Evolved(21)

I swallowed down my mouthful. “No. You didn’t. I was uncomfortable… well, I was… I find you very attractive,” I admitted again, this time more weakly. “And I fear now that we’ve become physical, it’ll be all we will be, and I want more than that with you.”

“I enjoyed being physical with you, very much. Sexual acts are so much more fulfilling in practice than in theory.”

I chuckled as I chewed my food. “Yes, they are.”

“But Lloyd, I am equally rewarded with intellectual discussions as I am by sexual intercourse. I am programmed for both. If you wish to discuss the iambic pentameter of Shakespeare’s sonnets, I will happily oblige. Or the power and limit of logic and objectivity and value theories from your philosophy classes. Or the realism and radicalism of modern ethics in philosophy. I am quite well versed in all subjects.”

I finished my dinner and sipped my water. “Equally rewarded?”

“I find both equally stimulating. One stimulates my social parameters of intellect and world knowledge. The other stimulates my physical sensors. I require both.”

Now it was me who tilted his head. “You require both?”

“Yes. To maintain health and optimum performance levels.”

“You require sex?”

“It is not a requirement. Touch, hand-holding, hugging, all send positive messages to my processing unit. As does conversation and debating subjects of choice.” He looked a little puzzled. “This was not assumed knowledge?”

“Well, yes… and no,” I answered lamely because he looked even more perplexed. “I mean, they told me you would like conversations and intellectual interaction and you would like physical interaction.”

“But you did not believe them?”

In hindsight, when they told me, I was so caught up on his physical appearance, I wasn’t sure I thought anything… “I’m not sure. May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Now that you’ve had both intellectual and physical interaction, which do you prefer? You said you find them both equally stimulating, but which felt better?”

“Your question is subjective and biased to one answer. The word ‘feel’ is synonymous with physical, is it not?”

I smiled, liking he questioned my phrasing. I liked being challenged. “It can be. Figuratively speaking. So let me ask again; if I were to ask you to choose between debating literary history and philosophy or going back to my bed, which would you rather?”

His smile was slow spreading, his eyes glittered with temptation. But then he replied, “Both. I would suggest we discuss literary topics for an hour or so. Then when you wish to retire for the evening, I could accompany you to your bed and you could… stimulate my proprioceptive and exteroceptive sensors.” He held my gaze and his left eyebrow raised, just a fraction. “Several times if you are able.”

Oh boy.



We did discuss more literature. His fascination with Moby Dick’s Ishmael drove two hours of characterisation breakdown and analysis and if the subversive subtext was the author’s intention or the reader’s interpretation.

Whether Shaun’s viewpoint honestly differed from mine or if he chose to disagree so we could debate at length, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t much care. Because it was a subject I could talk about forever, and I’d never met anyone who felt the same.

After Shaun quoted references from American literary professors to back his claim, he finished with, “I am not even convinced his name is Ishmael.”

“What?” I shook my head. “How can you not be convinced? He says it is.”

“No, he says, ‘Call me Ishmael,’ as though it is a persona he has adopted and is clearly another Biblical reference. Ishmael from the Bible was an outcast, ostracised and dismissed by his family in favour of a half-brother. Is it not reasonable to assume the character in the book says ‘Call me Ishmael’ as a way of identifying himself, not by his name, but how he sees himself?”

I didn’t know whether to pull my hair out, scream at the ceiling, or kiss him.

I settled for smiling instead. I walked over to where Shaun sat and he looked expectantly up at me. Then, putting one knee beside his, then my other, I straddled him. His head tilted back as he kept eye contact, a smile pulled at his lips. “Do you wish to keep discussing the book? Or is this a way to concede I may be correct?”

I scoffed, unable to stop the grin. “I will concede yours is a fair argument, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say correct.” I kissed him, pulling his bottom lip between mine. “But I’m done discussing books.”

He put his hands on my hips and I rocked down on him. His erection matched mine. “Does debating literature at such length arouse you?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “Maybe I’m not too different from you,” I whispered against his lips, grinding down on his cock. “Maybe I need both too.”

He pulled my hips down, rubbing me against his hard-on, and I kissed him deep and thoroughly. Then I remembered what he said about his mouth.

His throat was fitted with a Fleshjack sleeve…

I broke the kiss and gasped a breath. “I think we should go to my room.”

He gripped my hips firmly and stood up, holding me in place. His strength and tenderness were an incredible juxtaposition. I chuckled and wrapped my legs around him, kissing him again, and he carried me to my room where he gently lowered me to the bed.