It wasn't as though you had chosen to become the kind of middle-aged okama who would take a young, rich, high school pretty boy as his lover. The okama thing was just on the side, really, since no woman could ever match the original love of your life. So it was just play - but didn't that make you the kind of cold-hearted and stern older lover who merely played with his boy toy and then left him out in the cold with a broken heart? And what kind of high school boy really wanted to become the illicit lover of a middle-aged okama anyways? Especially when that okama was the father of the boy's friend?
And yet, a spray of dark hair lay across your chest and perfectly manicured fingernails rested on the cotton bed-sheets. Your arm was wrapped around his skinny, pale shoulders and your skin prickled where warm breath ghosted across it. This young face looked so much more handsome without glasses, loosing it's pointed separation. You could feel where your makeup had smudged across your face and wished you could get up to wash it off without disturbing the body so intertwined with yours.
You wished that this young heart hadn't been rebuffed so early. It was your fault in the end, and yet you had been the one in front of whom this boy had broken down, finally. It had been a month after he had been announced heir to his father's estate and you had watched him on television and in the newspapers, his suits fitting him perfectly and his smile suitably condescending. You had shown him off to your neighbors before he was even yours. So when he arrived on your doorstep bearing champagne and glasses for two you were pleased to let him in, your eyes trailing over his immaculate designer-clad body. Only in play.
You almost laughed when he hunched over in Tamaki's position of woe and you realized he was too underage for that third glass of sparkling wine. It was when you found out how very much he loved his friend and "husband" - enough to let him go, in the end. Your heart ached for him and when you reached out to pull him into your fatherly embrace you were not expecting the tilt of his head and the look in his sober steel eyes. You had fallen into him.
It was like finding drugs as a disillusioned housewife, like buying expensive sports cars as a ruthless businessman, like having sex with a beautiful, rich, heartbroken boy as a widower twice his age. And you had taken him apart, after your initial reluctance and attempts to instill in him an understanding of what he was asking. You had kissed him slow enough to make him moan and touched him gently enough to make him sob. You had done everything you could think of to bring him some kind of comfort in the way that he wanted it.
Now you were doing it almost every week, nowhere near often enough to satisfy a teenager's libido as you remember it, so you wonder what else he is doing to satisfy himself. The twinge of jealousy that arises in your chest is startling, like a lightning strike on a clear night. He plans your every meeting and you anticipate it all week, though all your hours of work and sleep. You don't ask after him from Haruhi on purpose, but when his voice is on the phone and she - your daughter - is in the room you have to work hard to sound normal.
It has been a long time since you have felt this feeling for someone new in your life, and it is as hard to recognize as ever.
