Safest place in the world. In my lovers arms.
Though, when you're talking about The Wolverine, there's an entirely different context to the sentiment.
When did I start sleeping with guys?
Simple answer, I don't. Despite current evidence to the contrary. Such as the man who I am currently lying on. And the sex we had. And it was good sex, my, yes, the warm ache in my lower back confirms, good, not a quick fumble in the dark, this was mutual enjoyment of each other's bodies and, even better, this warm, slow waking the morning after. Sex can be fun, can be trivial and unattached, it is, after all, simply healthy aerobic exercise between two consenting adults. But, as I get older, I find myself craving something more, a deeper connection.
But, apart from him, all my lovers, casual or serious, have been women. I like women. like watching them, like being with them. I like their soft curves, their heat, my body likes them very much and I like making them aroused, happy, beautiful. All women are beautiful when they are aroused. And I love their complicated, fascinating minds.
I don't look at men in the same way.
Bobby and I had a conversation about it, after he came out as gay. He'd known he desired men for years, but he'd felt trapped; by society's expectations, by his parents expectations, by habits he'd picked up as a teenager. I'm glad he finally admitted his needs to himself. I've never given much credence to what society expects of me; society expects me to be a demon. But I didn't, I don't have any interest in men. Except, apparently, one.
Bobby asked me if that was due to my religion. Which gave me pause.
My religion. I get a great deal of strength and comfort from my beliefs. But, like most things, it's not really straightforward. Growing up in der Jahmarkt was really special. It saved my life for a start, it was a safe place for someone who looked like me to grow up. It was fun. It was communal; Margali might have been my mother, but children belonged to everyone, everyone had a part in their care. So I got lessons in everything from clowning to flying to sewing a costume. And a lot of the circus were Roman Catholic. They thought it was very important that I was christened, then confirmed, given my unique appearance, and given a bible and rosary. They were all convinced that I was, contrary to appearances, not a demon, and were determined to look after my soul as well as my skin. Circus folk are highly superstitious, but they are also some of the best people in the world, some of the most inclusive, of people's different colours, creeds, abilities. They see people as individuals to be cherished and nurtured and they made me the man I am and I bless them every day for that.
But their Catholicism was not exactly orthodox.
And there was every sexuality amongst them, male, female, both, neither. No one cared. This is, thankfully, becoming more common now, but when I was growing up, it was still considered strange, alien by society at large (particularly noticeable when I came here to America, fabulous country in so many ways, but also so strange, all those taboos) but being 'different' was normal in the circus.
But I digress. I do that a lot. Logan would say "Shut the hell up, Elf." Or something like that. No, I don't know where the 'elf' thing came from either.
As long as you are happy and not harming anyone else, I really don't see why it matters. That's what I told Bobby, and I meant it.
So. He makes me happy. We aren't hurting anyone else. It's no one else's business. I'm not attracted to men. But he arouses me, I am attracted to him. End of story?
Why does he arouse me, when other men don't? I work with lots of men, with very impressive bodies. Tall, strong, handsome men. I appreciate them, the way you appreciate good art or music. But I'm not aroused by them, I don't desire them.
But when he looks at me, when he touches me, he sets my senses on fire. Even the thought of him can arouse me. In part it's because he knows me, we know each other; we've been intimate often enough, long enough, to know what each other enjoys, to know how to touch each other, to trust each other.
It takes quite a lot of trust to lie with him, he's easily twice my weight, so much stronger than me, the physical power of him is overwhelming. Which is, in its way attractive, I suppose? But it's not what I usually look for in a partner. Though he makes me feel safe too.
I'm not sure what he sees in me. Sometimes I think I'm just convenient, he knows I won't turn him away. But really, why? I've been with women who wanted to be intimate with me just for the 'novelty' it's creepy and in no way flattering. Or healthy, for them or me. I guard my mental health quite carefully; it would be very easy for me to value myself by how others treat me and I know, particularly in my, unique, case, that would not be good for me. I am aware that I'm different, I really don't need reminding, than you.
He doesn't sleep with me for the novelty, we've been friends long enough, I don't think he even notices my differences any more. It's the trust thing again, I trust him not to hurt me, physically and emotionally.
His personality can be antagonistic and forceful, all encompassing, he is very sure of his own importance. And the language! My Mother would wash his mouth out with soap for some of the things he comes out with.
He can be rude and overbearing, overwhelming at times, if I let him. So I don't let him, I joke with him, tease him until he forgets he's trying to be domineering over me. If you go head to head with him, he won't back down, you have to be clever, be subtle, slide past his defenses, rather than trying to go through them. (You'd think by now Scott would have realised that? Evidently not.)
I don't lose sleep over homosexuality, but I do sometimes lie there wondering about being in a relationship, no matter how casual, with a mass murderer. That plays on my conscience. I know what he does. I know what he's capable of. I don't always like him much, this dangerous man, but he's my best, my closest friend. Which seems like a contradiction? But isn't, your friends are those who you have found out what annoys you about them, but you love them anyway.
But when he comes to me I won't turn him away, even though I know what I do about him, mostly because I know how damaged he is. People see the surface image. Of me. Of him. They see him as a dangerous killing machine, which he is. But he's also a man, a flawed, frustrating man, but as human as the rest of us. Watch him with children some time, if you doubt me, his moral code is unflinching, but protecting the vulnerable lies at the heart of it. He's damaged, but he's also striving to overcome his flaws, that's his great courage; not in a fight, he's not scared in a battle. He's scared of losing his humanity. And our friendship helps him to become a little more centred, a little more human. I cannot deny him that, even a the risk to my own soul.
And both of us sleep better, deeper when we are together. That's back to the trust thing. I trust this mass murderer so I sleep better.
But I don't think he slept well last night; he spent most of it stroking my back. Stroking tail, even. Tail doesn't usually let people do that, I guess it trusts him too.
I know what's keeping him awake, he's thinking about Jean.
Worrying about Jean. And their relationship.
We're always had an arrangement; this is not a grand passion, it's a comfortable little affair between friends and we've both had relationships outside of it. It only got uncomfortable once, when his outside relationship was with Ororo, but we, Ororo and I sorted that out, I'm sure Jean and I can too.
And if we can't, well then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
He needs to work through this 'Jean' thing. For both their sakes.
She's a lovely person, body and soul, but Logan all but reveres her, like she's a sacred artifact, not a person. He needs to get to know the person, make friends with her. Find out what annoys him about her, then love her anyway, rather than just being infatuated with his ideal vision of her?
And she needs to do the same with him. If I need to bow out of the picture for a while, then so be it. But I will miss him.
He's a grumpy, hairy, grumbly pillow.
But I am safe here. There is no place on Earth safer than in his arms. And he's safe with me.
He opens one eye.
"Stop yer thinkin', Elf."
I raise my head. "I'm not... How do you know I'm thinking?"
"Yer awake, therefore..." he runs a heavy hand down my back and I lean into the sensation. I don't need petting. I'm not a pet. But, oh, that feels good. Why is it different when he... oh. He has the base of my tail. Oh. I hate... oh.
I do as instructed and stop thinking, at least for a while.