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I'm not moved.
Still.
I am a man.
When she runs her fingers over Daphne's jaw—
Blood rushes south.
"I think he likes it." Mercy draws another line up Daphne's jaw. "How many songs, sweetheart?"
"Three," Daphne says.
"You can touch me anywhere that isn't covered by fabric," Mercy says. "What about the two of you? Can I play with you?"
I say no the moment Daphne says yes.
"Got it." Mercy smiles. "You are a bad girl, aren't you?" She purrs with approval. "I can't wait to punish you." It's a put-on stern voice with put-on interest, but she pulls it off.
Daphne falls into it. Or maybe she plays along. At the moment, I can't tell. Blood is fleeing my brain at an alarming rate.
I always found the girl-on-girl thing was an idiotic fetishization of queerness. Especially when my sister came out as bisexual.
But not even the thought of Cassie's disappointment brings logic to the forefront of my mind.
Daphne is staring at Mercy like she wants to undo her. She's under the spell of the stern voice and posture.
She wants someone to boss her around.
Someone like me.
No. Not someone like me.
She wants me. Specifically.
She's all but written it on the mirror.
It's up to me to resist.
Or give in.
As the song shifts to the next, Mercy shifts into action. She turns and backs into Daphne's lap. "Help me with this, sweetheart." She points to the buttons holding the neck of her one-piece together. "And take your time. I like a tease."
Daphne fumbles with the buttons.
Mercy laughs. "Like a teenage boy, huh? Am I your first?"
"Huh?" Daphne undoes the first button.
"Woman?" the dancer asks.
"No," Daphne says. "I've kissed some women. Touched a little. Above the waist."
"I don't kiss, sweetie," she says. "But I do like to touch."
Daphne gets the second button.
"Thanks, doll. Is this your first dance?" she asks.
