Back to the Bay

I went out the next evening, knowing it'd be the last until...whenever. The weather was appropriately gloomy, and the heavy cloud layer blotted out the weakening sun very effectively, so that it was near dark by the time we met up, making it quite evident that, yes, this thing had run its course for now. There was a bare five minutes for throwing sticks for Yukon before we had to give it up and go our separate ways, and it was only the extreme contrast between the pale concrete ribbon of the beach reserve pathway and the grass either side of it that kept me from going off course.

I was dejected rather than angry when I got home. I stood and stared at my ghastly hallway wallpaper for about thirty seconds, then I found a loose corner down by a skirting board, and started to pull. I had to get a chair to stand on to detach it all the way to the ceiling, but it felt good. I did another strip, and another. I had a shower, put on some old trackies and an at-home t-shirt, got a spray bottle, and started on the underneath layer. It was incredibly therapeutic, right down to the snail-like progress, peeling away strip after tiny narrow strip, shaking them off my fingers onto the floor. Maybe I'll survive, I thought, lying in bed later. Maybe, if I can keep myself busy enough, I'll make it through to spring. And then...and then what? How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself, Adrian? I pushed that away and tried to think about what I wanted in terms of replacement wallpaper instead.

Saturday, I went back to Toby's place with him after meeting up on the beach. Only problem was I was all in sweaty clothes, and kind of in need of a shower. I didn't want to lean back on his couch. He thought I was being ridiculous.

"Hey, everything here is all covered in dog - how can you possibly make it grottier?"

I looked about me. "What the hell are you talking about? It's not grotty!"

He shrugged. "Well, I vacuum every day, or it would be. Either way, it doesn't matter. But do you want a t-shirt of mine to put on?"

If I can keep it... "Then it'd just be grotty, too, wouldn't it? Why don't you bring a leash next weekend and you guys can come down to my place after, have some lunch with me?"

He shrugged again, then smiled. "Sure."

I spent the next seven days in a rising fever of excitement, interspersed with periods of zen-like calm while I was pulling wallpaper. I made sure the house was non-grotty, except in the hallway, which I didn't even attempt. I figured I'd just do it in one fell swoop when I was finished. I should've realised all that stuff lying about would be like catnip to Yukon. Toby and I were most of the way down a stack of toasted sandwiches when he pranced into the room, dragging a whole sheet behind him, threading in under the table, between our legs.

Toby's eyes bugged. "Jesus fucking christ! Ohmigod! He's ripping off yourwallpaper? Adrian, I amso sorry!"

I laughed so much it hurt. "No, no,I'm ripping off my wallpaper! He's just found it lying in the hallway! Are you gonna be alright? Don't have a heart attack on me!"

Toby did have a hand to his chest, and he looked like he was breaking out in a sweat, but he was laughing too. "Oh, thank god! I totally thought..." Yukon wended his way out from under the table again, and the paper caught on something. He turned, growled, and pulled. It ripped. He decided he liked that, and started methodically decimating it. Toby dropped his face in his hands. "Ohh, god..."

I was laughing again. I was giddily, stupidly, happy. "It's fine, it's fine! You should see the state of the hallway!

Toby pushed away from the table and stood up. "Give that here, Yukon! Drop! Drop! Let's leave the mess all in one place, huh?" He picked up the shreds and gathered the main bundle into his arms. "So where are you keeping this shit?" He followed me through to the hall, stopped dead, and blinked. "Wow."

I laughed yet again. "I know, it's a tip. But it's really fun ripping it off. Wanna have a go?"

He stared quizzically at me for a few seconds, then said, "Sure," crouching down to pick at a corner. Yukon went crazy with excitement seeing it come off. Toby gave it to him as it came away, and we both watched as he wrestled with it, ending up helplessly tangled, on his back, kicking out everywhere with his legs, hundreds of the tiny strips of under-layer strewing the floor becoming caught in his pelt.

"You dick dog," Toby said fondly, shaking his head at him. We watched the show some more, I leaning against one wall, Toby against the other, in companionable silence, until Toby said, "Adrian?"

He sounded a bit strained. I looked across at him. "Yeah?"

He was looking down at his hands now. "Are you um...attracted to me?"

I froze. Ohh, shit. What to do? Deny? Too late for that, there's already a guilty pause spinning out. Minimise, then. "Ahh..." I temporised, weaving my head about, "...maybe, some. I guess. A bit. Sorry. Don't...freak out, please?"

"I'm not freaking out," I heard him say.

I stole a look at him. "Yes, you are."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Oh, yes you are, I thought. You're not just a bit uncomfortable, you're freaking out big-time, yet you handle working with that sleazy predator Damon just fine, apparently. But he's 'very professional'. Whereas, me? Unknown quantity.

"Toby," I began, through gritted teeth, trying to sound gentle and patient, "I get that this might be weird for you, but god, I'm not a rapist! You don't need to be scared of me!"

He kept his eyes resolutely closed, and I could see hallmarks of stress everywhere - the flared nostrils, tendons standing out on his neck, white knuckles. He swallowed, and as I watched his adam's apple bob, it suddenly clicked. All this tension, it wasn't fear. It was paralysis. He was taut with the immense strain of opposing forces. One thing pulling against another. Part of him wanted to run. Part of him wanted tostay.

I moved to stand directly in front of him, not that he saw. "I swear to god, Toby," I whispered, "I will never lay a finger on you. Unless you want me to."

I never saw anyone blush so rapidly, so completely - both sides of his face were instantly aflame, bleeding down across the jawline to his neck. He swallowed again, audibly.

"Do you want me to?" I breathed. His hands came up to cover his heated cheeks, his sealed eyes - but he nodded from behind his screen.

So I did. I reached out and peeled away his hands, bringing them down to his sides. Keeping hold of them, I ran my thumbs around his palms. Then the backs, the fingers, just gentle caressing. Outside, earlier, the sea had been heaving, the pluming spray from the waves driven toward us by a stiff onshore breeze. My thumbs juddered, moving across his salt-sticky skin, instead of gliding smoothly. His lips, if I sampled them, would taste of the sea. His hair, if I ran my fingers through it, would be thick and tacky with the same residue. If?If? I let go one hand, and carded his curls back off his forehead, pushing in until my spread fingers encountered resistance in the tangle.

"Open your eyes." He did, meeting my gaze, holding it. I extracted my hand from his hair, resting my forehead against his. I could still feel the tension throughout his body, a barely perceptible essential tremor, the sort of thing you notice coming off a tiny bird that's hit a window, resting in your palm, gathering strength for flight once again.

"Is this okay?" I asked.

He nodded, as much as he was able with my head on his.

I took a deep breath. "Can I kiss you?"

He swallowed again, with a squelching sound. And nodded.

It was a simple thing to do, to close the gap between our lips, and I did it simply, just meeting and pausing, while I searched for his other hand again, interlacing my fingers with his. He held on, squeezing tight, still primed, roiling internally - but the moment I allowed my tongue to peek out and track across his lower lip, it all left. The storm died, the sun came out - it was radiant light and heat, horizon to horizon. I tasted the beach and the bay and Toby, and I knew he was complete again - here with me in the moment. Oh, come to bed with me, baby, and I'll show you all the things.All the things. God, there's just nothing I don't want to do to you...with you...for you...

Yukon whined.

Okay, yeah, maybe not right now. And he needs to go to work. And I need a shower still.

I drew back. "How was that?"

A long, shuddering, exhale, downcast eyes - then a blinding smile. "Good. Really good, actually."

I still had hold of his hands, and I drew him forward until our bodies met, then snaked my arms inside his, around his waist, as Yukon strolled over to sit beside us and inspect this new development. Toby rested a hand on his head.

"This is...a bit different, for you, isn't it?" I murmured, into his neck.

He nodded again. "Uh-huh. I guess that was kind of obvious"

Yeah. But not in a bad way.

"Here's what I think," I began, "I think you should head home soon and, y'know, process this. Then -if you want to - come back Monday or Tuesday, when you don't have to work and there's plenty of time, and we can...see what happens. If you want to."

——-

In the following days, I stripped alot of wallpaper. So much, that at about ten on Sunday evening, I thought to myself, might as well just finish it and clear up. Which was possibly a mistake, seeing as it took me until one-thirty and meant I couldn't concentrate at work on Monday. Or maybe it was something else, behind that...

Toby showed up at my door around six, hair damp from the shower, skin cold from his bike-ride - and without Yukon. He looked at me, embarrassment and eagerness chasing one another back and forth across his face, and opened his palms in a sort of shrug. "Well. Here I am."

I took hold of his hands and stepped backward into the house, gently pulling him toward me. "Here you are. How're you feeling?"

He ducked his head. "Okay, yeah."

I took another step back, tugging him with me, hands by our sides, keeping him anchored to me, faces too close to focus. "Sleep alright?" I murmured, against his neck.

"Not so much," I felt the whisper, ghosting across my ear.

I retreated another step. "Me either," I confessed, turning my head to speak against his lips, giving him a tiny peck when I finished, stepping back again.

We made our way across the living area like that, a sort of slow dance, hands interlinked, feet dangerously close, trading phrases interspersed with kisses, whispering for no reason other than the sheer intimate joy of it.

We turned the corner into the tiny hallway and Toby stopped dead. "Wow, this is different!"

"Everything's different," I said. Because you're here. I kissed him properly, then - slow and searchingly, leaning in, and shuffled us around so I was advancing and he was retreating, inch by inch, toward my bedroom door, which was closed because I had a heater on in there. I mashed him up against it, and kissed him again, deep and thorough, maintaining contact even as I broke our hand-hold to open the door, and nudged him through.

"It's warm in here!" he exclaimed, as I turned back to him from shutting it.

I shrugged. "Well, I was kind of planning on getting you naked, so it needs to be."

He laughed, and blushed, then stretched his arms over his head, his t-shirt riding up, exposing a couple of delicious hip-bones as he looked around, taking everything in.

"You have such a cute house, Adrian!"

"Don't get attached to that wallpaper," I warned him drily. "It's coming off, just like your clothes."

The stain on his cheeks deepened. "You've got a one-track mind!"

"Not so much," I countered. "I just like to finish what I start - and also, I learned over the last week that I'm pretty good at stripping things."

He sniggered. "That's very nearly a dad-joke, y'know, but go ahead, strip me!"

I got hold of the bottom of his t-shirt. "You sure?"

He stared back at me, frank and open, nodding slowly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

I stripped him, and started on myself. Partway through, I had to stop and just stare at him, laid out on my bed."God, you're lovely!"

He reddened again. "Pfft. Says the guy standing there looking like something out of a Calvin Klein ad!"

I frowned down at my slate grey boxer-briefs, the only thing I still had on. "They're from Kmart, actually."

He snorted, flicking a hand dismissively. "Well, get rid of them, then!"

I did, then I laid down on my side beside him, propping myself on an elbow, and just drank in the sights. I noticed his eyes darting about the place, chest rising and falling distinctly. I sympathised. It's tough, being naked and hard around someone the first time. It's a clifftop feeling - scary but good, thrilling, at least partlybecause it's terrifying.

"It's okay, Tobes," I told him, kissing the tip of his nose, bringing our foreheads together, "it's okay," reaching out my hand, letting it roam, at will, "it's okay."

Until now, I'd always thought that if you're expecting someone to get down with you, you should do at least a bit of manscaping - it's just basic politeness. But Toby was completelyau naturel so far as I could tell, and it worked. It workedamazingly. He had very little body hair on the whole, just acres of unblemished white skin, punctuated by two wild dark auburn tufts fountaining out from his armpits, and a crazily jubilant tangle at his groin in the exact same shade - a fraction darker and richer, than the hoydenish mop he carried around on his head. And all of it, the whole package, spoke to his fundamental honesty, openness, self-acceptance. This is how I am. This.

I sat up again and gazed down at him, at my fingers, trailing around his ribs and abdomen, and admitted to myself that I would-not-change-a-thing. Not even the fact that he obviously had next to no idea what he was doing here. Not even that.

"Fuck, you're like, perfect," I whispered. "I could look at you all night long."

His eyes met mine, twinkling. "Would it be okay if I fell asleep?"

I smiled. "For sure. I think I'd like to watch you sleep."

"I don't think I could," he confessed, "fall asleep, that is. Not with you staring at me like that. It's kinda too intense. You look like you want to eat me."

"I do," I said, and then I made good on my words, starting at his collarbone, and working my way down, tasting his skin, grazing down over his ribs, dropping some more to lavish my attention on the nearest of those lovely jutting hip-bones. I heard a single sulky grunt as I swerved his groin and skated down still further. Hah. I wedged myself between his knees and started working my back up again. Partway up his inner thigh, I found a patch of skin that was totally hairless and baby-smooth, and I absolutely went to town on it. After a minute or so I could hear his breathing getting pretty laboured.

I raised my head. "You okay?"

"Yep," he panted. Then, after a pause, "it's just you're somewhat blowing my mind, here."

"I'll be somewhat blowing your dick very shortly unless you have strenuous objections," I threatened.

"I don't have strenuous objections," he whispered, hot and quick.

I moved up higher, to the cleft of thigh and groin, and brought my teeth to the party too. "Do you havevague objections?"

"I don't - have - any objections - at all," he managed to force out.

I capered back up the bed, looming over him in a plank, nose to nose, and teased, "Is that the best you can do?No objections?"

I was hoping for another blush. I didn't get one. Instead, I got a palm placed firmly on the crown of my head, pushing me back down. Ohhhhh, I thought, it's like that, is it? Well, then...I'll blow your mind, alright...

I pulled out every trick in my book for Toby. He lay motionless under my ministrations at first, his hand resting on my scalp. But he couldn't keep still for long. He couldn't keep quiet, either. In fact he was seriously vocal. If it had been anyone else I might've wondered if the whole thing was a performance for my benefit. Because it was Toby, I knew it was genuine. And it wasfucking fantastic. It was very nearly blowing my mind as well, that he was so responsive. By the time I had him pushing up from heels to shoulder blades, his entire body bowed and rigid in desperate search of more of me, the caterwauling had a pleading note to it, and I decided to take pity on him. He came spectacularly - and noisily - in my mouth, and afterward, I rested my cheek against a hip, feeling the shuddering of his flesh give way to ripples, then to slow-breathing contentment.

I knelt up and straddled him. "Hey, beautiful," I whispered, and he crooked an eyebrow at me, sheepish, sated, sleepy. I took his hand, wrapped it around my dick, and covered it with my own, worming my fingers between his at the tips, and began to stroke. It was an incomparable feeling, his skin against mine, mine in turn against his, working as one. He watched, calm and awed, his eyes flicking back and forth between my face and our entwined hands, and as I watched him watching, I could see his chest rising and falling, even his breathing matching the rhythm of our hands. I gasped and toppled forward slightly, arresting my fall with my free hand, as I unloaded copiously on his chest and stomach. Kneeling back up again, shoulders slumped, body slack with contentment, I tried to gather my thoughts. I couldn't. My mind was truly blown.

——

We did all the things, all the ways. We slept tangled up in one another every Monday and Tuesday, and often other nights as well, whichever of us was nearest the door hanging an arm out, connecting to Yukon. And I found myself returning, again and again, to the power of that first experience, bringing him howling over the edge with my mouth then kneeling astride him, his hand sandwiched between two layers of my flesh, working together, watching one another, until I emptied myself all over him.

After one of these times, as I was coming back to earth, he said to me, "Adrian? I feel like I should probably tell you something."

"Yeah, what's that, babe?" I mumbled, heavy-lidded and spent.

"This...whole thing took me completely by surprise," he began. "I mean, I've had girlfriends, and...it never felt like anything was missing or wrong, particularly, so I don't think I can be gay, exactly. And so I've tried to figure out...what this is, and I can't come up with any answers, but...you know, I'm thinking maybe I don't need any. Because...this is real, right? This is really real. Whatever it is."

I looked down at him lying there, long and lean, pale and solemn, like something out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting - aside from the puddle of cum on his chest - and I felt a huge lump in my throat, and a tsunami-like urge to tell him I loved him. I managed not to, but I still had hold of his hand with my own, so instead I brought it up to my heart, pressed it there, closed my eyes. "Yeah," I told him, "it's really real. Reallyreally real."

That urge to say 'I love you,' it kept returning, and returning, and eventually I did say it one afternoon in the depths of a freezing cold August, when were were snuggled up beside one another on my couch, foreheads together, petting and nuzzling beneath a big toasty pile of dog. His hands sought for mine under the fur, and found them, and clutched. "Me too," he whispered, "me, too."

The days, they started to get longer and warmer, and we put up a proper fence, the sort that'll keep a malamute in, all around my little house, with Tom and my Dad helping us, and when it was done, Toby and Yukon moved in with me. The days got longer and warmer still, and it was Christmas and tourists and barbecues and cricket season all over again. But this time I watched the matches on the big screen in the Irish bar at the rear of the Masonic Hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of my boyfriend passing by, every now and then.