Page 7 of Touch In Excess

But Rami liked him immediately. If he wasn’t hoarding his virginity like a dragon hoarded gold—almost literally in this case since he’d planned to use that as his big climactic event on his channel—he probably would be making plans with how he was going to flirt his way into Skye’s bed.

Not that he’d ever accomplished that before, but also, no one had ever responded to Rami the way Skye did. And no one hadever been as tempting as him either. There was something about him, and Rami wanted more.

He just had to tread carefully because whatever this could be between them, he had a job to do, and he planned on doing it right. He could lie for his channel, but he didn’t want to invite the negative backlash when something so important was on the line.

Pulling a shower cap over his head, he grimaced at the sensation. He hated the way elastic felt along his scalp line, but it was worth it to avoid his hair getting wet. He never washed his own. He hated dealing with it, so he budgeted a salon trip three times a month to have it washed, conditioned, and detangled.

His curls were doing fine for now. And Skye didn’t seem to mind them when he was staring Rami up and down. His chest puffed out a little as he stepped under the lukewarm water and began to wash himself down with his thick, pearly, unscented soap.

The bits of clay clinging to his arm hair and the cracks and creases of his skin were stubborn. He used his nails to scrape as many as he could off, but he supposed that Skye had also seen him elbows-deep in wet clay, literally, and he didn’t mind that either.

The thought made him smile. The idea that someone might like him for him—someone could appreciate who he was without expecting him to mask just to fit in—was his greatest fantasy. And for a long time, he thought it was an unattainable one.

It was easier to stay a virgin and be true to himself than twist himself into shapes that left him raw and aching at the end of each day. That didn’t stop him from hoping that wouldn’t last forever, but he’d long since come to accept that might be his lot in life.

He sighed, pressing one hand to the wall as he took his other, covered in bubbles, and began to clean between his legs. His penis on the right was the longer one—the one with more sensation, though they both functioned perfectly fine. The one on the left was shorter and fatter and tended to get harder first but wasn’t as sensitive as the other.

These were things he’d never paid attention to before his channel. Before faceless strangers with bizarre screen names started pointing them out in the chat window. For a while, he hadn’t bothered reading what his audience had to say. He knew they were getting off on the fact that his body was different, and he assumed that was all that would matter.

But eventually, his donations began to drop, and he realized he had to do more. He had tobemore. So he started taking requests. And then he started doing auctions.

The last one had been allowing the winner to buy him a sex toy that he could fuck, and he’d say their screen name on camera as he came. He used a voice modulator for his own protection, but no one seemed to care. He raised enough for one whole tax payment and enough to see an extra zero in his savings account.

He understood now why people liked this life. He’d never really considered how much less stress came from being able to keep the lights on and food in his stomach. But he also understood how exhausting working like this could get.

He didn’t want to be famous. He ignored every email he got from porn studios offering him ridiculous money to appear in a film because they all wanted his face, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do.

In a world where privacy rarely existed, he wanted to cling to his own for as long as he could. He wanted moments where he could meet a random, adorable man with bright blue hearingaids and a sunny smile, and that man would have no idea who he was.

That felt important in a world of the superficial.

Rinsing off, Rami quickly stepped out and dried his body. He grabbed his lotion off the counter, then sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed it into his skin. He wasn’t a big fan of scents, but this one had just a touch of jasmine mixed in, and it reminded him of his grandmother. She’d died when he was six, but for him, his scent memory was the strongest, so with the little bottle of lotion, it was like she was with him for that moment.

He liked feeling connected to her and his grandfather. They knew about his differences—allof his differences—and they’d loved him exactly as he was. Just like they’d loved each other through all the stuff they’d been through, moving countries and trying to raise a family in a place they were never allowed to feel fully welcome.

He wanted to honor that memory by never giving up on himself or his dreams.

Digging his toes into the carpet, Rami shuffled to the pile of clothes he’d picked out and tried not to feel overwhelmed by choice. Most of his stuff was the same in varying colors. The same T-shirt, the same Henley, the same jeans. But he wanted to do something nice for his lunch date with Skye.

He knew this date couldn’t go anywhere—not really. Most men would not be willing to wait several weeks to get in his pants without a real explanation as to why he couldn’t have sex, so he didn’t have high expectations.

But there was still a tiny spark of hope in his gut.

He went with a soft button-up and a pair of tight, stretchy, acid-washed jeans. They were technically for women, but he didn’t care. Wearing them felt like a tight hug, and it kept him grounded when the anxiety of being in public was too much.

He turned right and left in front of the mirror and wished he was a better judge of himself. Was he hot? Did that matter?

His phone started buzzing, and he nearly tripped over himself getting to the nightstand.

Unknown: Are we going dressy or casual?

Ah, he really needed to update Skye’s name in his contacts. He did that first, then stared at the message again. Was he supposed to know this? He went casual every chance he got. He’d worn a suit once and swore it had become sentient and attempted to choke him to death for the afternoon he was forced to wear it. But he hadn’t ever really gone on dates. He didn’t know if there was some sort of protocol he was missing.

Rami: Casual? I put jeans on, but I can change. I don’t know where we’re going.

Skye: It’s a bar, but it’s quiet.

Rami: Oh. I don’t drink.

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