so he’s familiar for when we finally get to that point. I just wish I wasn’t so goddamn awkward.

I pull back, staring at his chest. I can’t make myself say it, and I can’t make myself sign it, and being an English Literature major who loves to both read and write, I know there’s only one way I can do this.

I pull my phone from my back pocket, Dylan taking a step back in confusion as I start to type away a message to him, knowing this was kind of corny but also the only way I could do it. I was just too awkward otherwise. Too new to it all; I’m just glad Dylan’s every bit of a virgin as I am.

He glances around, I imagine hearing his phone chime from the text I’ve just sent. I swallow thickly, watching him walk to the kitchen table to lift his phone up, where he will unlock it and read a message from me that says: I want the both of us naked in your bed, with some lube on your fingers while you explore a part of me you’ve never touched…. I want you to try fingering me.

I wish I could hear, so bad. I want to imagine Dylan moaning just from the text I’ve sent, and then he looks over at me with half lidded eyes and warm cheeks and my lower stomach clenches hard, penis strains against my zipper. He sets his phone down and damn near stalks towards me, kissing me so hard it leaves me breathless, my neck straining to look up and back pressing into the counter. His hand pushes through my hair, the other reaching down to squeeze my ass hard. He’s always loved doing that. “Baby,” he pants hotly against my lips, pulling back and I am so happy he already has an obvious tent in his pajama bottoms. “Let’s eat dinner later. Come to bed with me?” He asks, and I place my hands in his and nod, nervous butterflies in my tummy, but also excited ones.

After all, I did see this as a step further in our relationship. And I loved those.