“Like a clam,” I explain, trying to ignore the innuendo and the fact that we’re both naked and sayingcockle. “If a predator comes, it can stick its gooey center out so fast, it jumps away. And sometimes tiny pea crabs live inside of it.”
There. Brain back in working order.
“Cool and gross,” Elliot says, appreciating.
We get up and walk some more until we find a violet patch. Elliot asks about the birds we’re hearing, so I munch on purple flowers and share what I know. I point out the wren songs, and when a Red Crossbill appears, I draw Elliot’s attention to the tips at the end of her beak, which overhang and twist, a unique trick to get the seeds out of conifer cones.
“The transition zones are always the most active places,” I explain, indulging because he seems to want to listen, and the distraction is helpful. “Where the sea meets the shore. Where a forest gives way to meadow. Salt water and fresh water sloshing together.”
“Nice,” Elliot says. “Nature likes it when things are different.”
I smile. “A fundamental rule of the universe, simply stated.”
Elliot stands. “Although you are a twin,” he points out.
I laugh. “Yes. Well, there’s something quite different about that, too.”
We start walking together, moving toward the clamming area naturally. I remind Elliot of the basics of clamming, looking for the show in the sand where they’ve dug down.
Elliot plops down next to a small hole. “Got one.”
I spot another nearby. “Excellent.”
He and I both sit and dig through the dirt and sand, which gets stuck to our naked bodies. I have to favor one hand, but I’m healing. Elliot, on the other hand, keeps pausing to wiggle his arm and rub his shoulder.
“Hurt?” I ask.
“I’m fine. Just maybe the rock I slept on.”
I push myself to my feet and walk over. “Stop digging. Let me rub your muscles.”
“Ohhh la la,” Elliot sings. “Can’t keep your hands off me.”
I huff as I plop down behind him. “Tease me and I’ll stop feeding you clams. Now where does it hurt?”
My cheeks feel warm, and I’m somewhat pleased despite trying not to be.
I’m not going to think about flirting with naked Elliot right now. This is a practical massage.
He reaches backward. “My left shoulder. And then down the side.”
I get in position and lay my hand on him, feeling his muscles and the warmth under his soft skin. Elliot lets out a small noise, like a purr, and I swallow.
“You really know your way around a massage.”
“My mom used to throw out her shoulder sometimes,” I explain. “This always helped.” As I talk, I notice a ship in the distance, beyond the hazy dot that I now know is another island.My impulse is to jump to my feet, but I quickly realize it’s much too far away for us to try to summon through the foggy patter of occasional rain.
Quickly, it disappears.
Elliot turns, facing me, and my hands fall away. We stay close for a suspended moment as the waves lap, but then he stands, water dripping down his legs.
His cock is right in my face, and I hurriedly stand, too.
“I had an idea for you,” he says.
“Oh?” I ask.
“Since you’ve been feeling so fussy about how dirty we are, I wondered if you’d considered the special bath stones.”
