shaved that day, so his sparse stubble scratched my face with an intoxicating roughness. His arms were lithe and powerful as they wrapped around my waist and my shoulders. His torso was toned and solid, and literally took my breath away as we passionately embraced, trying to get closer and closer in our blanket under the stars.
Before our clothes could come off, we stopped to take a breath. And then came the questions.
“I’ve never done that before, have you?” I asked.
“No…but it was…really…fantastic,” he replied.
I smiled, but I was still preoccupied. “Does this mean we’re…gay?”
Martin looked thoughtful for a second. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want it to be?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
“All right.”
But I had to say something else. “But this was…wonderful.”
“Yeah…it was.”
I wanted to kiss him again so badly. But I stood up instead, my heart racing. And all I could say was: “Good night.”
“Good night,” came his response from the dark ground. He started folding up the blanket as I walked back to my cabin, smiling and alone.
But we did not speak of it the next day. It was not that we avoided one another, but we had not marshaled our thoughts, nor was there time for a conversation with all the campers’ activities, meals and other various duties. But I knew we were both thinking about the same thing all day long—those few, fleeting, frenzied moments when we had held each other the night before, and whether we would do so again tonight.
That day lasted a lifetime. Each meal plodded along at a sleepy pace, each conversation seemed completely irrelevant, and the sun had never seemed to take so long in its journey across the sky. But eventually evening arrived, and the stars came out as we trundled the sleepy campers back to the cabins to turn in for the night.
It was with a mixture of both excitement and dread that I walked over to Martin’s cabin that night after I had tucked my own campers into bed and told them a ghost story.
The lights were out in Martin’s cabin, but I could hear his voice as he told his campers a story. I looked in the screened windows, trying to make out his shape as he paced through the room, weaving his tale. Finally, he finished and bid the kids a good night. My heart began beating harder and harder. I had to remind myself to breathe. At last I heard the cabin door open, and watched as Martin’s familiar imposing shape walked up to me.
All he said, with a little smile playing on his lips, was, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Without another word, he took my hand and led me toward one of the paths into the woods. I was carrying a flashlight, but I didn’t turn it on. Instead, we walked in silence and in darkness. I, brooding, he, setting the brisk pace to the place he was taking me.
After a few minutes, we came to a little beach on the lakeshore that I’d never been to before. There was a lonely little dock that extended about ten feet into the lake. The moonlit ripples calmly lapped at the wooden slats of the dock, lulling even the crickets to sleep.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the pine-scented night air, and followed Martin to the end of the dock, where he was dangling his feet over the edge and into the cool waters of the lake.
When I walked up beside him, I noticed a rolled-up sleeping bag on the other side of him. He saw me looking at it and grinned, offering an explanation. “I put it out here earlier today. In case we got cold.”
I pretended to shiver in the warm, humid air and said, “I’m feeling a little chill. Maybe you’d better unroll it.”
He smiled again, then stood up, taking a moment to look me in the eyes before untying the sleeping bag and laying it open on the dock. Then he held out his hand to me, and sat me down next to him at the end of the dock.
We sat like that for a few moments, with our feet in the water and our heads in the stars. But I could not take it a moment longer. I had to say something.
“So…about last night…”
“Yeah?” he said, smiling. The moonlight was shining off his shaggy auburn hair. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through it, but I tried to focus.
“I don’t know what I am, or what this means…” I started.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“But I liked it. And I like you,” I ventured.
“Me too,” he said.
“So…” I started again. I wanted to say more, but I also wanted not to have to say anything else. Luckily, Martin felt the same way.
Before I could get another word out, he reached his hand over to my face and gently guided my mouth toward his own. And then we were kissing.
He had shaved that day. His face was smooth and soft, and smelled a little like shaving cream. It got my heart racing as I kissed him more and more urgently. He smelled like a man, and he felt like a man, and it felt good. He seemed more timid than he had the night before. His kisses were softer and gentler. He was using his lips and his tongue to tease me, drawing me in closer and closer, but not going any further than that. When I could take it no more, I put my hand on the back of his neck, using my tongue to explore his tongue, quickening the pace at which our lips sucked on one another. He kissed me back with the same urgency and pressure that I kissed him. There was barely time to breathe, let alone think.
Finally, Martin broke off the kiss to catch his breath. He was smiling. Still a little uncertain, I asked, “Was that okay?”
He laughed. “More than okay. That was incredible,” he said.
I was about to go in for another kiss when he caressed my cheek, then moved his hand down my chest, over my stomach to the bottom of my shirt. We were looking into each other’s eyes. Slowly, he started to pull the bottom of my shirt up over my body. I lifted my arms over my head, and he pulled it all the way off. Then he ran his fingers over my lean torso. He played with the downy little patch of hair that was starting to sprout in the middle of my chest, then worked his hands out to my nipples, cupping them gently, before tracing his fingers down my rib cage and back to my belly button, where a light line of fur ran down to the waistband of my jeans. He dipped the tip of a single finger below the button holding my jeans on, playing with the elastic of my underwear before resting his hand back on my chest. He could see that I was breathing quickly and that I wanted to kiss him again.
He brushed his lips lightly over my own, then pulled back again. This time, he slowly pulled off his own T-shirt, and I gazed at his athletic body. His chest was solid and muscular compared to my own wiry frame. His arms were sinewy and lean. I could see his ribs and the grooves of his taut stomach muscles as he breathed in and out. His body was completely smooth except for a single trail of hair that led downward from his belly button.
He took my tentative, delicate hands in his own larger, calloused ones and guided them over his upper body. After a moment, he let go of my hands, and I gently ran them from his collarbone down to his hips, using just my fingertips to explore his supple skin.
As I became bolder, using my hands to rub the muscles in his back and to cup his pectorals, he used his own hands to gently squeeze me around my rib cage and my hips, pulling me closer to him. Then slipping one arm behind me, he softly lowered me onto the sleeping bag and positioned himself on top of me, leaning on his other arm to support himself.
Our whole bodies were touching each other. I couldn’t tell if the amazing amount of heat we were radiating was from the friction we created as we rubbed our bodies against one another or if it was just because we were both sunburned. But it wasn’t