Finishing off my sandwich, I crumple up the wrapper and look around for somewhere to stash it. The wind has picked up a little bit, the cold biting gently on my exposed skin. I scoot a touch closer to Desmond, because it may not be cold enough to warrant sharing body heat, but I’m going to do it anyway.
“Chuck it under here,” he tells me, lifting up the edge of the blanket. Our fingers brush as I push my trash underneath. “We’ll gather all the rubbish together and chuck it in the bin when we’re done.”
It takes Desmond longer to eat his sandwich, chewing slowly through each bite as though practicing mindful eating. I stretch my legs out and lean backward onto my elbows, watching a pair of seagulls swooping low over the sand. A couple of girls walk by us, smiling and nodding.
“G’day,” Desmond says, which earns him a second glance and a touch more attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, popping the last bite into his mouth and hiding his trash under the blanket with mine.
“This is a date, isn’t it?” I ask him, blushing when he rests back in mimicry of my pose and looks at me with those wide, brown doe eyes.
“If you want it to be a date, then yes. If this being a date freaks you out, then no,” he replies diplomatically. “Either way, I get the pleasure of your company.”
“Date,” I answer quickly. Desmond grins. “Where’s Parker? With Sue?”
“Yeah. He’s doing maths and a little bit of reading. Didn’t put up too much of a fight about going over to Sue’s place—he likes going, even though the pre-teen in him requires he complain a little bit anyway.”
“You could have brought him.”
“Nah. He would have hogged you, and I think sometimes I’m going to need Jack to myself,” he replies casually, as though that’s not the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I wonder if there’s any way I could blame the sun for how hot my body feels now, face likely fire-engine red. I reply with an inarticulate noise that, embarrassingly, sounds like a groan. Desmond chuckles.
“I should probably give you my speech for when I meet a new bloke,” he comments.
“Oh God,” I mutter, making him laugh and bump me with his shoulder. He clears his throat dramatically.
“G’day, I’m Desmond,” he starts, and I hack out a surprised laugh. He shushes me, clearing his throat again. I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing once more. “I’m ace, and most likely won’t have sex with you. If that’s a deal-breaker, no drama…. Want to hit the water?”
“You do not actually say that,” I say, staring at him in surprise.
“Okay, no, not exactly like that. But close. I’ve met some good blokes that way—mates I used to surf with.”
“You just…come right out and say”—I wave my hand in the air—“that stuff to someone who’s trying to pick you up?”
“I didn’t use to. I used to play the game—hooking up, going along with whatever the bloke I was with wanted to do.” He scrunches up his face, thinking. “But after a few years, I had this moment ofwhat the fuck are you doing, mate?I was miserable, and nobody should be miserable when they’re with their partner. So I just…stopped. Stopped doing things I didn’t want to do, and started laying all my cards right out on the table.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, feeling stressed even thinking about it. I can barely choke out the words “I’m gay.” I can’t even fathom feeling like I had to explain to every potential partner that I wasn’t going to sleep with them. Which, given that I won’t, is probably something I need to work on. Desmond continues, still in that unhurried, calm tone.
“Trust me, it was the right move. Most of them move on once they know you aren’t going to fuck them, and that’s okay. It’s a quick and dirty way to weed out the blokes who probably wouldn’t have been a good match, anyway.” He shrugs again. I stare at his profile as he talks, curls twisting gently in the breeze. “And like I said, I made some friends.”
He looks at me then, deep brown eyes meeting mine. We stare at one another for a few silent seconds, before I realize he’s probably waiting for me to answer the question he left in the subtext of that story.
“That’s not a deal-breaker for me,” I tell him quietly, quoting his earlier words. He smiles.
My chest loosens as I think about the implication of this conversation, and I find it easier to breathe. Sex has alwaysbeen something I enjoyed fantasizing about—first Troy Nichols and, this year, Desmond. But a fantasy is exactly that and I’m able to keep myself separate from it. It doesn’t mean anything. And honestly, I have no desire to turn those dreams into a reality. I like the fantasy of having sex, but I don’t want that so much as I want what we have right now. Intimacy of a different sort, perhaps, and more precious to me.
“I don’t think I’d like…you know…fucking people,” I admit, laughing awkwardly. A distant sort of discomfort settles in my chest, but it’s not enough to make me want to hide. “It’s nice to think about, but I just don’t want to.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there’s certain things I don’t mind doing on occasion, but for the most part”—Desmond shakes his head, pressing his heel down into the sand and rotating it, creating a hole—“I could do without. The last relationship I was in, Mark was always wanting to have sex, and I just…like, can’t we just cuddle for a bit, mate?”
I burst out laughing, Desmond joining in as he rests back until he’s flat on the blanket, eyes closed and hands linked on his stomach. He looks so beautiful, stretched out and relaxed, smiling up at the sky. His shirt is pulled up a bit, showing a tan strip of stomach, and a paler line below, teasing parts of him that don’t get to see the sun. I lie down next to him, knees bent so I can bury my toes in the sand.
“What are the things you like?” I ask softly, finding it’s a lot easier to ask questions like that when I’m looking at the clouds and not at Desmond’s face.
“Kissing, frotting, and the occasional blowjob, but I much prefer being on the receiving end of those,” he answers, not a trace of embarrassment evident in his tone. “And I really do love a bit of a cuddle. When Parker was a little ankle-biter, I visited a few times and he’d sit on my lapfor hours—curled up against my chest like a little koala. I loved that.”
I sigh, once more hating the fact that I grew up to be a giant. I feel like I’d quite enjoy the opportunity to snuggle up to Desmond like a koala. Unfortunately, my 6’5” ass would probably suffocate him if I tried. The barking of a dog gets my attention, and I turn my head to watch a border collie sprint down the sand after a frisbee. I wait, watching until the owner comes into view and launches the disc once more, the dog happily streaking off after it. Maybe I’m asexual, too, instead of broken the way I’d always considered myself to be.
“I like the idea of a relationship that doesn’t revolve around sex,” I say, the words barely above a whisper. Courage never stays with me for long. “I don’t think I’d like doing most things. And I’m not sure I’m ready to try.”
“Okay,” Desmond agrees likes it’s not a big deal at all, the easy acceptance of me. “Then we won’t.”
