“You’re the bravest person I know,” he said, and when I pressed my face into his chest, he said, “Are you listening to me?”

I pulled away enough to say, “Yeah, I’m listening.”

“I’m not your brother,” he said, in an entirely different voice.

For a second, I didn’t hear the roar of the wind around the cabin or the ominous shaking of the ice-laden branches. “I know,” I said. “I know that.”

And he kissed me.

I’d loved him for so long. Though everything might change, would change, I couldn’t help but kiss him back.

It was a long kiss, a hard kiss. I’d seen him walk out so many doors with other women, and finally he was with me.

He started to say something, but I said, “No, don’t.” I kissed him again, my own initiation. That seemed to answer his question, if that was what he’d been going to ask. “It’s you,” I said, as he kissed my throat. I had my good hand under his sweatshirt, touching the precious skin of his back, his ribs, the almost flat nipples. I rubbed my face in the hair on his chest and his breath caught in his throat. His hands were not idle, either, and when they found my breasts he made another, altogether different noise. I thought I would weep with joy.

“The shirt’s got to come off,” he said, and we worked to do that. “Your arm?” he asked.

“Okay, don’t worry about it,” I whispered. “Just don’t lie on it and it’ll be okay.” I felt like I could get hit with a shovel all over again and I wouldn’t care right now. My body and my heart were fully engaged for the first time. His hands seemed to know where to go and what to do when they got there. We knew each other so well in every other respect, it seemed only natural that we would easily understand each other’s desires in this new activity. We already knew the appearance of each other’s bodies, but not the textures or specifics; now we set out to learn those. His phallus was long, not as thick as some I’d encountered. He’d been circumcised. He had a slight upward curve. He was very sensitive around his balls. I loved touching him in places I’d never had the right to touch him before, and he loved being free to touch me between my legs. He loved it, and his fingers could be very clever.

“I wish I could see you,” he said, but I was glad for the dark. It made me a little braver, and I concentrated on my sense of touch, so I didn’t have time to think. If I’d had time to think, it wouldn’t have gone nearly as wonderfully as it did.