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November 13, 2012 1:36 am  #1


Short fic #2

As many of you know, I write short fics for my own amusement, so I thought I'd share something with the group again!  Unfortunately, I have to leave out the first few pages of this fic (which expose the background/setting) because it's just far too personal and specific for me to post online!  But here's the best scene so far, with just a few small bits changed or left out (and name changed to protect the innocent, haha), plus it's the only scene anyone else would really care about anyway.

. . .

I knocked on his door and waited for his usual signal to come in.  There was silence, but I knew he was a night owl and wouldn’t be asleep yet.  Puzzled, thinking he might not have heard, I banged a bit louder.  I waited another few seconds, then said, “Julien?"

The voice on the other end sounded a bit anguished.  “Come in," he said.

I pushed the door open tentatively and slipped inside.  “Sorry," I said, “I just wasn’t sure if you heard me..."

When I saw his face, I was shocked.  He was sitting up in bed and almost looked as though he might have been crying.  I wasn’t sure, but it was obvious enough to me that I thought I would figure it out one way or another.  I just needed to talk to him more to determine it for sure.

“Um..." I said.  “Let me close the door."   I shut it quickly.  Then I turned back to Julien.  He pushed his hair back and wiped under his nose with his index finger, though as I turned to face him fully, he quickly tried to pretend as though he hadn’t by hiding his hand under his leg.

I studied his mouth.  It was slightly pursed.  “Yes,"  I thought to myself.  “He was really crying."  Shocked, I stood motionless and waited to see if anything would happen.

Julien’s eyes were scanning the floor.  Finally he looked up and said with a sigh, “You wanted to see me?"   

I snapped to attention.  “Yes," I said.  “I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow, since it’s going to be the first time I’ve..."

As his brown eyes were looking right at me, I could see they were a bit shimmery.  It was distracting and cut me off from what I was saying.  I could hardly take it anymore.  I had no idea why he’d been crying, but whatever it was, my problem could wait.

I sighed.  “I’m sorry, Julien -- it can wait.  Are you OK?"  I said, gently.  I wanted him to know that I could tell he’d been crying.  I wanted him to feel free to open up to me if I wanted to.

Julien squirmed and gave a sheepish look as though he’d been caught.  “I’m fine, thanks,"  he said. 

“I’m sorry,"  I said.  “Will a candy bar make you feel better?  I have one in the fridge and I don’t even want it."

Julien just smiled.

“Let me get it for you," I said, wanting to do whatever I could for him.  “Don’t go anywhere," I instructed.  Leaving the door half open, I went down the hall and grabbed the bar and brought it back to him, closing the door behind me.

“Thanks," he said sweetly.  He appreciated my gesture, and probably the chocolate as well.  Though after staring at it for a moment, he put it on his bedside table.

“Can I sit here?" I asked, motioning to the end of the bed.  I figured we knew each other well enough by now that it wasn’t an unreasonable request.

He nodded.  I sat down.

I knew how it worked with men.  You had to let them come to you.  Rather than ask him what was wrong, I sat quietly and looked down.  I tried to feel his feelings.  I tried to guess what it could be.  Since I had no idea, all this left me very busy and helped me not interrupt his thoughts by interjecting mine.  Julien was good with leaving pauses or silence, but this was a challenge for me, the chatterbox.  However, I was doing very well.

After what seemed like an eternity, I said the one thing I was going to say.  “Do you want to talk about it?" I offered, talking in an extremely soft and encouraging voice while trying to be as detached to the outcome as possible.

Julien sighed heavily.  He closed his eyes.  “No," he said. 

I expected this and nodded silently.  I wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Yes," he added quickly. 

Then, as quickly as he had said it, “No," he said again.

But I had heard the “Yes".  And to me, that was the truest answer.  I just smiled softly at him and waited.  As the only female there, I knew that this might happen someday.  I just didn’t know it would be so soon.

Now I really had to practice the art of patience.  I carefully inched just a little closer to him, and even more carefully gave him a little pat on the forearm.  Then I waited.  I tried to feel his emotions again.  I tried to guess what could be bothering him.  I wondered to myself how close I could get before feeling that I was invading his personal space.

Finally, I knew Julien was getting the hint that I wasn’t going anywhere and was waiting for him to speak.  He rubbed his eyes with the hands and sighed.

“I didn’t think this was going to happen so soon," he groaned.  “It’s just..."

All of a sudden, he gasped and put his hand over his face.  He seemed alarmed at his own sudden lack of control over his emotions.  “Sorry," he said, in that beautiful accent of his.

My protective instinct rushed through my body.  “It’s OK," I said.  “Really, honestly.  I have seen a hundred guys..."

I didn’t want to say the word “cry" for fear of scaring him from the whole thing.  And the "hundred guys" part was clearly a lie.  I practically never saw guys cry.  But I wanted him to feel comfortable with me, like I’d seen it all before.  I felt this little white lie was completely justified.

Julien regained his composure and tried again.  “I’m OK," he assured me, “it’s just..."

He started to lose it again, and I knew that he was not OK.  Seizing my moment, I leaned over and grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, not letting go even after I stopped squeezing.  I placed my other hand on top of his and waited.

Julien looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to keep the tears from spilling out.  He turned his face away slightly and I felt kind of bad for him.  No one liked to cry in front of someone they hoped respected them.  I wished I could communicate just how much respect I had for him.  I think he knew, to some extent, and maybe with quite a bit of accuracy, but it still didn’t help fight one’s natural instincts to protect themselves from humiliation.

I stroked his arm while holding his hand with the other one.  Watching his struggle to hold back the tears, I felt a few stirring up in me as well.  But I just kept stroking.  And trying to emote through my strokes.  I wanted him to feel that I was listening and supporting him.  I hoped he could feel it.

Now that he’d started, he knew he had to keep going.  Stopping the conversation would lead me to worry and make things awkward.  Yet continuing the conversation could mean he was going to completely lose composure in front of me.  He was between a rock and a hard place.  Surely it wasn’t easy for him.

I hoped he could feel my sympathy.  I decided I would let some tears flow so he could feel more comfortable and less conspicuous.  It was easy with what I was feeling from him.   

“One more time?" I smiled at him, my voice trembling slightly with emotion. 

“Ugh, it’s worse than I thought," he said.  “I don’t know why I’m so emotional tonight... I’m not usually this bad..."

He continued talking.  “I’m just, well, it’s hard to explain, but I’m just overly emotional because..."

He gasped and lost it again, his one free hand flying up to his mouth, trying to muffle and hide his trembling lower lip.  This time, I had to go in for a hug.  It was too much. 

As I hugged him, I felt the shakiness of his breathing and his body in general.  He didn’t resist me, though he didn’t embrace me fully, either.  “OK," I said.  Not sure what I meant by that, but it’s what came out.  I think I meant that, OK, this was really happening -- and that it was OK.  Both meanings at once.  As I hugged, I stroked his back gently and gave him all the love I could.

I think that pushed him over the edge, because he sort of collapsed into my arms and started sobbing softly.  I reacted strongly and started to cry as well.  I was letting myself so that he’d feel less self-conscious, and it seemed to be working.  Though he still interjected with another, “I’m sorry."

“It’s OK," I said to him, and hugged him tighter.  Now he was sniffling and I knew we would need tissues soon.  But not yet. 

I felt the first wet drips of his tears on my shoulder.  I let my head fall on his shoulder and just cuddled him.  His breathing was all over the place and so was his long hair.  I finally broke away a little and took a good look at him.

His eyes were shimmering pools of tears, filled to the brim, and tracks of previous big tears were left down his face.  His eyebrows were in a semi-permanent ‘up’ position and his brow was wrinkled with distress.  He looked so sad.  I moved the bottom of his hair out of the way, and took both his hands.

He sniffed a few times in succession.  “Do you need a tissue," I asked?  He nodded silently, like a helpless little boy.  I suddenly sensed that he was the ideal type of crier -- one who let other people take the lead and take care of him.  This was a sexy quality indeed.

I reached over to his bedside table and put the tissue box on my lap.  Pulling one out, I placed it in his hand and squeezed his hand as I handed it to him.

He rolled his eyes at me.  Quickly, and almost comically, he grabbed 3 more himself like he knew one wasn’t going to be enough and was showing me how things normally worked with him.  He blew his nose into the bunch, wiped underneath, and threw the wadded up pile on the bedside table.  He then rubbed his eyes and face with his hands to erase the remaining tear tracks.

Seeming to feel done crying for the moment, he sighed and closed his eyes, but a small last tear escaped from the pressure of his closed eyelid, tumbling slowly down the side of one cheek.  “Oh boy, I must look sexy," he said, sounding quite helpless and a bit embarrassed.

I just smiled.  Now it was my turn to close my eyes in embarrassment.  If he only knew.

“You look great!" I said.  I knew he didn’t believe me, so it didn’t matter.  It was just one of those things people say to make the other person feel better.  And in some small way, I think it did.  I’m sure he could tell that I wasn’t repulsed by it, at the very least.  To prove my point at how non-repulsed I was by him, I attempted to wipe his cheek for him.  As I came in slowly, there was no resistance, so I proceeded to very gently wipe the last tear away with a tissue.  He closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, letting me do whatever I wanted.  I couldn’t believe how docile and compliant he was.  He was a perfect crier, only too glad to have someone to take care of him.  It was going so well that I dared to push his hair just ever so slightly back from his face again and cupped his chin with my hands.

“There," I said.  “You’re OK."  I hoped it encouraged him and made him feel good.

He seemed more relaxed now that this vibe had been established between us.  I hoped he still wanted to tell me what was up and not just leave me hanging.  But I suspected it would also result in way more tears.  I wasn’t sure if he was up for that.

Sure enough, I was right.  “Can we talk about it later?" he said.  “I just think I should watch some TV right now..."

“Of course," I said to him, understandingly.  “I’ll let you be."

As I started to pull away, I felt something was missing.  “One more hug?"  I said quickly.  He nodded and I gave him a nice, deep hug.  He breathed in and returned it just as deeply.  Then he broke away, not ready to cry again and not wanting to take the risk of dissolving in my arms again.  I understood.

“Julien," I said.  “If you ever need me, anytime -- anytime at all -- even in the middle of the night --"  I felt emotional just saying those words, but I meant them.

He smiled and nodded.  I smiled back.  Then I quietly opened the door and left. 

Creeping back to my bed, I felt like I was on another planet.  He had moved me deeply.  I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.  Or if I did, I knew I would be having some pretty amazing dreams...

. . .

Hope you guys enjoyed it!  Feedback always appreciated.

Last edited by woundedpuppy (November 13, 2012 2:34 am)

 

November 13, 2012 5:29 am  #2


Re: Short fic #2

This was beautiful!  I look forward to reading more of your fic.


"We have our stalking memories, and they will demand their rightful tears."
Anonymous
 

November 17, 2012 12:38 am  #3


Re: Short fic #2

Thanks, caircair!  I probably won't end up continuing it, though.

caircair wrote:

This was beautiful!  I look forward to reading more of your fic.

     Thread Starter
 

November 17, 2012 12:47 am  #4


Re: Short fic #2

This is amazing!!! I love it! Just as I would imagine it.

Last edited by carrotcake (November 17, 2012 12:48 am)

 

November 17, 2012 10:49 pm  #5


Re: Short fic #2

carrotcake wrote:

This is amazing!!! I love it! Just as I would imagine it.

Thanks!  You know, I find it so weird that as I write these scenes, it feels like I'm writing from experience.  I write really quickly because it feels so incredibly natural.  Yet I haven't really had any experiences like this!!  So I'm not sure how much I am being influenced by TV and movies, how much I'm borrowing from real life experiences, and how much I'm taking from myself (like knowing what my own crying is like but switching it to the male character and changing the style just a little bit).  For sure I take the least from real life experience -- especially the dialogue!  Must be getting help from TV and movie cliches there (though I couldn't even name which ones, because I don't think any movie really does it exactly how a crying fetishist would want it... though there are some nice movie moments, for sure).  But anyway, I swear it feels so REAL when I write it that I almost feel as though it REALLY happened... weird, huh?? 

I only hope real life doesn't disappoint if I ever get to have a 'scene' like this one!

Last edited by woundedpuppy (November 17, 2012 10:54 pm)

     Thread Starter
 

November 18, 2012 12:16 am  #6


Re: Short fic #2

Actually, woundedpuppy, I understand what you mean.  When I write like this, invariably the words just pour out of me.  It's as if I'm describing the scene exactly as it is happening.  I think part of it is my imagination, part experience and piecing together bits from TV, Movies, etc.; but part of it is also, I suspect, me putting my desires and fantasies down, as if writing them will make them more "true".


"We have our stalking memories, and they will demand their rightful tears."
Anonymous
 

September 24, 2017 3:40 pm  #7


Re: Short fic #2

woundedpuppy wrote:

You know, I find it so weird that as I write these scenes, it feels like I'm writing from experience. I write really quickly because it feels so incredibly natural. Yet I haven't really had any experiences like this!!

 
Still true, haha... 

woundedpuppy wrote:

But anyway, I swear it feels so REAL when I write it that I almost feel as though it REALLY happened... weird, huh??

I was obviously exploring how to get an already-emotional guy to cry when I wrote this fic, haha... soooo much emphasis is on my NOT saying much and concentrating on the physical stuff.  Because I can't think of a time where trying to push a guy over the edge with my words actually worked (other than when they knew about my fetish and were purposely trying to cry for me).  So this was kind of me coaching myself on how I thought I should act in the future, I guess.  Funny to look back at it.  

     Thread Starter
 

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