Demon Stories

Josephine: Given, 1983, New York City

Josephine

Given

1983, New York City

Listening to the breezing by cars below, the puddles sloshing as they flew by, I rested my chin in my hand on the bed as my ears perked up to the sounds of Beau humming in the bathroom with the door open as he fixed his hair. The sound of a blow dryer came on. This feminine type of use perked up another part, my thoughts. Of him. Of me. The special thing which brought us together. Our "feminine charms" as he called it. 

Deep in troubling thought, I called out to him, knowing he would hear me over that noisy beast.

"Beau!" I called out in a pained voice, "Beau!"

Immediately the hair dryer shut off in haste and it clattered on the sink's countertop in a hurry. I heard him unplug it, ever cautious, and the door swing closed, then his careful footsteps on the plush carpet of our bedroom. 

With elegance and slow grace, he slid under the sheets with me and suddenly he was peering into my eyes in curiosity. He adored to peer into my eyes. "Yes, my love, what's wrong?" he asked, full of deep concern. I felt his slender fingered hand brush on my shoulder as I settled against him, front to front, comfortably. His hand continued exploringly a little to touch my arm gently, not in a sexual way, I knew this, but just to admire my physical feeling. Something inside me sighed in happiness at this innocent meaning of touch.

"Beau, please listen carefully to what I have to say. Listen," I said as nicely as I could. 

"I am all ears," he said, halting his touching me and withdrawing his hand to show his seriousness. The part of me which was sighing at his touch started weeping a little bit. But I could not show him this now. This was serious.

"Tell me why," I began, but then faltered.

He gave me a tiny encouraging smile, never once taking his look from my eyes. My heart melted at this smile, this well intended smile.

I breathed a quick breath. "Tell me why you refer to me as a 'he'. Everyone else calls me 'she', and you know that. So why. You even refer to me as 'she' in front of strangers. So why."

He grew nervous at this, I could hear his heart beating faster, feel it in the bed as it resonated in him like a bell. I took his hand into my own with a tight grip. It was a mistake and I almost wanted to laugh if this were not such a serious moment, because that gesture made his heart beat double-fold as quickly in his young boy type of love for me. 

"Its hard to explain," he said shyly. 

"We literally have eternity," I smiled.

He gave a careful smile at this joke. 

He was quiet for many, many minutes. My thoughts drifted to his hands, one of which was still in mine. They are long fingered, slender, but also large like a man's should be. However, my hands are larger than his. I hated to admit it bothered me. It bothered me a lot. Even though I know he is Asian, and I am British, so of course my hands might be bigger than his. But how I long for small, feminine hands. Hands where the gloves didn't have to be ordered specially and the questions asked by the clerk when I tried to pick them up so very many years ago. Hands...that can fit inside Beau's hands. His warm hands, overtaking mine in their manly largeness. It made my heart yearn with a burning pain.