Battle of the Rhine

Michael was obsessed with thinking about the difference in nipples.Men and women are naturally different, it is God's ordinance.Although this rule is totally unreasonable, a woman is not a doll made out of a man's rib, and a man does not lose a rib.Michael's mind was full of nipples, and this fact baffled him.

"I have a suggestion."

"please say."

"You put your hands off my chest first." Quincy patted Michael's arm, "How many days has it been?"

"Let me touch it a little longer," Michael said, "or I'll always be uneasy."

"So, my suggestion," Quincy said, turning a page, "read Freud, which should be on the bookshelf in my room on the third floor."

"What is Freud?"

"An expert who can solve your weird psychological problems."

"I don't have weird mental problems."

"You've been putting your hand on my chest for a week now," Quincy said, twisting his shoulders. "You read Freud, that'll fix my problems, really. I had to put a Band-Aid on my chest— —You hurt me so much."

"Sorry." Having said that, Michael still didn't want to take his hand away.In other words, his thoughts and actions were separated again, and his arms and hands did not obey the brain's command at all, "Is he a doctor?"

"You can think so."

Quincy was reading the Decameron again.Michael saw a very obscene description, and couldn't help but click his tongue, "Last week, I caught a few young workers in the workshop reading pornographic magazines during their breaks."

"You're an expert in this area," Quincy said flatly. "You must have read a lot."

"I haven't," Michael moved his hands down to touch the rising and falling belly, which is now covered with a thin layer of muscle and no longer sunken. "You must have read it, right?"

"I even collected it." Quincy struggled, as if a little ticklish, "There is a cover actress who is very beautiful, with big breasts—"

"I do not believe."

"Really, by the lake, I hide the magazines in the attic, where no one will find them."

"Would you masturbate looking at her tits?"

"I simply admire her body, so I won't do such dirty things."

"lie."

"real."

Michael kissed Quincy's earlobe and sucked it in his mouth.Quincy shivered slightly, pushing his arm, "Go away, I'm reading—"

"It's that lousy book again," Michael mumbled. "Porn magazines for vulgar workers, porn novels for gentle college students—it doesn't make a difference, Carl."

"It's art—"

"You're quite artistic," Michael hugged Quincy, laid him flat on the bed, and unbuttoned his pajamas, "I didn't use words indiscriminately, if you said you admired that actress' breasts, then I could do the same." Say, I admire your body."

"I know." Quincy held up the Decameron, "I've seen through you a long time ago."

"Stop reading, look at me." Michael took the novel away, "Speaking of which, I suddenly realized..." He hesitated, hesitating, "You...you...do you feel uncomfortable?"

"What's wrong?" Quincy reached for the book, "Give it back to me."

"That's it," Michael handed him the book, watching Quincy set it down beside the pillow, "we... had... sex..." He nearly bit his tongue at the horrible phrase, "... You feel uncomfortable, don't you?"

"I don't like talking about it." Quincy's expression became cold. "You can do it."

After finishing speaking, he closed his eyes and drew his lips into a straight line.Michael stroked the corners of his mouth and kissed his chin—Quinnessy always got the chin clean, Mike couldn't, the skin was left with tiny stubble after shaving.He rubbed his stubble against Quincy's cheek. "If you don't feel comfortable, I won't do this."

"Oh, it sounds like the truth."

"really--"

Quincy opened his eyes, and Michael stared dreamily at the blue iris, thinking of a small lake with a little him reflected in it, "Really, I really do. Like now, I'm so depressed." Looking at you, do you feel uncomfortable?"

"It's okay." Quincy spit out a few words, "My body is not that fragile."

"The weather is warm enough to play football on Sunday afternoon."

"...What the hell are you thinking?"

"Don't imitate my accent," Michael said, "In the future, if you speak English to others, they will laugh at you."

As he said this, he was stroking Quincy's thigh.Quincy's legs were straight and his ankles were very slender. "You must be good at running. People with ankles like that run fast."

"So-so."

"Do you want to touch me?"

"what?"

"Touch me." Michael expressed awkwardly, "I've always touched your body, do you want to touch mine?"

Quincy raised his arms and wrapped them around Michael.After a while, Michael felt a few fingers gently touch his back. "How did this happen?" Quincy said softly, "Did it get scratched by shrapnel?"

"No," Michael smiled, a grin that showed his teeth, not a German smile, "it's all thanks to my father, old Michael Fiennes. He has only one way of raising children: beat them with a stick, so Children can learn a lesson."

"It must have hurt." Quincy carefully touched the scar with his fingertips, "Hitting so hard..."

"Flesh wounds. I let go of a cow. The old man became mad. He picked up a stick and chased and beat me." Michael felt itchy, pulled off Quincy's hand, bit the tip of his index finger and sucked, "You Were you beaten as a child? I guess not."

"I have endured it, and if I can't play well, the piano teacher will hit my palm."

"How could he be willing to hit you..."

"Why are you reluctant? It's normal to be beaten." Quincy pulled out his fingertips, "Are you ready? If you don't do it, I will continue to read."

"Don't read this kind of book," Michael said seriously, "it won't do you good after reading it."

"This is a world famous book, you country fool." Quincy sulked. "Don't start your Puritan thing when you see a sexual description. Why don't you think about your God when you're naked and fucking me?"

"It's different." Michael pushed the "Decamole" farther away, "You can wash your body if it's dirty, but if your mind is dirty, even angels can't save you."

"That's the rubbish logic of religion: you can do it, but you can't think it, trick fools—and no one saves me, Mike." Quincy turned off the wall lamp, "God, angel, no one saves me .”

"You have to pray."

"I prayed a fucking million times."

Michael lay on Quincy's side, letting him lean against him.As the weather warmed up, they still huddled together to sleep.Quincy would sometimes have nightmares and twitch in cold sweat, and Michael would hold him and kiss his face and forehead so he could wake up slowly. "Maybe, God will compensate you." Michael said, this is the best explanation he can find, "You are a good person, God will not give up on you."

"I hope so."