Page 51 of Out of the Dark

CLAIRE

"Well," I say, breaking the growing silence between us after I’ve managed to catch my breath, "I definitely see why people enjoy doing that so much."

Mark’s low laughter vibrates through my body as he pulls me in close to him. I lay my head on his chest and drape an arm over his midsection, though it’s hard to ignore the bulge at the front of his sweatpants.

"Do you, um, want me to—" I’m not exactly sure how to ask my question, so I simply gesture toward his lower half.

Thankfully, he understands without asking for clarification. "No, I’m okay. Tonight was about you." I nod against his chest, the rest of my body feeling limp. His large hand spans across my lower back, and I feel like I’m right where I belong.

I never would have imagined I’d be in a position like this—curled up against a man I’m not even dating, let alone oneI’m not married to, after he talked me through how to make myself orgasm. It was, without a doubt, the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. But alongside the afterglow of the pleasure, another feeling creeps in, and it takes me a moment to place it.

Guilt.

With as much progress as I’ve made in my personal journey these last few months, it’s still difficult to extricate myself from the teachings I grew up with—that what I just did is dirty and shameful, that I should repent and do better. That I’ll face eternal damnation for giving in to the desires of the flesh. It’s so messed up.

Another couple minutes pass in comfortable silence before Mark asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Good. And weird," I admit.

"Why weird?"

Do I dare tell him about the warring emotions in my head? I decide that yes, I will, if only because we seem to be reaching stronger levels of connection and he deserves to know since he was a participant in all of this too.

"I guess it’s just difficult to reconcile the new me with who I was before. It’s hard to get the religious programming out of my head sometimes. Like, I don’t even think I believe in God anymore, but for some reason, I still feel a little guilty for what I just did. It makes no sense."

Mark squeezes me, just a quick one-second motion, but it eases the worry just a little bit knowing he’s here for me. "It makes perfect sense," he says. "You spent your entire life being told you should be ashamed of things that are perfectly natural. Shame and guilt have a way of manifesting into something that’s more deeply rooted than a simple change in beliefs can fix."

"That’s true. I just don’t understand why that’s the case. If I don’t believe I’m going to hell anymore for doing things like that, why is my subconscious still screaming at me that I’m dirty and impure?"

Mark is silent for a moment before speaking, but I take comfort in being pressed against his warm body, in feeling safe and wanted. "I’ll tell you a secret—human beings are wired for conformity. We do what we need to do to fit in with the people around us because long ago, isolation from a tribe meant death. It’s ingrained in our psyche that we need to think and act like others. You spent your life surrounded by a community of religious extremists, and your brain did what it could to survive. Breaking away from the pack and leaving was the biggest act of bravery you could have taken. You still just have a bit to unlearn."

I’m pretty sure my jaw is hanging open by the time he finishes speaking, and unwanted tears prick at my eyes. "When the heck did you get so smart?" I laugh, because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, and the words he just spoke were more revelatory than anything I’ve been told, even in therapy. It’s like he’s shining a light on something so obvious that I never would have realized myself.

Mark’s gentle laughter rumbles in his chest. "I’ve had a lot of time in my life to think about why people do the things they do. And I've seen enough to know that everyone's fighting their own battles, even if they look perfectly fine on the outside."

"That makes sense. It's really hard sometimes to unlearn all the things I grew up believing."

He strokes my hair gently and says, "It is hard, but you're doing it. Every day, you're discovering more about who you are, and that’s a wonderful thing."

I smile at that. "Thank you for helping me see thingsdifferently. And for everything else you’ve done for me."

We lie in silence for a while until another question comes to the surface.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did have me touch myself instead of you touching me?"

"Because your body belongs to you first and foremost, and I wanted you to take ownership of your own sexuality before anyone else could touch you like that, myself included. You deserve to have pleasure, and you now have the knowledge that you can give yourself that pleasure all on your own."

I doubt he has any idea just how much his words hit their mark. I know all those things, but hearing them spoken aloud gives them weight.

"Thank you for that," I whisper. "But youdowant to touch me like that, right?" Because if I was misreading all those stolen glances and touches, then this is going to bereallyawkward.

He sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath my head. "I want to touch you so badly it hurts."

"Well, on that note," I say, "can we do this again at some point?"

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