One More Year Ch. 06

Disclaimer: In case it is not clearly stated in the narrative, everyone in this chapter engaging sexual activity is at least 18 years of age.

Note: This is written in British/South African English, although almost all similar media I consume is American, so that will have its influence too. For the sake of keeping the note short, I'll post a comment to explain my use of language and obscure terms, if anyone asks or I think of something in particular.

***

"I promise it's not as bad as it looks." He put his hand on my leg, smiling confidently, and giving my thigh a quick squeeze.

With him touching me like that, I was just about ready to tell him he could have taken me to a cemetery, or an abandoned warehouse, and I wouldn't have minded so much. But I was struggling to speak, so I just smiled and nodded.

We'd driven for about half an hour, up the coast to a little resort town called Avalon. Our neighbourhood -- Blue Mountain Beach -- had anything you could ever possibly want or need within walking distance, whether it was restaurants, bars, shops, malls or cinemas. Most people usually didn't bother driving anywhere else other than into the city, where things were even bigger and brighter.

But Avalon was much more rustic and charming. My mom loved it, anyway, so I'd been here before quite a few times with my family. Where we came from, originally, you always had to drive a long way to get anywhere interesting. Avalon was about as much of a tourist trap as Blue Mountain Beach -- both faced Table Mountain across the bay, after all -- and having come from inland, we were still tourists at heart.

He'd directed me to an ugly little box of a building that cantilevered out into the water, the seaward side propped up by a grid of sturdy pillars that held it above the rocks and waves, as if the architecture had somehow justified the effort. We'd parked in the basement, underneath the portion of the building that rested on the shore. The exterior had looked very run-down, and so far the interior was looking even worse -- damp concrete, leaking pipes, flickering lights and faded paint.

Eric took his hand off of my leg, and unbuckled his seatbelt. "My mom and I used to live around here, so I'd always come to this one restaurant."

"Okay." I managed to speak, barely, now that he'd stopped touching me and turning my brain to mush. So it was sentimental. I had wondered if we'd gone somewhere so far because we'd be less likely to bump into anyone there. Not that I'd have a problem with that -- it wasn't as if I was out, or wanted to be. But it seemed nice to think that we were here for purposes other than hiding.

I got out of the car, and followed him through the cold, damp basement. We made our way past an exhausted looking security guard, and into an elevator that had clearly seen better days. He selected the floor, flashing me a grin that could have been slightly nervous as the elevator shuddered upwards, and we stood silently in the flickering fluorescent light. The doors opened with a loud clatter, and he led the way out.

The whole place actually was a bit nicer on the inside -- bright lights and signs at the front of a supermarket and a pharmacy lit up the open-aired courtyard, and there was a collection of other smaller stores, all closed down for the evening. They sold things like antique furniture, artisanal foods, and of course, a few which had made an effort to cram themselves full of anything you could possibly want to take to the beach. We made our way down toward the portion of the building that stuck out over the water, and Eric led me into a restaurant right at the end.

It had a fairly clean, modern look. There was a lot of whitewashed wooden furniture, decorative pieces like mirrors made from driftwood, and copper piping formed into quirky, industrial lighting. Like most places in this town, it had an atmosphere of not trying too hard -- a kind of easygoing confidence, as if they knew that the rush of holiday-makers in the heavy tourist season would get them through the rest of the year, and then some. It looked like it was only at about a third of its full capacity, which was still pretty good, considering that Avalon was pretty much a ghost town at that time of year.

A cheerful waitress with dark, curly hair greeted us eagerly as we walked in.

"Table for two?" Eric asked.

"Of course," she said. "Sit anywhere you'd like. I'll get you some menus."

Eric confidently marched his way to the far end of the restaurant, which was slightly less crowded, and I followed in his wake. We wove our way into the back until we reached the windows, and he indicated a small table, tucked behind a pillar. I took the seat against the glass, enjoying the muted sound of the breakers hitting the rocks below me.

He hovered above his chair, gesturing at the ocean behind me. "You don't want the view?"

"No," I said. "I like to face the room. Watch out for marauders."

He laughed, and sat down. I grinned sheepishly. It wasn't entirely meant as a joke -- people walking around behind me had always stressed me out. I'd sometimes jump when waiters did that annoying thing when they popped up at your side, as if from nowhere. But I didn't know how to tell him that without sounding like a total disaster, so I didn't elaborate.

"I just offered, because I already have something better to look at."

I blushed, and once again I wasn't sure what to say. If he kept doing that to me, this was going to be a very one-sided conversation. I was saved from the necessity of replying by the arrival of the waitress, who handed us menus, rattled off a number of specials, and took our drink orders.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"You just seem a bit uncomfortable."

I laughed nervously. "Right. Sorry. First date."

"Ever?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," I said, slightly annoyed at his tone.

"Sorry, I didn't mean... I thought maybe you'd taken a girl out before."

"No." I shrugged.

"Okay." He settled back in his chair, smiling. "Well, it's not a big deal. You just chat, and ask each other questions."

"About what?"

"Well, stuff that lets you get to know each other. Favourite movie, favourite book, favourite colour, that sort of thing."

"That doesn't seem very efficient."

"I don't think efficiency is the point." He grinned.

"Oh, right." I thought for a second. "Okay, what's your favourite book?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. I liked the Harry Potter books."

"I loved Harry Potter. It got me really into reading when I was a kid."

"Yeah, I only finished reading them last year. It took me ages. I saw your bookcase. Have you read all of those?"

"Mostly, yes. Maybe not one or two, but most of them."

"Which one's your favourite?"

"I don't know." I said, drawing a blank. "That's like asking me to pick a favourite child."

"I hear that's difficult." He chuckled. "Do you have a favourite author?"

"I'm not sure." I racked my brain. "I guess... It's a little trashy, but I really like Stephen King and Anne Rice. I'm also in love with this series by Terry Brooks, Shannara-something. It's an amazing high fantasy series, but it also has a few books with a post-apocalyptic real-world thing, and that all links together. It's kind of brilliant, and there's so many of them. Oh, wait! My favourite author is probably Diana Wynne Jones. She wrote a whole series of books about magic set across this weird multiverse, and they're all great."

"Wow."

"Sorry." I blushed. "You did ask."

"Yeah, I did. It's okay. It's kind of clear you like reading." He smiled. "You like Lord of the Rings too, right?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. I could talk about it for hours." The way his face stiffened made me laugh. "Don't worry, I won't. I like a lot of high fantasy stuff -- that's the majority of my bookshelf, actually. And it's all probably inspired by Tolkien."

"I liked The Hobbit, but I couldn't read Lord of the Rings. They were just stuck in the woods doing nothing for chapters and chapters and chapters. It broke me. I never finished it. Too boring."

"It has its moments." I said defensively.

"I'm sure it does." He grinned. "Louis likes it. He's the one who tried to get me to read it."

"Oh, yeah. We talked about it on the way to the beach last week."

"That's cool." He straightened up in his chair. "Anyway. I have a better question."

"Go on, then."

"What is your favourite guilty pleasure book?" he asked. "Something you love, but you're embarrassed to admit to."

I blushed.

"You have one, don't you?" he laughed. "Interesting. Can't pick a favourite, but you can pick a favourite you don't want to tell me about."

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first, but fine. The Da Vinci Code."

"Oh god, seriously?" I didn't quite manage to keep the judgement out of my voice.

"What?" He chuckled. "It's a fun story. Have you read it?"

"Yeah, and all the others. Complete garbage, but fun to read, I'll give you that. It's a good guilty pleasure book, I guess."

"Exactly," he said. "Now, what's yours?"

"Okay, fine," I said. "Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen."

"Well, that's disappointing. Isn't that like a timeless classic that's universally loved? How is that a guilty pleasure?"

"Well..." I could feel myself starting to blush again. "It's... A lot of it's about finding love. The characters are all caught up in this petty drama that, in real life, I'd find ridiculous. But I get so caught up in them. It's a perfect book, but it kind of undermines the way I think of myself as a cynic. It's a little embarrassing."

"Oh!" He grinned. "You're a secret romantic."

I just shrugged, and looked away. Fortunately, that was when the drinks arrived, and after the waitress had left, the conversation moved on to movies. It was getting easier, now that we were into it. I also didn't have strong opinions on movies, and he did a lot of the talking, which was helpful.

Especially since he'd occasionally reach across and touch my arm, or bump my leg under the table with his, which really hindered my ability to string words together. Eventually the waitress came to take our food order, but we hadn't looked at the menus yet, so she waited while we had a quick look and made our choices.

"So, you said Ellie saw me outside your house today. Does she know?"

I didn't have to ask him about what. I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't tell her, but she just saw us in the path last week. Her bedroom window looks right down on it."

"That makes sense. Is it okay that she knows?"

"Yeah, don't worry, she wouldn't tell anyone."

"Oh, no, I meant like... are you okay with her knowing?"

"Oh. Yes. Probably." I had to think about that for a second. It had just kind of happened, and I'd moved on. She hadn't really given me much choice, anyway. It had even been kind of nice, after I'd recovered from the shock. I was still avoiding Ellie's questions, and grudgingly giving up information to her -- but we'd always been like that. "I guess it's fine. We haven't always been... super close. Or maybe we have, and I'm just bad at friendship. But she's been sweet about it. I guess it's nice to have someone to talk to. I haven't really had that."

"It is."

"Have you... told anybody?"

"Um, yeah, sorry. My friend Jess knows. She kind of knew something was up anyway, and I normally tell her everything."

"Oh, okay." I wasn't sure whether to panic about that or not.

"She won't tell anyone either. I basically trust her with my life. She's known about me liking guys for a while now, and she hasn't told anyone."

"Cool."

"Yeah. We actually used to date, but I told her I liked guys as well, and she wasn't quite comfortable with it. But we're still really good friends."

It took a moment for that to sink into my brain. "Wait, so you like girls?"

"Yeah."

"So you're bisexual?"

"I don't really like labels." He grimaced. "I guess you can say that I have an easier time having romantic feelings for girls, and having sexual feelings for guys. But I definitely have both for you." He leaned across the table and put his hand on mine.

I blushed again as the contact sent a shock-wave up my arm, not really knowing how to respond. Fortunately, I was saved again, by the arrival of our food. Whoever had designed this concept of going to restaurants for dates had known what they were doing. He casually let go of me and sat back in his seat as the waitress arrived, and the interruption gave me time to gather my thoughts, and mull over what he said.

It seemed kind of bizarre to me, at our age, that if girls were an option you wouldn't just... stick to that. In the immediate aftermath of the Marc thing, I really tried to convince myself that I was bi. It had only lasted a couple of days before it became very clear to me that I just couldn't get interested in girls, no matter how much effort I put into it. The fact that it took any work at all should have been a pretty big clue, anyway.

I also didn't entirely understand what he meant by implying 'romantic feelings' and 'sexual feelings' were somehow distinct -- my romantic feelings had always seemed pretty decisively sexual. Romance without sex just sounded like friendship to me. It made me slightly self-conscious -- I wondered if I didn't have a proper handle on what romance was. Given that my grasp of the concept probably came from Jane Austen, maybe I didn't.

Luckily, by the time the conversation resumed, we'd moved on to other topics, and I could have my existential crisis about it in private at some point in the future.

"So what are your plans after high school?" I asked.

"That's more of a parent question than a date question."

"Well, indulge me."

"I definitely plan to." He bumped my leg under the table with his, grinning broadly. "But yeah, I'm thinking about becoming a mechanic."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah, University's not a good idea for me. I tried to drop out of school last year and get started on the apprenticeship, but my dad came down on me like a tonne of bricks. He'll be pretty upset if I don't finish high school. It seems easier to just grin and bear it."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he's a pastor, so he's kind of... he just has very firm opinions on how I should live my life. It's a little annoying."

"I can imagine."

"In the end, I agreed to finish high school, as long as I'm allowed to do what I want afterwards. And my dad knows the guy I'm planning to do the apprenticeship with from church, so at least he approves of the person I'll be working with, even if he thinks I should be studying... Theology or some bullcrap like that."

"Right." I could imagine that having a very religious dad couldn't have been easy for him, but at least he didn't live with the guy. "Can he still be a pastor if he's divorced?"

"Oh, yeah. His denomination allows it. He has some nuts ideas about it though."

"Such as?"

"It's... a little weird. He won't remarry for a bunch of reasons, but he's said before that he's still married to my mom in the eyes of God."

"Wow."

"She's... not on good terms with him."

"Yeah."

"He's not that bad though. He's still my dad, you know."

"Right." I nodded. "Do you believe in God?"

"That's a pretty big question." He laughed. "You know you're supposed to avoid politics and religion on dates, right?"

"No. Sorry." I cleared my throat nervously. "I kind of meant to just ask if you were religious, but it came out wrong." I thought of something and grinned, unable to stop myself. "In my defence, though, I'm just asking about your dad's boss."

He laughed, and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, leaning towards me before getting serious. "Okay, fair enough. I do believe in God. I don't go to church that much any more, unless my dad's around, but I do believe. You?"

"No, not really. I'm not extremely confident that there's no one out there, but I'm just not entirely sure that any single religion has monopoly on all the answers."

"I suppose that's fair." He nodded. "Now, let's move onto something less controversial. Do women deserve the right to vote?"

I just laughed, and tried to keep my head from exploding whenever he casually tapped my leg with his. We finished our meals and the waitress came to clear our plates.

"Would you like anything else? Dessert? Coffee?" she asked encouragingly.

"I think I'm fine." I said, looking at Eric.

"Just the bill, thanks," he said to her.

"Coming right up."

When she laid it on the table, he snatched it up.

"Don't even do that thing where you try and get me to let you pay. I asked you out, so I'm going to get this."

"I still owe you for the ice cream last week. I can pay."

"Well, you can take me out another time then," he said.

Now that was a nice thought. "Okay. Thanks for dinner then."

"You're welcome." He nudged my leg with his, one last time, before he got up.

We made our way slowly out of the restaurant. He sort of sidled up against me as we walked down the corridor, and while we were waiting for the elevator he reached up and lightly tousled my hair. I blushed at the contact, and I felt impatient as we got into the elevator, wondering how long it would be before I got a chance to kiss him again.

Not long -- as it turned out -- because as the elevator doors clattered shut, he pushed me up against the mirrored wall and shoved his tongue in my mouth.

"Sorry," he said, pulling away for a second. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

"It's okay," I gasped, pulling him back into the kiss.

At the edges of my perception, I could feel the elevator stop moving, and heard the doors clatter open and then shut again. Then the lights dimmed and it was quiet. It didn't really seem important what the elevator was doing, other than the fact that the dim light made the whole thing seem so much more urgent and exciting.

When it started moving again, he pulled himself off of me, laughing. "Crap. I forgot there were other people in this building."

We waited to reach the floor it had been summoned from, and an old woman in a purple coat politely stood aside as we exited. I started casually walking along the pathway back towards the restaurant, and Eric chuckled and followed, but we both stopped and turned back once the elevator doors closed. When it had arrived, and we'd gotten in, he pushed me against the wall again. To resume where we'd left off.

As the doors opened on the basement floor, he grabbed my hand and dragged me towards my car. Then he pushed me against the drivers-side door and continued kissing me. I tensed -- we were still in full view of the security guard.

"He doesn't care," he said. "We're making his dull job a little more exciting tonight."

It kind of drove me wild that he wanted me so much that he didn't care about who saw us. I was fully hard at that point, and it was getting difficult to think. And to breathe.

"Do you..." I gasped, trying to get a handle on the sentence. "Do you want to come back to my house?"

"Yeah, that would be nice," he said, still leaning into me. "We still don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm happy with anything."

"I want to do... some things."

"Then let's go." He pushed himself off of me, and walked around to the passenger side. I regretted the abrupt end to what we were doing, but I gathered what was left of my ability to move and unlocked my car, climbing in.

The drive back home happened on complete autopilot mode. I had my eyes firmly on the road, and we weren't touching each other, but my mind was raging the whole time with thoughts of Eric. The way he smelled -- sandalwood soap, deodorant and a light undertone of sweat -- the taste of his mouth, the way his lips felt when he pressed them against my jawline, and the way I could feel his breath on my neck while we were standing up against each other. It was all I could think about, and it was almost a surprise when I noticed that I had pulled my car into the parking spot next to my gate.