The Afternoon
I stretched out on the deck and read. The sun shone down all afternoon. Chubby lay by my feet.
The fresh air, the smell of the sea, the view over the tea trees, and the solitude kept me company all day.
I smoked some pot, drank some tea. Chubby and I ate some bananas.
I intended to go down through the tea trees to the beach, but I never quite made it.
Danny came up after a day of surfing. He came up onto the deck with his wetsuit pulled down to his waist, his muscles rippling, his blond hair hanging wet and shaggy, his face tanned.
“Hey, how are you?” he asked.
“Yeah, good. Been surfing?”
“Yeah, everything hurts just a bit.”
“It’s good for ya,” I said. I resisted the urge to offer him a massage. “Beats me sitting here on my arse all day.’
“It’s a good spot,” said Danny. “It’s a good day for it.”
“Yes,” I said.
He pulled up the other chair and sat down next to me. Chubby got up and stuck his face in Danny’s crotch. “Oh, hey, Chubster mate,” said Danny. “You’d really need to buy me a drink first.” Danny pushed Chubby’s face out of his crotch, then he looked over at me, and smiled, realising what he’d said.
“He’s incorrigible,” I said trying to lighten the moment.
“Still, the best offer I have had… all… week,” said Danny. He laughed self consciously. He looked away, stared out to sea. He pulled a the-again kind of face to the ocean. “Second best,” he said deadpan.
I thought I knew what he meant, but I had no idea why he was saying it. I didn’t know how to reply. You snooze, you lose was the best I could come up with, so I said nothing. But it made me laugh.
“What’s funny?” asked Danny.
Oops, I thought. “Oh, you know life, hey?” I turned and looked at him. And then this came out of my mouth. “Sometimes you’ve just got to go with second best.” That wasn’t what I wanted to say. I was going to say, sometimes you just have to grab it by the balls, but stop short of saying that.
“I guess,” said Danny. “It is all supposed to feel good.”
I didn’t know what else to say. “Do you want a joint?”
Danny smiled. “You trying to get me stoned now?”
“That is genuinely the reason for smoking the pot.”
“It’s a cunning plan,” said Danny. “It might just work?”
“It might just work?”
Danny laughed, as he stared out to sea. “Plan B, hey?”
“Second best?” I questioned.
“Something like that,” said Danny.
Was Danny flirting with me? It seemed like it. Is that a form of Stockholm Syndrome, I’ve seen it before. The captor just wants to please the host, irrespective of the hosts behaviour?
Suddenly, it just didn’t feel right. Lovely Danny, so strong connected to everyone who are straight and practically family members. I wasn’t really sure why I was feeling like this, but Danny suddenly felt like the line that shouldn’t be crossed. One of the surfer boys, in a huge gaggle of surfer boys. All in “that’ world.
What was the best way to describe it, tacky opportunism that would only lead to awkwardness and no good. Did I want to be “that” person, the predatory gay? Did I want to make myself the “odd” one out. No, I didn’t. We strive all our lives to be “normal”, with a different POV, but I was sure that came with certain responsibilities.
Put very simple, don’t come home and shit all over your own nest.
Was I really that creep?
We smoked and stared out to sea. Much time passed with our heads on a tilt in, seemingly, in quiet meditation.
Oh Danny, sweet Danny. I suddenly regretted my behaviour from last night. Alcohol, the lesser of social drugs. It makes you do stuff you regret, which I am claiming here, and then for a lot of people, it wipes their memory of the regrettable behaviour they inflicted on the world, which may, or may not be regrettable, if only they could remember it.
And alcohol is the legal one, the one that is sociably acceptable, go figure.
I winced at my own behaviour. Putting gay men’s relationships back years with straight guys. It is one thing to take up the curiosity of a straight boy, it is another thing to inflict yourself upon then, which is which I seem to remember myself doing.
The things you regret aren’t necessarily only the things you didn’t do.
The fresh air, the smell of the sea, the view over the tea trees, and the solitude kept me company all day.
I smoked some pot, drank some tea. Chubby and I ate some bananas.
I intended to go down through the tea trees to the beach, but I never quite made it.
Danny came up after a day of surfing. He came up onto the deck with his wetsuit pulled down to his waist, his muscles rippling, his blond hair hanging wet and shaggy, his face tanned.
“Hey, how are you?” he asked.
“Yeah, good. Been surfing?”
“Yeah, everything hurts just a bit.”
“It’s good for ya,” I said. I resisted the urge to offer him a massage. “Beats me sitting here on my arse all day.’
“It’s a good spot,” said Danny. “It’s a good day for it.”
“Yes,” I said.
He pulled up the other chair and sat down next to me. Chubby got up and stuck his face in Danny’s crotch. “Oh, hey, Chubster mate,” said Danny. “You’d really need to buy me a drink first.” Danny pushed Chubby’s face out of his crotch, then he looked over at me, and smiled, realising what he’d said.
“He’s incorrigible,” I said trying to lighten the moment.
“Still, the best offer I have had… all… week,” said Danny. He laughed self consciously. He looked away, stared out to sea. He pulled a the-again kind of face to the ocean. “Second best,” he said deadpan.
I thought I knew what he meant, but I had no idea why he was saying it. I didn’t know how to reply. You snooze, you lose was the best I could come up with, so I said nothing. But it made me laugh.
“What’s funny?” asked Danny.
Oops, I thought. “Oh, you know life, hey?” I turned and looked at him. And then this came out of my mouth. “Sometimes you’ve just got to go with second best.” That wasn’t what I wanted to say. I was going to say, sometimes you just have to grab it by the balls, but stop short of saying that.
“I guess,” said Danny. “It is all supposed to feel good.”
I didn’t know what else to say. “Do you want a joint?”
Danny smiled. “You trying to get me stoned now?”
“That is genuinely the reason for smoking the pot.”
“It’s a cunning plan,” said Danny. “It might just work?”
“It might just work?”
Danny laughed, as he stared out to sea. “Plan B, hey?”
“Second best?” I questioned.
“Something like that,” said Danny.
Was Danny flirting with me? It seemed like it. Is that a form of Stockholm Syndrome, I’ve seen it before. The captor just wants to please the host, irrespective of the hosts behaviour?
Suddenly, it just didn’t feel right. Lovely Danny, so strong connected to everyone who are straight and practically family members. I wasn’t really sure why I was feeling like this, but Danny suddenly felt like the line that shouldn’t be crossed. One of the surfer boys, in a huge gaggle of surfer boys. All in “that’ world.
What was the best way to describe it, tacky opportunism that would only lead to awkwardness and no good. Did I want to be “that” person, the predatory gay? Did I want to make myself the “odd” one out. No, I didn’t. We strive all our lives to be “normal”, with a different POV, but I was sure that came with certain responsibilities.
Put very simple, don’t come home and shit all over your own nest.
Was I really that creep?
We smoked and stared out to sea. Much time passed with our heads on a tilt in, seemingly, in quiet meditation.
Oh Danny, sweet Danny. I suddenly regretted my behaviour from last night. Alcohol, the lesser of social drugs. It makes you do stuff you regret, which I am claiming here, and then for a lot of people, it wipes their memory of the regrettable behaviour they inflicted on the world, which may, or may not be regrettable, if only they could remember it.
And alcohol is the legal one, the one that is sociably acceptable, go figure.
I winced at my own behaviour. Putting gay men’s relationships back years with straight guys. It is one thing to take up the curiosity of a straight boy, it is another thing to inflict yourself upon then, which is which I seem to remember myself doing.
The things you regret aren’t necessarily only the things you didn’t do.
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