Switching with Actaeon

Actaeon has cut his hair. It leaves his cheekbones higher, more exposed, his lips (even) fuller, and the planes of his face are harsher and more masculine. He looks…. aggressive. But that makes me uncomfortable, so I tell him that he resembles a young hedgehog and feel my heart contract at his expression of distress.

There is a difference even in his walk- no longer the feminine sway of his hips to which I am so accustomed (and so enjoy watching!) but a more assertive tread of boots now.I don’t know how to respond to this person I know but do not know, this masculine side of himself to whom I’ve never been formally introduced: “Hello, who are you? I have shared my body, my heart, with you, but I don’t know you.”

I know I am being cruel, know that my small, cutting remarks are out of line, but I can’t help it. I’m disconcerted, frightened by the replacement of the boi I’ve loved with this young man I’ve only ever seen glimpses of.…. and fear as always made me angry.

It is later, and I have apologized. Seeing glimpses of the boi I love in this man I barely know has helped until I’ve begun to slowly integrate them in my head, in my heart, and let me see this man as simply another facet of the boi I love.

We are kissing, and even that is different. This is not the gentle yielding of his mouth to mine but something harsher, more aggressive. His tongue fences with mine, where before it yielded, his lips demand where before they begged. I don’t know this stranger who is kissing me with the familiarity of a lover, and it makes me tense, afraid. Who are you? Why are you pressing your body to mine as though you are my lover, as though I know you, and why do I have the unaccountable urge to yield to it?

And suddenly it clicks.

His need to express this newfound masculinity aggressively, our long-ago discussions of him as a switch, and my own trust in him. It crystallizes in a single memory of him holding me, rocking me, whispering words of comfort when I was afraid and overwhelmed, and abruptly the switch is thrown.

I know this man, he is another facet of the boi whom I love. I trust this man, who has proven that he can comfort me and still believe in me afterward, and he is worthy of this, this yielding in me which I do not give to anyone.

My body goes soft, pliant in his hands, and my mouth opens to his. There is a single startled moment as his mind registers the change in me before his hands respond- tightening their grip with a low growl, winding in my hair, his body pressing me farther into the bed and his hips opening my now-willing legs.

And I let myself sink into the trust, the surrender, which I so rarely allow myself, so rarely trust in another being as he relearns what this victory feels like with someone capable of fighting.