Confidence

	That summer, I got this job at an ice cream stand.  It sucked, it was minimum wage with no tips, (we had a jar, but no one gave a shit) they couldn’t really air condition the stand since the windows were always open, so all we had to keep us cool were a few fans, and ice cream is way less appealing when you have to clean up after kids dropping it everywhere all day.  To this day, I can’t do soft serve.
	But everyone’s had a crappy minimum wage job or two.  Or three, or more.  It was temporary, four months, and what else was I gonna get for that short a time?  Marcus was busy planning our move in August, and I wanted to save up at least a little money before then, so I’d have something in the bank when I uprooted my entire life.
	Not that I was having second thoughts.  Honestly, that summer, it was before I was really an adult, but past the point where I was worrying about High School any more, and I was too young and stupid to realize the real world was going to be hard.  Plus, I had this new relationship with my best friend, something I’d literally thought was impossible ever since I’d realized I had a thing for him, and now it was real and it was happening and everything was new and exciting.  I had my worries, sure.  But nothing big had come up yet.  So I was on cloud nine, for the most part.
	So having a little dried ice cream in my fur, walking home panting in the heat for ten blocks, my pawpads aching a bit from the hot sidewalks . . . all in all, not the worst thing ever.  Especially since I knew my boyfriend would be there, waiting for me at my place.  He’d texted one of my coworkers (I didn’t have my own phone then) to let me know he’d let himself in, and was tidying up.  Those’re literally the words he used.  Marcus has to be the only person I know who uses the word ‘tidying’ un-ironically.
	We’d always spent a lot of time together before, but now we saw each other nearly every day.  He’d bring by dinner a lot of nights, usually leftovers his mom had made.  Her pasta salad was awesome, and she always made too much, or he’d bring by ‘spare’ burger patties and we’d grill them up on the stovetop since I didn’t have anything resembling a grill.  I got the feeling his mother was intentionally sending a lot of food over because they knew I was on my own, and my food assistance card only went so far every month.  But I wasn’t exactly too proud to accept the charity, especially from my boyfriend’s family.  Plus like I said . . . her pasta salad was insanely good.
	And Marcus always did a great job cleaning up my place.  He whined a whole lot about how messy I was, but simultaneously told me he didn’t mind doing it because his parents had always told him to focus on his studies instead of working summer jobs, so he didn’t have much to do since he’d graduated.  He’d already gotten accepted into college, and we’d pretty well got our living arrangements figured out.  He’d even started helping me pack, despite the fact that it was way too early for it and I was having to re-open boxes pretty often now to find things.
	We still weren’t living together, and I was getting the feeling that once we did, my level of cleanliness as opposed to his might become . . . more of a problem.  But we were so new into the whole thing, I was still at that phase where I sort of liked seeing his ears flatten in annoyance.  Even our disagreements were endearing.
	Let me tell you, that didn’t last forever.  But anyway.
	My heart melted when I rounded the corner of my block and saw him sitting there on my crumbling stoop.  He had his nose up, like he’d smelled me coming, his eyes searching until they settled on me turning the corner.  And then he smiled at me and stood.
	It shouldn’t have seemed like such a miracle.  I mean, he knew exactly when I got off, and that I’d be coming straight home, and how far from my house the ice cream stand was.  It wasn’t as if he’d been waiting long.  But just the fact that he’d thought to, that he’d gone outside ahead of time, and that he’d been looking for me to come home . . . I can’t describe the feeling.
	No one had been waiting for me at home for a very long time.
	I jogged the last block, until I had that fox in my arms, and we were nuzzling our muzzles together right there on my front lawn.  I could hear Mr. Laurens running his weed wacker across the street, but I didn’t care.  Normally I wasn’t really so much for PDAs, but there were times with Marcus where even I couldn’t help it.
	He chuckled against my muzzle, one of his hands hooking in the back of my belt, near where my tail was furiously swaying.  “Well I guess I hit the happy button hard today, huh?”  He laughed full-out when my tail began wagging even faster.  “Alright, alright,” he pulled back just a bit, looking up at me, “c’mon in before you take off into the sky or something.”
	Once again, Marcus had somehow managed to get my decrepit old house looking far better than it had any right to.  There were even flowers.  I mean, they were dandelions, and they were in a coffee cup, but he’d neatly folded a patterned dish towel underneath the cup in the center of my flaking, terrible kitchen table and somehow made it look charming.
	He must have seen me looking at the table as I wandered with him over to the stove, where something was boiling.  It smelled like mac’n cheese.  My mouth watered.  SO much better than ice cream.
	“That,” he pointed to the little table scene, with its weed flowers and mis-matching plates, “is what is called the ‘distressed chic’ look.  Some people would pay a lot of money for that beautiful spread there.”
	“Yeah, well,” I glanced up at the ceiling, to the patches of mold and peeling paint, the real issues with this place that Marcus couldn’t gloss over with good housekeeping, “this place certainly is ‘distressed’.”
	“One month,” he reminded me, tapping his spoon against the edge of the pot and turning the burner off.  “Twenty-eight days, actually.  This place just needs to hold up one more month, then we’re out of here.”
	I sighed a little.  “It used to be a really nice house,” I said, then paused.  “Well, I mean, not really nice.  Just, you know, comfortable.  It just needs a lot of work I can’t afford.  I feel bad giving up on it.  But it isn’t even mine, legally.”
	“Babe,” Marcus looked up at me, holding the steaming pot of mac’n cheese by its handles, and shuffling past towards the table.  “Once we leave Mayfield, we’re never coming back.  You don’t need to worry about it, alright?  Your mom’ll handle it once she gets out.  Or sell it.  Either way, it’s not your responsibility.  You’re eighteen.”
	“Yeah,” I smiled a bit, his calm, easy words reassuring me just like that.  Sometimes I worried for literally no reason, and Marcus knew exactly what to say to ground me.
	Sometimes.
	“I had it set to low while I waited for you, but the bottom might’ve burnt anyway,” he sighed, heaping spoonfuls of the cheap, delicious cheesy dish onto my plate.  “But I did put green peas in it,” he said, sounding a bit smug that he’d remembered that.  “Just like you like.  What kind of carnivore are you, anyway?”
	I ate my first spoonful before I checked to see if it was cool enough to, and burnt my tongue.  But it was so good I didn’t care.
	“I like peas,” I said with a shrug, swallowing a mouthful.  
	“I’m just lucky you’re so easy to impress,” he muttered, as he took the time to spread his own smaller helping out, letting it cool.  “My cooking skills are limited to things with directions on the back of a box.  And even then. . . .”
	“I really appreciate the meal,” I assured him with a smile, and a paw cupping the fringe along his cheek.
	He smiled back, leaning into it.  But the spell was broken when he gave a sniff and cracked an eye open at me.  “You smell like chocolate syrup.”
	“It gets everywhere,” I muttered.  “My fur, under my claws. . . .”
	“Alright,” he said, in an authoritative tone.  “Dinner first, but then shower.  Then we’ll do a movie, maybe?  Sound good?”
	“What movie?”  I asked, curious if he had something specific in mind.
	He gave me a look at that.  Not just any look.  The ‘Marcus is up to no good’ look.
	“You and I both know,” he said, “that it doesn’t matter what movie we put on.”

	He wanted to shower with me.  He always wanted to shower with me, and I didn’t understand why.  I was gross and sticky from work, my shower was barely large enough for the two of us to squeeze in there, and even then, only big enough for one of us to get wet.  There was absolutely nothing sexy or even fun about the idea to me.  But Marcus always asked.
	Then there was the other thing.
	Marcus and I had been naked together quite a few times by now, obviously.  And by ‘quite a few’ I mean, like, three or four nights a week, every week, since we’d started dating.  We didn’t always have sex, or even jerk each other off, but he liked to be naked when he slept with me at night, and I didn’t mind.
	But just. . . being naked, like casually. . . doing normal stuff like showering. . . was still weird for me.  I can’t even exactly say why.  It just was.  I guess eventually you’re supposed to get to a point where you’re entirely comfortable with someone without your clothes on.  I just wasn’t there yet.
	Marcus had that kind of confidence.  In spades.  Some mornings, he’d just strut about my place without ever bothering to dress until he needed to head home or go out for something.  I definitely didn’t mind the sight, but it made things feel a little. . . unbalanced between us, I guess.  I’d always have at least boxers on, usually a shirt.  He wouldn’t bring it up, but I know my hesitance bothered him at least a little.  
	And as usual, I was having trouble talking to him about it.  Because I wasn’t even sure if it was a problem, really, it was just an area the two of us didn’t have the same level of comfort in.  And it was okay for us to be different, right?  Or was I holding back on him somehow by being like this, not opening up to him enough?
	I don’t know.  But I said ‘no’ again when he asked to shower with me, and he didn’t press.  So I guess everything was alright.
	Except when I got out of the shower, he was waiting there in the adjoined doorway to my room, with a mischievous smile playing at his muzzle, a hand tucked into the waistline of his jeans, shirt hiked up just a bit over his wrist, showing the ridge of sandy fur that followed his hip bone.
	I paused in the doorway, not entirely certain what was going on.  Or more to the point, why he was still dressed at all.
	“Marcus?”  I chuckled a little nervously, holding the towel a little firmer around my waist.  “What. . . .”
	“Well I just figured I’d be showering too,” he said with an easy shrug, “which means I gotta get naked anyway.  I thought you might like me getting naked while you’re around to watch.  So I waited.”
	I gave a puff of a laugh, running a paw over half my muzzle.  “That’s. . .” I shook my head.  “What’re you gonna. . . strip for me, or something?”
	“That was the plan,” he smirked.  “Although I couldn’t really find the right kind of sexy music.  And my phone’s speakers suck.  So you’ll just have to imagine that part, alright?”
	I’m not sure what I was more dumbstruck by.  The fact that Marcus always seemed to know exactly when would be the most awkward time for him to be wildly inappropriate, the sheer nerve it took for him to assume that of course, if he was going to undress, he would do so in front of me, and of course, I would want to watch him . . . or the fact that he was right.
	So I sat down on the edge of my bed and watched my boyfriend do an amateur striptease for me.  And the whole time I should’ve been enjoying it, all I could think was ‘I wouldn’t even shower with him’.  
	Not that I didn’t enjoy it.  Just. . . distractedly.
	By the time he’d inexpertly kicked off his boxer briefs, I think he could tell I was distracted.  Because his slinky, smirky smile thing kind of dissolved, and he tilted his head at me, looking curious instead.  “Reis?”  He asked, approaching me.  “You okay?”
	Be honest.  You’re not going to get a better chance.
	I’d learned by now what keeping things to myself accomplished, and that Marcus was usually a safe person to open up to.  Okay, not usually. . . he’d not ever made me feel unsafe.  But the relationship was new, and I was worried about damaging it, I guess.  So I had doubts, and that was probably okay.
	I let out a breath, and Marcus’s ears fell, and for one terrifying moment I realized that my issues with this situation might have accidentally come off really wrong, in a way that’d hurt him.  So that, I had to undo, and right now.
	I looked up at him, sliding my large, darker paws up his sandy thighs, squaring them on his hips.  “Nothing’s wrong,” I assured him.  “You’re. . . really hot, and I love seeing you like this.  I dunno about the striptease, though. . . .”
	“Hey, practice makes perfect,” he insisted with a wry smile.  “I’d like to see you try.”
	My smile fell, and I looked down.  “That’s. . . the thing,” I said at length.  “I can’t.”
	“As sexy as that’d be, I know you’d never do something like that,” he snuffed a bit, looking amused. 
	“No, but I mean,” I looked up at him.  “I don’t even really like being naked in the bathroom together.  It’s just not, like. . . a space. . . I’m used to sharing, you know?”
	“Reis, given the size of your bathroom, it’s not a space you probably should share.  I get it.  It’s cool.”  He shrugged.  “Is this because I asked to shower with you?  I won’t ask again if it bothers you.”
	“I don’t know if it’ll always bother me,” I said.  “I just. . . I don’t know.  This is all really new to me.  I’m not even used to having someone else in my house most of the time, you know?”
	“I do,” he looked a little sad at that, and finally sat down beside me.  Which, let me tell you, made having a serious conversation with him a lot easier than doing so staring at his sheath.
	“You’ve always been the confident one,” I sighed.  “In every way, really.”
	“You know I’m attracted to you, right?”  He asked, in that intent, serious way he does when he really wants you to know something.  
	“I don’t doubt that,” I assured him, smiling a little.  “You make it pretty clear.”
	“Good.  I’d hate to think I’m falling short in the ‘encouraging my boyfriend’ category,” Marcus smiled back.  “You need a lot of encouragement sometimes, but it’s never been something I felt I couldn’t handle.”
	“It’s more a matter of comfort, I guess,” I murmured, trying to make sense of it in my own head.  Marcus nodded at that, and I gave an exasperated sigh.  “Wh-how is it you understand that?  Even I don’t understand it.”
	“Well I mean, it makes sense,” he reasoned.  “You’re used to having your own space, that’s how it’s been for years, right?  I mean, other than the few times your mom is in and out, which. . . isn’t regular.  I didn’t expect you’d want me around all the time, hovering over you and like. . . invading your house constantly.  Have I been coming by too much?”
	“No!”  I insisted, reaching for one of his paws and squeezing it.  I looked him in the eyes just so he’d know I was being earnest.  “No.  I love when I come home and you’re here.  It’s been great.  It really has.”
	He smiled, then shifted his thighs up, putting his hands on my shoulders.  I got what he was going for soon enough, and turned so he could plop himself in my lap, straddling me comfortably.  He leaned forward against my chest, and we just sat like that for awhile.
	“I think I just need time to get used to it,” I murmured.  
	“I know, Reis.”
	“I mean, showering together might even be nice, if we had a more comfortably-sized shower, and I was more. . . ready for the idea.”
	“I know.”
	“But I mean, I’m not sure I’ll ever have your level of comfort with being naked, like, everywhere-“
	“Reis.”
	“Even downstairs, in the kitchen?  We don’t even have blinds.”
	“Reis,” he lifted his muzzle, staring up at me with his big ears taking up half my field of vision, and his pretty golden eyes focused on mine.  “I get it.  And it’s okay.  It really is.  To be honest, I kind of like how modest you are.  It’s cute, and it compliments me really well, you know?   Cuz I’m. . . not.”  He chuckled.  “If both of us were flaming extroverts, we’d probably get on each other’s nerves.”
	Well, that was easy.
	My inner monologue was getting snarky.  But it really was.  It had all turned out so simple.  I’d said what was on my mind, and Marcus had listened, and understood.  Because he cared about me.  Because a lot of these problems I dwelled on really weren’t as big a deal as they were in my mind. 
	I tilted my muzzle down to catch his in a kiss, which seemed to surprise him for the first few moments, but he soon melted into me.  I tried to, impossibly, convey some measure of the relief and love I felt, but there’s only so much you can do with a kiss.
	As usual, Marcus was the one to escalate the situation.  His light shove saw me down on my back as surely as if I’d been bowled over by a wrestler above my weight class, and soon he was following over top of me, deepening our kiss, our tongues and teeth meeting in a way that was both somehow messy and inexperienced, and perfect.  I almost didn’t want to get better at this.  I liked how when we came together like this, neither of us really knew exactly what we were doing.  It meant every moment we spent grabbing and groping at one another, running blunt claws through fur and muzzles tangling, it was all new and unexpected, like the first night.
	At some point we would get comfortable with one another, my mind hazily reminded me.  In most every way.  Some day I’d get used to seeing him naked, or being naked around him, or I’d come to expect him every day when I came home.
	Would it be less special then?  I liked to think no.  Marcus and I had been friends for more of my life than not, and he’d never stopped surprising me.  Becoming romantically involved had been a new step, but once it became more normal, there’d be other things to get accustomed to.  Other steps.
	So why rush?  Marcus was willing to wait, and even willing to accept some things were just beyond my comfort level entirely.  I’d probably never be as bold as he was.  I’d always be more private.  
	And I think I can safely say I’d never do a strip dance thing for him.  But hey, you never know.  A few years ago, I never would’ve said I’d be dating my best male friend.  But it took me a little while to figure out who I was.  And I wasn’t done figuring it all out yet.
	We couldn’t seem to pull away from one another long enough that night to do anything fancy.  He just ground down against me, my paws roaming his slim, soft body and pulling his hips into mine, and before long I had a paw down there, cupping the both of our sheaths and cocks together as we rocked against one another.
	I came first, growling out a moan as the friction and the feel of him against me got to be too much, and then I was sticky again, and so was he, but for a much better reason.
	I wasn’t ashamed of going first, because it meant I got to watch him cum, which I really enjoyed.  I watched him thrust into my paw for a further minute or so, his body going first taut, then lax and boneless as he spilled on the fur of my belly.  I caught him before he could collapse on me after that, chuckling a bit as he moaned breathlessly into my neck and lay there.
	“Don’t you fall asleep,” I warned him.  “I know I’m comfortable, but- also, didn’t you want to get a shower tonight?”
	“Mmmhh. . . I actually showered this morning,” he muttered.  “Although now I guess I need another.”
	“You know, the shower downstairs is bigger.”
	He cracked an eye and looked up at me.  “Now you’re okay sharing?  That was fast.”
	I shrugged a bit.  “I still don’t see how it’s all that sexy, but. . . it helped to know that you were okay with my wanting privacy, before. . . I guess. . . I was willing to give it up.  I’m still not traipsing about naked downstairs.”
	He smirked lazily.  “Well that’s a problem, given that we’d have to get down there somehow to use the other shower, and we’re. . . .” he gestured to the mess between the two of us.
	“Shit,” I muttered.
	“Still got that towel?”
	I grabbed about for it at the foot of the bed, and found it, giving a triumphant arm pump.  All but simultaneously, Marcus miraculously regained his energy, and hopped off of me to his feet.  He wobbled for a moment afterwards, but somehow stayed upright.
	I followed him, wrapping the towel around my waist.  I felt his hand reaching for mine, and gave it a brief squeeze.  It was a simple gesture, but the reassurance was everything.  My boyfriend cared about me, and didn’t think I was weird for wanting that last vestige of modesty. 
	It turns out, years later, I’d surprise myself and him, and perform the world’s worst strip-tease for his birthday.  I probably should’ve practiced, but he loved it even though I know it was terrible.
	On the plus side, I had a real police uniform by then, so it was both embarrassingly bad, and embarrassingly stereotypical.  And my boyfriend. . . my husband, by then. . . was worth every minute of it.