Being Kalli(11)

Yet, it’s still calmness that seeps into me in that dragged-out moment as he passes over the bow.

I clear my throat, pretend nothing changed, and say, “Resin is what makes the sound, dummy. You need to layer it on the first time to cover all the strings. I just swipe it a few times before I practice to top up because it’s mostly already coated.”

“You’ve got such a big head Kall Bell with your jargon talk.”

“I’m not even sprucing up the explanation. It’s just fact.”

“I think that vibration of yours is still finer than your violin smarts.”

Oh God, not the stupid vibration/vibrato joke.

I tilt my head back, chuckling open mouthed. Both Nate and I realise at the same time my vulnerable position, and he goes in with the finger at the same time I clamp my teeth together, trapping his suspect finger about to go down my gaping hole.

“Can’t even laugh around you.”

“Nope. Not even to brag about that beautiful vibration you can do with your fingers.”

I chuckle close-mouthed this time, then say, “Nate it’s vibrato, and it’s a violin term, not even dirty in the slightest until it comes out of your mouth.”

He winks. “I’m a dirty MoFo.”

“Nate …” I rub comforting circles on his thigh. “You’re not half as dirty as me and my vibrating fingers, the way I hold that neck and move my fingers up and down.”

Still looking at me, his face is motionless apart from his eyelids, rapidly blinking. He gulps, says, “We’re still talking about violin here, right?”

To demonstrate, I make do with the tiny half-size, grip my chin extra tight since display violins don’t come with a shoulder rest and the wood is shinier than polished shoes, and hold my fingers down, pretending to play that new song of my student’s with the dramatic short notes, adding trembling fingers on the strings to create the vibrato sound as if I were playing with a bow.

“See?” I say to Nate’s beaming smile.

I crinkle my forehead and look away, biting my lip. The heck? What was that face? I stand up and put the violin and its bow back on display, and walk back to see Nate has had his eye on me—or my back and my ass—while I did so.

Fine, he wants to play like that?

“Let’s go out back.”

We go through the back door and sit on the concrete steps. It’s so run down here, and I don’t know why the owners don’t bother to fix it up. Concrete with snaking cracks. Weeds clawing up through those cracks. Moss flourishing in the corners. The back fence has medium-sized holes where chunks in the planks have been hacked away by thugs, and the public on the sidewalk on the other side are loud and visible. The store owners’ kids play chasey and such out here in the morning until their older kid can pick them up at midday.

“So,” Nate starts.

I pick at the hem of his sleeve. It’s a vintage imitation T-shirt, made to look as if it’s been worn for years before Nate got to it. Faded black, charcoal. The hem is sort of frayed and the style is so effortless as it frames his muscles. “I love this one.”

“You said that last night when you went down on me.”

Stopping to recall, I go through what we said and what we did, and I mostly remember touching and the like. There couldn’t have been much talking, and even though I wasn’t sober, I’m sure I’d remember.

“No I didn’t?”

“Nah.” He nudges my arm. “I didn’t know how else to bring it up.”

“But you did.”

“Kall, I can’t just talk about—”

“About me asking to suck your cock?”

He groans into his palms, the sound muffled as his embarrassment eats him up. Typical Nate. He has a problem with talking dirty to me, even though I do it to him.

“How do you do that?”

“Cock?”

“Um, yes.”

I tap his forearm. His elbows are resting on his thighs, his hands clenched in the middle, and they’re in my way, frankly. Serves him right to be teased if he’s going to sexualise my vibrato skills. Nate unclasps his hands and I push them besides his thighs where I know they’ll graze my ass when I do what I’m about to do.

As I manoeuvre one leg over his lap, I’m conscious of the noises of the cars and people doing their thing and the kids running around. It’s something I’m always on the lookout for. It’s the silence I have to worry about.

“Cock?” I repeat. I settle further into his lap until we fit like two puzzle pieces, and then ask, “How do I just say that I sucked your cock last night without blushing as you are?”

And he’s red, all right. I could pour water over his face and he’d sizzle.