The beach house

What happens when two young, longtime friends find themselves in an old beach house by the sea, where unspoken desires and simmering tension drive them to explore the boundaries of their relationship?

Imagine a clear summer day by the sea, with a beach stretching for miles, a sapphire-blue sky, and a soft breeze making the bright, sunny day feel perfect.

I was lying on a blanket with my eyes closed, listening to the seagulls and the waves doing their thing. The sun warmed my skin, and, yes—I probably should have put on some sunscreen. But hey, sweat works as a shield too, right?

The strangest part wasn’t that I hadn’t used sunscreen, but that Mats used so little of it. I mean, I’m a medium-blond guy who tans easily and rarely burns, but Mats was more of a redhead. Not the super-pale, copper-haired kind—he had thick, rich brown hair, dark amber eyes, freckles, and an amazingly charming smile. Add to that an athletic surfer’s body paired with, let’s be honest, skin that wasn’t exactly sun-proof.

Did that mean he used sunscreen like he should? Nope. Never had, probably never would.

At least today, I’d seen him put some on his shoulders. Those broad shoulders. And his chest, too. Those well-defined pecs. Not overly big, but, you know… strong. Precisely shaped, you might say.

That was the extent of his sunscreen effort. He might have gotten burned if his restless mind hadn’t suddenly decided it was time to prepare dinner.

The girls were not having it.

– Whaaaaat? Stop! What are you talking about? they protested. We just got here! No way we’re leaving for dinner now. The sun is still up, for God’s sake—it’s our first day.

– But the sun won’t set for ages. I mean… c’mon… Mats tried to argue. Besides, I’m hungry.

– Well, if you’re hungry, go make some food, his girlfriend shot back. Just do it. We’re not leaving.

Mats looked around, clearly weary, and turned to me.

– Wanna grab some food? We can prep dinner… have a drink on the terrace?

I recognized the look—he was bored. His body was practically itching for action, after - in my book - endless swims and just trying sports on the beach, like he was hoping for a sudden storm to get him out on his board, or maybe a surprise beach volleyball tournament to pop up behind one of the dunes.

But none of that happened.

Two hours on the beach was about all he could handle—and to be fair, it was about all I could handle too. So, with a sigh, I said, Oki Doki, let’s go food prepping.

I grabbed my towel and kissed my girl, then noticed Mats was already halfway up the beach, heading for the house.

He hadn’t gone far, though. The path was narrow—just two parallel lines of planks laid on the sand leading up to the beach house—so it wasn’t exactly built for speed.

I watched him from behind. His thick, dark hair shimmered with a coppery shine, brought to life by the bright sunlight. The bath towel rested casually on those broad shoulders, draping over a strong back shaped by years of steering a sailboard through storms and hail. His lean waist and well-defined spine led down to a very, very tight ass, perfectly framed by his yellow swim briefs. Each step set his ass cheeks in motion, a smooth, flowing rhythm supported by broad, muscular thighs that moved like well-oiled machinery.

Honestly? The path could have been longer if you’d asked me.

I soon caught up with him, which he noticed. He gave me a quick smile and said:
– Thanks for joining me. I was hoping you would.

– Of course, I replied. Food prepping is fun, and tanning does get a bit boring. Besides, a drink is always nice.”

– It sure is. Thoughts about dinner?

– Hmmm, not quite there yet. But from what I know, there’s ham, melon… and some meat if we want to BBQ. We’ll think of something.

– You’ll think of something, he said with a broad smile towards me. You always do.

The house we’d rented was big—quirky, too. Built in the late 1800s, it must have stood almost on the water back then. Now the beach had widened, and the building stood alone among the dunes, with only the tall beach grass for greenery.

The bedrooms were all on the ground floor, with brick walls and small windows facing the sea. But the real highlight was the top floor. It had a veranda wrapped around the entire house and massive, tall windows that could be thrown open to make the line between land and sea feel almost nonexistent.

We walked up the wide stairs leading from the beach to the first floor. Mats casually tossed his towel over one of the banisters to dry, and I followed him into the kitchen, which was on the right, just past the large dining room. Even though the house was over a hundred years old, it had a modern, open-plan feel. The living room was more to the left, but the floor plan was ambiguous, blurring the lines between the spaces. All the rooms shared the same magnificent view of the beach, the sea, and that endless blue sky stretching over everything.

Mats went to the fridge, grabbed a chilled water bottle, and poured us each a glass. He handed me one, and we both drank like our lives depended on it.

– Boy, I needed that, I said, surprised. Didn’t realize I was that thirsty.

Mats was still drinking, and a small stream of water dripped down his chest. It made its way through the cluster of dark hair between his pecs, then slowly trailed further down.

I took another gulp.

The kitchen felt narrow for such a large house. Work areas lined both sides, with an old iron stove on the left and the sink and fridge on the right. Cupboards were mounted high on the walls, and benches followed the room’s length on either side.

I leaned against one of the benches, trying to take in the scenery—the high ceilings with their ornamental plasterwork, the enormous old windows, and the polished wooden floors that gleamed with the patina of age. My best friend stood across from me, drying his mouth with his hand, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

– What is it now? I asked.

– What? he said, feigning innocence.

– Yeah, what is it? There’s always something when you look like that.

– What look? I’m not looking any special way, he replied, grinning wider now.

I rolled my eyes.

– Okay, sure. You’re totally not looking like you’ve got something on your mind that you won’t tell me. Fine. I’ll make our drinks while you stand there ‘not looking’ anything at all.

I started toward the fridge.

– Nah, Erik, you know what I’m thinking of.

– Nah, Mats, I don’t," I said, shaking my head. There are a million things you could be thinking about, and I haven’t had enough wine to start guessing.

– Well, what I’m thinking is… His grin softened into that warm, caring smile of his. I’m really happy you’re here with me. Have I told you I’m happy to see you?

That phrase had been our thing for ages. It had become a sort of secret catchphrase between us: one of us would say, "Have I told you…", and the other would reply in a mock-restless tone, "Yes, you have." We’d joked about engraving it on our gravestones, which would stand side by side one day.

I stopped and turned to face him.

– Yeah, you have. But not today, so feel free to say it again.

He walked up and wrapped me in a big, strong hug.

– I’m really, really happy to see you. That we’re here together, he said.

I saw the warmth in his eyes, welling up like a tide. They got watery, and that made me feel all wobbly and warm inside too. So, I hugged him back just as tightly.

I inhaled his scent from the crook of his neck and let myself enjoy the feeling of his unshaven cheek against my skin. Mats must have liked it too because he stayed in the hug, tilting his head so I could get even closer. My hand slid down his warm, dry skin and held firmly to his strong, narrow waist. His swim briefs formed a clear boundary I didn’t cross.

There had always been something special between us, a magnetic pull I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t know where it came from or what purpose it served, but it was there. And it was strong. Unmistakably so.

I stayed in the moment for a while. It felt like ages—probably just a few seconds. But I was the first to try to let go. Mats’ arms still held me.

– What?" I asked, looking into his eyes, only inches away

– Nothing," he said softly. "Just want to take a close look at you.

– Feel free, I replied with a small smile. I’m here. Not going anywhere. Except to get drinks.

My hands were still resting on his waist, closer to the edge of his swim briefs than they’d ever been. His hands stayed on my back, warm and steady.

Suddenly, he shifted, letting go of my back to grab my arms.

– Man, you’ve really been putting in work at the gym. These biceps are huge!

I felt a flicker of discomfort at the attention and took a step back, heading toward the fridge to make us drinks. Mats was never usually this outspoken.

– I’ve been going to the gym for ages, Mats, I said with a dismissive laugh. These are like the weakest results any living man has ever gotten from spending that much time working out. My body is in a constant battle against my will, and the body’s winning. As always.

– Nah, Mats said, you’re really hitting it. I’d say you’re doing fine. Very fine.

His hands gently stroked my shoulders and biceps, his gaze fixed on them with an intensity that made my chest tighten. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but notice his thick eyelashes and the sunburnt skin on his nose. The way the freckles on his cheeks spread in an utterly random yet perfectly charming pattern. How the muscles in his shoulders moved under his skin as he touched me. And then there was that scent again—that musky, salty, sea-dark freshness he carried with him everywhere. His breath brushed against my chest, sending shivers all over me.

I suddenly felt a raw and undeniable urge to get a real hold of him. To grab his sides, to run my hands over his skin, feeling his muscles tense as I pushed him back against the counter. To see his surprised smile melt into playful mischief as he realized exactly what I was after. Our swim briefs would press together, bulges touching, noses so close that the magnetic pull between us would have been visible.

But instead, I smiled and gently stepped back.

– Handsome, these biceps aren’t going anywhere, but the ice is melting. Let me do the voodoo I do so well and whip up some nice refreshments."

He let me go but followed me to the fridge. As I leaned in to grab the cranberry juice, I felt him lean in too, his presence warm and firm behind me.

– So, he said, resting one arm lightly on my back and holding my shoulder, what’s the plan?

– Anything with vodka is the plan, I replied. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere. And the first day of vacation rules? There are no rules.

It was tricky not to think about how he was touching me.

– Aaah, there’s the cranberry... and there are the limes. Yai! Cosmo time, here we come.

– Wow, Cosmo Shoshsmo time, is it? My maaaaan!

I turned to him with a grin.

– Yup, I am. And now I’m your man with benefits.

– Like?

– Booze, baby. In caps.

He gave me a mock-serious nod and turned to rummage through the cupboards for glasses. As I hadn’t found—or really looked for—a shaker, I grabbed a bright, handmade bowl sitting on one of the counters as décor. It had a playful lemon pattern around the rim and seemed like it wanted to be useful. I filled it with ice, opened the vodka, and poured what I thought was a reasonable amount. Then I poured a bit more. The cranberry juice was trickier to gauge, but hey—juice can always be added later. I squeezed the limes by hand, stirring everything together with a fork.

Mats handed me two margarita glasses he’d found and, once again, positioned himself close behind me.

– That’s an exciting shaker you’ve got there. Very... comment dire... chic?

– Vraiment chic, monsieur, I said with mock sophistication. That rural charm has a lot of... je ne sais quoi.

– You can je ne sais quoi me anytime with a bowl like that, mister.

– I can, can’t I? Well, that’s the power of porcelain.

I lifted it to show him the lemon pattern around the edge. He hummed approvingly.

– Do you think it’ll be sad to have lime juice instead of lemon in it?

– Nah, it’s a happy bowl. This bowl wants to bring joy—no matter the juice.

– Is that so? he said, raising an eyebrow. Well, duly noted. Any kind of juice, you say.

I poured the drinks and turned to hand him his glass. He was as close as ever, his eyes gleaming with that golden-dark amber hue, sending shivers down my spine. His breath on my skin made me feel like autumn leaves caught in a Sunday breeze. I could feel his bulge against my thigh.

Somehow, I managed to slide his glass between us.

– Cheers, Mr. Mighty. May you live long and prosper.

– Cheers, Erik. I promise to do my best.

He took a sip and made an approving face, eyebrows raised at the strength of the drink.

– Oh dear, he shrugged. No expenses spared here. Is that really wise, considering the vast amounts of water we haven’t had today?"

– Maybe not, I said with a grin. But what the hell. A drink should taste like a drink. Not like… soda.

– So true," he said, taking another sip. Well then, this one definitely tastes like a drink.

I couldn’t help but smile at the remark.

– It was a bit strong, right? Yeah, you don’t need to tell me. But hey, there’s more juice, so…

– Nah, it’s great. I’d say it’s perfect. The perfect start to a vacation in a strange house by the sea kind of Cosmo.

– That’s so true. And I’m sure the bowl agrees.

– It must. Just look at it—standing there, oozing joy all over the counter.

– Yes, a truly quaint little happy bowl. I wish every bowl could be as happy as that one.

– Oh, that would be the dream. Happy bowls all over. But maybe it’s too much to hope for? That kind of happiness would probably end civilization as we know it. People would grind bowls into powder and snort it, desperate to capture the joy. And then what? Chaos!”

– Oooh, yes! And it would be so tragic. I can see it now: the hunt for bowls overtaking everything. Parents abandoning their kids to chase after cauldrons, people raiding cutlery stores for leftover ramekins—all for a taste of happy porcelain.

– Happy porcelain, Mats echoed, taking another sip and shivering slightly. Probably best kept secret. He caught my eye with that mischievous smile. Our secret.

I took a few steps back and placed my glass on the counter to watch him. Mats had been acting strangely all day. Even this morning, when we first arrived at the house and raced to get ready for the beach, I noticed something different.

He had waited until the girls had left the house for the beach before changing, wandering around in his briefs before me, then standing by the living room window. He dropped them there, fully aware I could see him.

And I did. Watch him, that is.

He pulled the white cotton fabric slowly down his thighs and calves, revealing his ass. The dark hair on his thighs shifted as he moved, creating a stark contrast with the smooth, pale skin of his glutes. The size of his thighs was impossible to ignore, and his body fat? Probably in the negatives.

That can’t be healthy, I thought, slightly baffled, as I silently watched his impromptu striptease.

He walked over to his suitcase, which was sitting open on the coffee table, and bent over—legs slightly apart—searching for his swim briefs. The position didn’t give me a full view of anything dangling on the other side, still, it did offer a very detailed look at his ass: the interplay of his gluteus medius and minimus, working hard to stabilize his body during this “vigorous” search.

– Found them! he announced, taking the briefs out of the suitcase, then lifting one foot onto the table as he pulled the swim briefs up his leg. When he was done, he turned toward me, adjusting his dick in the snug fabric, and casually asked if I was ready to join him at the beach.

I was already dressed, so I shrugged a “Yeah”, grabbed my towel and water bottle, and headed out to catch up with the girls.

On the beach, Mats knelt on his blanket next to his girl, knees spread wide, applying a laughably inadequate amount of sunscreen to his nose, chest, and shoulders. His girlfriend sighed in disbelief, muttering something before returning to her book.

I, however, had other priorities—namely, taking mental notes of how the sunlight played across his body. The shadows emphasized the marvelous contours of his abs, which rippled like gentle waves. His nipples hardening as he spread the lotion on them, and the fine hair on his thighs glimmered in the backlight of the dunes. Then there was that happy trail leading from his navel to the waistband of his briefs.

The briefs themselves were paper-thin, leaving little to the imagination: the contour of his dick was clearly visible, the head pressing softly against the fabric, pointing straight down between his balls, which filled the bulge perfectly.

And then he flopped down, making a half-hearted attempt to read, resting the book on his face and leaving me to, if necessary, guard that bulge with my life.

But here we were in the kitchen. I leaned against the counter, the edge pressing lightly into my ass, the chilled glass cool in my hand. Mats stood right before me, as sexy and frustratingly handsome as ever.

He turned to set his glass on the counter behind him, then leaned back, mirroring my posture. He scratched his left pec lazily before letting his hand play with the hair on his chest.

– You like my new swim briefs? he asked.

– Yeah, they’re nice, I replied. They look good on you.

He started fiddling with the waistband, glancing out the window as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

– I thought I’d go with yellow this time, he said.

– Why? Not exactly your usual choice.

– I know. Thought I’d push my boundaries a little. And besides, you’ve always told me to ditch the trunks and go for something tighter.

– Well, I’m glad you listened. They look much better on you. I never understood the obsession with trunks—just unnecessary fabric weighing you down. Go lean, I say. Especially if you’ve got the body for it.

He traced the outline of his dick with his fingers, still looking out the window. The bulge seemed bigger now—or maybe just more defined.

– Yeah, you’re always the one saying I’ve got the body for it.

– Well, you do, so…

– And you’ve always told me to wear as little as possible, right?

– If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Madonna said so.

– Well, she would know, he laughed, finally meeting my eyes.

– She would, I said with a grin. And she’s right.

- Like Mary Poppins – perfect in every way.

- You or Madonna?

- You answer that.

- Well… I scratched my chest and took a sip of my Cosmo. Madonna is very close to perfection. You’re not.

- WHAT? he said in a mock-shocked voice. Me? Not perfect?? And you’re supposed to be my friend. My best friend.

- Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Madonna has taken her clothes off. You haven’t. Easy as that.

He stared at me in disbelief, smiling.

– So that’s the sign of perfection? Getting naked for you?

– Well, it’s one important sign, I said and smiled. You can’t argue with that. At least in this case. And you started the comparison, not me. I’m just guiding you toward your better self.

– My better self…

– Yeah, a slightly more daring self, I’d say.

He leaned back against the counter, and he had to know how the soft light from the windows highlighted every single hot part of his body. His smile lingered as he watched me.

– And here I was, he said, still smiling, thinking you’d be happy with me. Doing as you’ve always told me – walking around almost naked in front of you for days on end.

– Well, that is nice – I agree. But ‘almost’… doesn’t that say it all?

Without breaking eye contact, I saw him slip his thumb into the waistband of his briefs. Slowly, he pulled it down just enough to reveal a bit more of the hair trailing downward. He took another sip of his drink and continued.

– You’ve also always told me I look great. That I’m hot.

– Yes. And I’m right – you are.

– No one else says that. Just you.

– Well, they’re stupid then. And I’m not. Doesn’t your girlfriend tell you that?

– Nope. Never. It’s mostly about her looks, not mine.

– Yeah, I shrugged. I know all about that.

– Does yours tell you you’re hot?

– Me? Never. I laughed loudly. Never. That would be the day.

– That’s so strange.

– Why?

– Because you are.

– Am what?

– Hot. Super hot. The hottest guy I’ve met.

Stressed and caught off guard, I started laughing and looked at him with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

– Really? Well, thank you… I guess.

– You don’t believe me?

– Of course not. Why should I?

– Because I tell you.

– Duuh, right… I shook my head. Naaah, thanks, Mats, but…

– But what?

– You’re right. I don’t believe you.

– Why?

– Because… I turned my head, looking around the room, trying to find the words. Because… why are you telling me this now? This is just so strange. I mean, if you meant it, you’ve literally had years to tell me… and you haven’t, so… But thanks, those are kind words.

Mats shook his head, a hint of frustration creeping in.

- I have told you. Many times. I agree – not as often as you’ve told me – and by the way, I’ve loved every single time you’ve said it. Just to make that clear. You’ve been a constant boost to my self-esteem like no one else… But I’m sure I’ve told you.

– Mats, sweetest Mats, I’m not trying to argue here. And I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if you had told me.

– Would you? I mean, if there’s anyone in the entire world who is the worst at receiving compliments, it’s you. You look like you’re about to throw up whenever someone is nice to you.

– Yeah, I know. I chuckled, a bit embarrassed. That’s not my strongest point – agreed. But you do know this about me, and also…

– What?

– Well…

– What?

– Well… you also know that coming from you makes it extra important. You know that.

He took another sip, his expression thoughtful as he looked at me. His thumb was still pulling at the waistband of his briefs, the bulge still larger than usual.

– Yeah, I do. And to be honest, I think I might have played that down a bit over the years.

– Have you?

– Well, yeah – you must understand… what you’ve been telling me all the time… All the things you’re telling me… I mean, hearing that from your best friend who never appreciates any nice things said abouth him, and who also happens to be the guy that everyone loves. I mean EVERYONE. Every single person you meet fall in love with you. The charm you sprinkle around like there’s no tomorrow captivates anyone who gets close to you.

He paused, his eyes locked on mine.

– And even more, you smile like you actually mean it. Every. Single. Time. I mean, you really smile. It’s like you bring your own personal sun with you, and let it shine through you, so that we mere mortals can get a glimpse of how great the world can be. How great it might actually be. And it’s like you make us feel that, believe in that.

I fell into complete silence. Now I knew I had to have more booze.

– And, as if that wasn’t enough, you’re the most beautiful man there is. Your eyes are the bluest kind of grey I’ve ever seen.

– Mélangé says the passport, I interrupted, but he kept going.

– The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. And you’re the brightest person I have ever met – you just don’t know it. You refuse to know it. You take on every new task like you’ll conquer it, and you do. You always do. No matter what life throws at you, you just get to it and handle it. Still smiling, still caring, still more focused on everyone else’s well-being… yes, mine included, than your own.

– Oh fuck, I said, running a hand through my hair. This is unexpected.

Mats ignored my words.

– You tell me that I’m sexy but don’t know it – or that I know it, but am too lame to do anything about it. I know, you’ve said that too. You order me to wear tighter swim briefs to show off my body. You tell me I have the most beautiful eyes, that I’m the brightest and funniest man you’ve ever met.

He paused, his gaze steady on mine.

– You’ve waited for hours for me when I surf – that is probably just to get a glimpse of me changing out of my wetsuit, but still. You make me feel hot. Like I’m on top of the world. Like I’m worth it. You make me cool among my friends because having you as my best friend makes me cool in their eyes.

He shifted slightly, leaning on the counter, his voice quieter now.

– And you’ve spent endless hours at the gym. I’ve even joked you should change your address to that place – and now, you’re getting the results you’ve been working so hard for. You are fucking hot, Erik. But you won’t see it. You just won’t.

I turned away, blinking fast, looking out at the sea through the tall windows. I couldn’t let the tears – the ones building up so intensely they almost felt alive – show. I get soo fucking emotional when he is kind to me and I hate it. Deep breaths, I told myself. Deep breaths.

He stayed quiet for a moment, but I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his words still hanging between us. Finally, he said, softly,

– You never see it, do you?

– See what? I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

– How amazing you are. How much we care about you. How much I care about you.

I bit my lip and stayed silent. Still breathing.

– And how hot I think you are… Even now, when you’re trying so hard not to cry.

I turned my head just enough to glance at him, his words sinking in and pulling at something deep inside me.

– You’re an asshole, I muttered, quickly swiping at my eyes with one hand.

– Maybe, he said, but I’m your asshole.

– Are you? Mine? All mine?

– Well… of course. And I heard the smile in his voice as he added, My girlfriend has never been too interested in that part. But I know you are.

– Oh, fuck, you are an asshole, I said, laughing despite myself.

– Yup. But you still don’t see it, do you?

– What?

– Me, he said, his tone shifting, more serious now. Me, here, in front of you. Wearing the smallest pair of briefs I’ve ever, ever worn just because you want me to. Pulling the waistband down in a way I’ve never done for anyone else. Ever. Just because I know that for you, that’s really, really hot. And that makes me feel like I’m really, really hot.

That stopped me cold. My head was a battlefield. One side was screaming, He’s joking, messing with you, stay cool! The other side whispered, But what if he’s serious? What if he wants something—something real—from you right now?

– And also, he continued, as I hope you’ve noticed for a while now… my dick is hard.

I couldn’t be more surprised by his words. So I replied in the most casual way I knew:

– Is it?

– C’mooon Erik, you know it is!

He took his hand away and leaned back against the counter, making his abs show even more, as well as the muscles on his thighs, and yes… the bulge was prominent.

– Oh fuck, I said. You are… Wow!

– Are you?

I instinctively moved a hand to my groin to feel it.

– It seems like it’s getting there, I said. Don’t make me all emotional if you want me hard.

– You’ll conquer this like you do anything else, he smiled.

He returned to pulling his waistband down, revealing more and more of the dark, curly hair he’d been hiding.

– You like this?

– You like it? I responded, still wary of the situation.

– Yeah, he said calmly. I do. I like getting you hard.

– Fuck Mats, you can’t go around saying that.

– Why not? he said, his thumb now brushing against his dick from inside the briefs.

– Because… you know… how can I know if you really mean it?

Watching Mats tease made me harder by the second.

– What does this look like to you? That I’m playing with you?

– Well, you are, I said with a faint smile.

– Haha, well, yeah… I guess you’re right there. Do you want me to play with you?

– I’m not sure, I said.

– Remember when I saw you hard the first time?

– You’ve seen me hard?

– Buuut, of course. You know it.

– When?

– You know when you were staying at my place—your flat had the pipes done, remember? And you must have been resting on my bed, probably drooling over the scent of me there, he said with a smile. You must have been. Maybe you’d been fantasizing about me, lying there naked when you’re not around. Jerking off… Touching myself… My body touching the same blanket you were resting on.

He knew me too well.

– I came home from uni, and the flat was all silent… threw my backpack to the floor and went into the room. There you were, on my bed, newly awakened and with that thick, big cock of yours standing right out.

Fuck—I remembered.

– It had found its way out of the zipper of your boxers, but you didn’t seem to notice. You just laid back, watching me… still drowsy. Your dick surprised me, maybe shocked me even. The size, of course, but also… the first hard cock I’d seen besides my own. Right there, just a meter away.

– I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to run away, but part of me… just wanted to get on my knees between your legs and lick that shaft wet. Part of me wondered what it would be like to feel it inside my mouth. How you’d sound if I touched it. Jerked it. How you would sound if I’d pleased you.

He had his hand inside his swim briefs now, slowly jerking his cock underneath the fabric.

His dick was rock hard and pushed the thin fabric to its max. I could see the head clearly now through it. I could almost see the divide on the top, the hole from where Mats would unload his hot, creamy sperm.

– You ran, I said.

– Yeah, I did. As I most often do. I’m not like you in that way. I’m sure you would have stayed.

– I would.

– I wonder what’d happened if I had stayed, Mats continued while stroking. What would have happened between us if I had swallowed that huge cock of yours. If I had kissed you. If I had made you cum.

He was stroking his chest now, eyes on me, one hand on the counter, the other slowly jerking his cock. I could see its root surrounded by that dark, curly, well-groomed hair. It was the first time I saw a glimpse of his cock hard, erect.

– You like what you see? he asked.

– I do.

– Want more?

– Yeah.

– The lighting is good, right?

– Mmmm.

– Just the right angle. Just the right softness. I know it is. You taught me.

– You were listening?

– Of course I was. I always do. You just don’t realize it.

We stood there, jerking off in front of each other.

– You always say I should be photographed. I would be happy for it later. That I would enjoy seeing my beauty, my sexiness.

– Yeah, you would, and you should.

– Well, you brought your camera… I saw it in your bag on the dining table.

His golden, dark amber eyes watched mine.

– Care to use it?

I paused, letting the moment stretch. What the fuck is happening? I wondered while gazing at him. What does he want? What does he want from me? I’d dreamed of something like this for so long, but never—never in my wildest fantasies—had I imagined something like this.

But there he was. Touching himself. Exposing himself. For me. Just for me. Because it turned him on. Because it made him hard.

Slowly, I released my grip on the counter and took the few steps toward him so I stood close enough to feel the warmth of his breath brushing against my nose. My movements were deliberate as I leaned in, letting the tip of my nose graze his. Our noses gently touched each other while our breaths swirled the air between is.

We used to do this before when we were younger. Our Eskimo kiss, we’d called it.

His eyes were so near—alive, searching, burning. Eager. Observant. Lusting. The sea seen through the windows reflected in his irises. Turquoise waves glittered against the golden mahogany depths of his gaze.

I circled my nose around his, barely letting us touch, our breaths mingling, our shared warmth almost touchable. Lips—his lips—so close now. So tantalizingly close.

I moved closer, letting my nose brush against his chin, and oh so lightly, my lips grazed his. Slow, deliberate movements, tracing a small, teasing circle. Not resting. Not waiting to be kissed.

He opened his mouth for me and I let my breath fill him. His tongue carefully resting, embracing the geneorous warmt it encountered.

Then, softly, my fingertips found his shoulder. Their touch was featherlight, delicate. I felt him shiver under my hand and saw questions flicker in his eyes—questions I wanted him to hold on to just a little longer.

His skin was so soft and warm. Dry. Pale freckles patterned randomly over his pale, alabaster-like surface. I let my fingers begin a slow journey, following the contours of his muscles. First, the sensitive curve of his shoulder, then down the length of his biceps, tracing his chest with a gentle, wandering touch.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, letting my join his, merging like mist into his open mouth as I pressed a bit closer.

My fingers found his nipple, and it grew firm at my touch, like it went alive under my hand. Then, almost by chance, the tip of his tongue brushed against mine, lingering there, tasting, for a fleeting moment before retreating.

I felt his erection press against my thigh—firm, throbbing, his blood-filled, rock-hard dick still confined beneath that oh-so-thin layer of yellow polyester.

My hand moved slowly downward, trailing the outlines of his ribs, savoring the rise and fall of his breath. Further still, I explored the softness of his skin, tracing the wave-like contours of his waist, feeling every subtle shift of his muscles beneath my touch.

I leaned closer, my lips seeking the delicate contour of his earlobe, while the smoothness of his not-so-shaven shin brushed against mine. That scent returned—salty seawater, the sweetness of Hawaiian Tropic, and the unmistakable muskiness that was him.

My tongue played over his earlobe, tasting its cool surface. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, leaning into me as a shiver rippled through his body.

And then, my fingers found his dick.

His body came to a halt. It was like he stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped thinking. All he was capable of was sensing my feather-like touch against the fabric that kept his dick in lock.

My fingers moved further along its ridge, sensing its strength as it pushed even harder to get out. It was a long one. My fingers had to travel far to reach the head, with its sharp contours embedded within the softness of his balls.

I leaned my chin against his. Let my mouth slowly meet his neck. Licked his skin, then let my warm breath swirl over it.

He had let go of gripping his swim briefs, instead, he was leaning slightly back against the counter, resting on his hands, like a studio easel, displaying the art of his beautiful body.

I continued stroking the outline of his dick, my lips hovering just above his skin, breathing in his scent and the enclosed energy coursing through his body.

– You like this.

It wasn’t a question.

– Mmm, he answered, his eyes closed, his head tilting slightly as if surrendering to the moment.

– Good. I said, you should.

My fingers pressed with a touch more intensity now, a broader grip taking in both his dick and balls. I played with the hair there, my fingers tracing just above the lining of his swim briefs, teasing the edge of what lay beneath.

– You know I’m going to play with your dick, right?

– Uhum, yeah, he breathed, his voice barely audible.

– And you want me to?

– Aaaah, eeeehm… yeah.

– Please be clear.

– Yeah. He took a deep breath and continued: Yes. I want you to.

– Good.

I stayed silent, letting my fingertips trace the lining of his swim briefs. His trailing hair felt sturdy and a bit rough against them. My fingers wandered close to the edge, almost slipping inside, while my thumb gently stroked the shaft.

– You feel my fingers against your hard cock?

– Uhmmm.

– It’s hard, I said, very hard. Almost breaking the seams of your briefs… Do you always get this hard?

– Eeeh… yeah, sometimes. Maybe.

– Maybe?

– It… well… it’s a long time ago now… so… aaaah, I can’t remember.

– You can’t remember…

– Uuuhm, no.

He leaned back some more. Giving me free access to all that he had to offer.

I moved my hand to the back of his head, softly stroking the short hair on his neck, my touch light and deliberate. I kissed his earlobe.

– You know you will kiss me?

– Yeah… I guess

– You want to kiss me?

– Uuuuhm. Yeah.

I kissed his earlobe again.

– You want to kiss me like this?

He nodded slightly, and his dicked jerked under my touch. It filled the cup of my hand.

– Are you a good kisser? I asked softly.

– Eeeh, he took a short breath, maybe… maybe with you.

– You want me to take pictures of you.

– Yeah.

– Why?

– You…

He took another breath as my fingers slid just inside the fabric. His skin was almost boiling, and I felt the teasing brush of his pubes.

– You take great pics… you want to…

– Yeah… I said, slowly kissing his shoulder, but do you want to?

– I do. Yeah, I do.

Every word was a breath. I kissed his earlobe again, sensing the goosebumps rising along his neck.

– You shall show me everything.

– Yeah… I will… I’m yours…

– How you tease yourself…

– Aaah… yeah. OK.

– How you jerk off.

– Mhumm…

– Your rock-hard cock… how you play with your chest… your nipples… how your hand explores your thighs… how they trace the inside of your legs… under your balls…

I felt him nod, his breath shallow, his body responding to my every word.

– Legs wide apart, your dick like a lantern—strong, tall… you’re holding it in a firm grip, masturbating… while your other hand finds its way down… you known, down… in between your legs, playing… finding your crack… your hole…

I kissed his neck, and his hand began to search along my waist, gripping the edge of my swim briefs. He tugged the fabric down over my ass.

– Then you’ll turn… to show me your back… your strong, hard back… all those muscles… your broad shoulders… your ass. See it tense when you jerk off. You want me to see your ass.

– Yeah, he said, his voice heavy.

His hand drew me closer, pulling my briefs further down. Now it was my cock pressed firmly against his thigh.

I leaned my face into his neck, grabbing his hair as I held him close. He tilted his head against mine, his breaths deep and uneven, almost unable to speak. His hand wandered over my ass, searching for something to hold on to.

– Pull your briefs down, I told him. Over your ass.

I felt him shift, lifting his hips slightly off the counter so the fabric could slide past.

– Good, I said. Nice… What do you say about a little adventure?

My lips moved down to his chest. One hand still stroking his cock through the fabric, I let my tongue circle his nipple, kissing it softly. Tasting it. I’d started to know the mix of sea salt and sun lotion on his skin.

I made my way down, feeling his hand release its grip as it followed my movements. My nose brushed along the trail of hair on his stomach, my tongue playing with the sensitive skin around his navel. One hand stroked his thigh, up and down, the fine hair trembling under my touch. The scent of his musk deepened. His hand rested on my neck—a firm hold, not to guide me, but to bring us closer. To stabilize.

I sank to my knees before him, now face-to-face with his groin. My hands rested on his thighs, feeling their warmth and strength. With every breath I exhaled, its heat spread across his groin, and his dick pressed harder against the fabric, as if yearning for release.

His briefs were pulled down over his ass, leaving his dick to stand tall, like the center pole holding the circus tent upright. I leaned in, my tongue tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric. Slowly, deliberately, I licked along its length, leaving a trail of saliva across the swollen head. My hands roamed his thighs, feeling the shivers that coursed through him, each one like a jolt of electricity connecting us, running through my body as well.

Without a word, my hands gripped the sides of his briefs and began pulling them down. I leaned in, resting my face in the space between his dick and his thigh, letting that musky, heady scent envelop me.

As the fabric slid lower, I felt his pubes brushing against my chin, the dry warmth of his cock’s skin, and the full, shaved length of it growing next to my face.

I let my tongue flick lightly over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as I pushed the briefs down to his knees. His dick rose like a pillar, its stubborn stiffness pressing against my cheek as I lingered close.

I kept softly kissing and licking, my left hand traveling upwards his thigh, tracing the line of his Rectus femoris, feeling the taut muscle beneath the skin. My fingers wandered further, finally finding his balls—their playful weight and smooth, freshly shaved surface.

And then, there it was. That erect pillar, standing tall from a groomed bed of perfumed pubes. Like a sacred Egyptian obelisk of pleasure, waiting to be discovered.

I continued kissing the base of his shaft and the groomed pubes, my hand gripping his cock as I began to stroke it. I hadn’t seen it fully yet, but I could feel how I was drawn to it as if it had its own gravity.

It was long and athletic—just like its owner. My lips trailed up the shaft, inch by inch until I reached its middle. Then I paused, pulling my head back to take it all in.

The sight was overwhelming—intense and surreal. There he stood, naked before me like a statue of Anubis. Every muscle on his body, hard and defined, seemed to pulse with life, matching the heat of his cock. His thick thighs framed it perfectly, that cock that had been confined far too long. Not anymore.

I held his spear, firm and ready, feeling its weight and warmth in my hand. The head, which I’d only glimpsed through the fabric until now, was just inches from me—brimmed with heat, excitement, and anticipation. It was there to be touched, played with and devoured.

Part three

In my mind, vivid images flickered—how it shot thick, white streams of cum across Mats’ stomach, his chest, his nipples, his face. How some might even land on his lips, slipping into his mouth as he gasped for air, lost in the throes of his orgasm. How he would moan with a pleasure he’d never shared with me.

Not until now, anyway.

I examined it thoroughly—the hole at the tip, the way the veins shaped its outline, the gentle movement of the foreskin as I stroked it, the solid strength of its erection, and how intensely good it felt to jerk it in my hand.

Mats’ eyes followed my every move, a mix of excitement and caution glinting in his gaze. His briefs had slipped to the floor, and as he shifted to step out of them, I kept his dick in a firm grip, feeling its heat and weight, stroking him as he moved.

I leaned closer, teasing it with my breath, my tongue hovering just millimeters away—close enough for him to feel the warmth.

It was overwhelming. I was overwhelmed. By it. By touching it, by holding it in my hand, pulling the foreskin back and forth, sensing Mats’ pleasure with every motion. His hips thrust toward me, making his abs stand out even more, his hip bones carving a valley that framed his rock-hard cock and the pleasure it promised.

He let me discover him. He wanted me to.

But that constant conflict surged inside me. Would he take a step back and laugh this off? Make fun of my unfiltered adoration for him? My undeniable attraction, which I’d fought so hard to suppress? I had never wanted him to hold that kind of power over me. I had never wanted to need him this much.

At least not as obviously as I did now.

And yet, here I was, on my knees, his rock-hard erection almost brushing against my lips. My tongue darted out, wetting them, as if it had already decided my next move. My body was ready—eager for action—but my mind held back, hesitating.

Why? For fuck, fuckeli fuck’s sake, why? This is a fucking dream come true. This is the real thing! Mats wants me, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Every bit of it. So, whatever the world has dumped on my shoulders: doubt, mistrust, low self-esteem, Mats being an annoying asshole, playing with my feelings whenever it suits him... Get. The. Fuck. Out.

I let my fingertips glide over his thighs again, and he reacted instantly. It was like my touch pulled invisible strings inside him, playing his lust like a puppet, making the hair on his skin stand up like a crowd cheering for more. He moved closer, inch by inch, drawn to me in an auto-pilot kind of way.

Closer to my mouth.

I’ve never felt like I’ve been living in slow motion. Rather the opposite—my world is a fast one. Always shifting gears, always chasing the rush, feeding off the energy, the thrill of it all. But now… I had no clue to what’s happening.

Because at that moment—all there was, was silence.

I kept my eyes on Mats’ face, calm and still, like one of those ancient statues hidden deep in a jungle, standing draped in leaves and obscurity. From where I was, it looked as if his face had been carved out of stone, resting on his thick pecs like cushions supporting that serene, godlike expression. His eyes were steady, unblinking, attentive.

He was completely lost in this.

My tongue stretched out before I even realized it, while I stayed locked on his gaze. Drawn to the dark, stormy beauty that swirled along there—the kind that always pulled me in, no matter how hard I tried to resist. The tip of my tongue brushed against something warm. Hot, even. It wobbled slightly as I moved closer, responding to my touch. My mouth opened. Wider. Wider still. And then it was in.

Oh, the heat of it. The dry texture against my moist lips. The sheer weight of it, the way it filled the space, pressing me to my limits. I knew it – this was what my mouth was made for.

I loved the heaviness of it, resting like a whale on my tongue. Feeling its structure as it moved further inside me. The contours of the head, so distinct and forceful against my wet, sensitive insides.

I pushed it in even further, aiming for his pubes to brush against my skin, to feel the heavy pulse pressed tight against my throat. I pictured myself taking all of it. My tongue working against the ridge, massaging it, while my hand kept a steady rhythm, jerking it.

And then he would come, oh yes he would. A warm, thick pulse of cum, shooting deep inside me, filling me to the brim. I’d choke lightly on the heat of it, my body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation while taking it all in one go. The salty, creamy taste of it—the taste of him.

That was the plan.
But having a big cock in your mouth looks so much easier on Pornhub.

My jaw ached slightly as I realized I needed to open much wider. Much wider. I took a deep breath, lowered my cheek even further, and moved forward, trying to take it all in. Well, to be honest, I wasn’t even close. It was like I barely managed to swallow the head before it reached my soft palate, and the sudden gag reflex hit me with surprise.

I choked hard for a second, coughing as tears sprang to my eyes. A sudden snorting sound escaped me as I struggled to keep the dick in my mouth—well, actually working very hard to do so. Determined, for fucks sake, I am a deep throater!, I took another shot, trying to push it further in—and then I saw Mats’ face, desperately trying (and failing) to hide a laugh.

He’d never been very good at hiding laughs.
And neither had I.

Then, of course, some deranged part of me decided to replay the scene in my head. There I was—on my knees, my bare ass out, swim briefs pulled down just enough to barely cover my boner. Tears streaming down my face, gripping Mats’ thighs for balance, his cock only barely in my mouth. Coughing. Snorting.

And Mats—standing there naked, his long dick pointing out, one hand gripping the counter to steady himself. Bare-assed, legs spread, trying (and failing) to stifle that bubbling laugh as he watched me struggle to swallow him through this ridiculous mess.

I mean, it could have been a lot sexier, couldn’t it?

After that, it all just went hay-wire. I began to laugh, still having his cock in my mouth. And Mats just couldn’t keep it within him either. It seemed like those giggles began in his hips, making his cock shake, which made the head bounce against my soft palate and then… well, I lost it too. While almost puking.

Do you know how tricky it is to stay cool when you’re trying to blow someone (also for the first time, nota bene) and the guy you’re blowing is laughing his head off?

Well, let me tell you—it’s very hard. And it’s equally hard to laugh with a dick in your mouth while realizing you have to control your moves so you don’t accidentally bite it mid-giggle.

At the same time, all of this makes it really hard not to laugh.

So there we were. Going from ultra horny to giggling like embarrassed kids in a sex-ed class in biology in less than a second. Mats’ dick wobbling in my mouth like a gyro gone rogue. Me, tears streaming down my face, gripping his thighs like my life depended on it, all while trying not to cause any permanent damage to his genitals. Choking and snorting, but never letting go of that cock for a second.

So yeah, our first very sexual encounter… It might go down in history, but not for the reasons I had hoped for.

Mats soon slowly withdrew his cock from my mouth, and I wiped some of the tears from my face, trying to suppress the last remnants of the gagging and choking sounds my body had so generously offered up.

I stumbled to my feet, feeling Mats’ arms grip my waist to steady me. He was still chuckling, the sound bubbling up as he fought to control his laughter. His dick wobbled against my thigh—still hard, though clearly on the decline.

We leaned into each other, our chins close, letting the giggles slowly die down.

– Sorry, I said between breaths, still catching my composure. This looks sooo much easier on Pornhub.

– Oh, Erik, Mats said as he gently wiped my cheek… it was amazing. And, I think you are… I mean, you’re such a… pro.

We burst into laughter all over again.

– I am! I shouted, still drying some tears. I really am! Let me see you swallow that dick of yours without getting hurt. For god’s sake, this gentle mouth of mine is used to IKEA sausages, not… bratwurst.

– Oh, so that’s the problem, is it? Me bratwursting you?

– Well, yes! You could say that. I mean, it’s a lot to get a grip on… I’ts not like I’ve been brought up on Reeperbahn, ist it? You don’t get bratwursted at school, do you?

Mats got a pensive look.

– Well, maybe not—unless you’re attending British boarding schools. From what I’ve heard, there’s a lot of bratwursting going on there. That and apples-in-mouth kind of thingies.

– Oh, the Brits. Gotta love ’em. You can always count on them to make life complicated. And also, for turning vegetables into sex toys instead of food.

– Yes, they do seem to have a certain talent for that. Eating ass before salad and all. But it raises an important question: would you rather be bratwursted or appled?

I paused, pretending to think deeply for a moment, then answered:

– To be honest, I think this was a bit of both.

And just like that, we were laughing all over again.

His arms stayed locked around my waist as our heads leaned into each other, the laughter slowly fading into quiet smiles.

I couldn’t believe we were standing there, so close, so carefree—caressing each other like this. Nude, except for my swim briefs still clinging to my hips. How natural it felt to have his slowly softening dick resting against my thigh, his pubes brushing against mine, his arms simply holding me near.

He didn’t pull away from the hug. Neither did I. We stayed like that for a while, catching our breaths, letting our heartbeats slow until they matched, beating in quiet unison.

Then I felt his nose bumping against my cheek, like a dog looking for attention. I turned my face toward his with a questioning look. He moved closer, our noses brushing again—not like our playful Eskimo kiss, but something more deliberate.

And so he kissed me.

It started slow, gentle—our noses barely touching. I responded instinctively, parting my lips slightly, letting us share our breaths again. Then our tongues met, briefly at first, before our mouths widened, freeing them completely. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, caressing them, while his hands slid down my waist, gripping my ass cheeks firmly, spreading them , then pulling his fingers deeper and me closer into his body.

We didn’t speak, but the sound of our breaths… fuck. A steam engine would have been more discreet.

I pushed my groin against his, my dick so hard it found its way out on its own, happily trapped between our bodies—along with Mats’, who had reached a new, very inspired (and very rock-hard) state.

We were kissing and dry fucking like rabbits on speed.

I grabbed his hair, pulling him closer, pressing his face and lips hard against mine. His breathing was ferocious—nostrils flaring, thundering with the intensity of it all.

And how I jerked, pushing my body against his. My swim briefs soon dropped to the floor as Mats’ hands roamed over my ass, our dicks sliding against each other like pistons.

He responded to my every move—groaning, sighing, kissing, smiling. His strong hands—I mean, holding that sail rig had obviously done wonders for his grip—left no doubt about how much he wanted me, how much he wanted us to merge into one.

I couldn’t resist any longer—I needed to feel his cock again. My right hand slid down his side, faster this time, his skin slick with sweat. Then I found it—the head, hot and firm, popping out between us. I shifted slightly to get a proper grip, wrapping my fingers around it.

The force was strong in this one. Holding it felt like a high-definition upgrade of an ordinary wank. It was rock solid, steel-like, filled to the brim, as if it was moments away from exploding. The head was so sharp it could’ve doubled as a hammer.

My hand started working it, moving smoothly in the sweat-filled tornado we were caught in, giving him the most intense masturbation he’d ever experienced.

I turned slightly so I could look down at it: my hand caressing my best friend’s cock—that beautiful, fucking erect shlong of his. And not just caressing it—I was giving it my absolute best, pleasuring it in all the great ways known to mankind.

I mean, millions of years of human evolution, exploration, and die-hard masturbation had led to this very moment, and I wasn’t about to let history down. No Sir!

Mats looked down as well and began stroking my chest while I was at it. Slowly, his hand found its way down my stomach, down to my cock, resting over the base of his. Our skin gleamed with sweat, catching the sunlight that reflected through the windows.

Suddenly, we found ourselves holding each other’s backs while masturbating. His hand on my back sent a spark of energy through my hips, straight to my dick. The angle became a bit awkward, so soon, without a word, and still in unison, we shifted—each of us wanking our own cock. Our heads so close, our eyes locked on the same target, never shifting focus.

I’d never seen his body from this angle: the width of his broad pecs from so close above, the sensual curve of his belly, and that luscious trail of hair leading down to the neatly trimmed, dark patch from where his dick erupted like a rocket on the gently sloping hill of his groin, nestled between those powerful, voluptuous thighs.

– Fuck, you’re big, he said, moving his hand back and forth. Huge!
– Is it? I asked, struggling to catch my breath.
– Hell yeah… it is. I love it.… amazing.

Mats was a sweater, and our dicks glistened from the steady drip of sweat pouring off his face and upper body. Thin streams ran downward, accentuating every contour of his chest and abs, gleaming in the dim light.

– Mats, I said, yours… yours is amazing. I will have it, you know.
– You will?
– Oh yes. Big time. All in. Aaaal in.
– Fuck yeah, he breathed. All in. All the way.
– I’ll eat it.
– You should. Fuckin’ should. Swallow it. All of it. I want it deep, Erik. Deep.
– You will get it, Mats. You will. And you’ll shoot that load right into it. Deep into it.
– Really?

We were jerking like crazy now. Completely lost in the motion, side to side, our bodies glued together. Not a single molecule could have squeezed its way between us.

The heads of our dicks were turning red from the friction, and I felt mine reaching a new level of erection. I knew I was about to cum

– Fuck, Mats, I whispered, so faint I could barely speak. I’m close.
– Me too, he panted. Getting there… so soon.
– Let’s do it, I said. Let’s shoot together.

Mats didn’t answer—he was too far gone, lost in the rhythm—but we moved in perfect sync, almost violent in our motions. Our hands moved faster, harder, and our dicks somehow grew even more erect, if that was even possible.

Then we shifted, standing face to face, our bodies so close that nothing but the tips of our cocks separated us. We moved in, pressing against each other, until the first brutal wave hit. We let out deep, guttural sounds as cum shot from our hips, splattering against each other’s stomachs and pubic hair, dripping down and covering our cocks in thick, sticky streams.

The blows came in turns, shivering through our thighs, sending waves of pleasure all the way to our shoulders, backs, and the backs of our legs. Every single muscle tensed and reacted to make our cum shoot in strong, forceful bursts.

Our hands kept moving, coaxing out every last drop, as the sperm kept flowing. Our heads leaned heavily on each other, Mats’ musky scent now blending with the damp, sweet smell of cum.

The heat of it mixed with the friction of our skin, leaving us panting, bodies trembling, as the final pulses of pleasure coursed through us.

Then we just stood there for a while. Breathing, sweaty, nude, still leaning on each other, our faces resting on the other’s shoulder. Feeling drowsy.

– Fuuuck, was all Mats could manage.

I nodded, slowly letting go of my dick while absentmindedly brushing my fingers through the hair on Mats’ neck. He shivered and smiled.

– That was gooood, he said in a dark, husky voice. Goddamn, that was good.
– Yeah, it was. It really was.

We both stood there, catching our breath.

– Was it worth the wait?
– Ask me in ten minutes, Mats. I’m… just not really functional at the moment. But my guess is, it was.

I leaned back, stretching my shoulders, and wiped some cum off my hand onto my thigh.

– I’ll taste it next time, OK?

Mats let out a coarse, soft laugh.

– I’ll make sure of that.

We both turned toward the sink to wash our hands. I grabbed some paper to clean up the cum on our bodies, and I’m pretty sure we were both watching each other while we did it. There was something both strange and oddly natural about standing there, naked and close, wiping cum off after what… having sex? Well, some kind of sex, anyway. Or did it count?

– Was this us having sex? I asked.
– I hope it was, Mats replied. It was very much sex to me, at least. Then he looked a bit confused. – What kind of standards do you have if this wasn’t sex?

I laughed.

– I don’t know, I said. I obviously don’t know. But yeah, hell yeah, this was sex.
– And pretty damn good sex, for that matter. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm like that. He shook his head. – Look at me—I’m still shivering. Legs trembling.

– Well, that’s what happens when you’re doing it with a pro.
– Aaah, that’s right, he said smiling, You’re the pro.

We both started laughing at the memory of just a few minutes ago.

– Well, I am now, I said. This has to count as pretty fucking pro-level.
– It was. It is. You’re the fucking best, Erik. And you let that sink in now, OK? No more “Mats, I don’t trust that you love me” thing. No more “I’m not hot” or anything like that. Right?

I stretched like I’d just woken up and smiled back at him.

– Aaah, OK. I guess I just have to accept the fact that I’m a gorgeous, super sexy mega hunk.
– Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? Super sexy hunk is a good start. The mega can wait until… you know… and there it was again, that mischievous smile of his… the next time.

I reached down to pull up my briefs, dragging them over my sweaty thighs, but I hesitated, letting the cool air dry the moisture clinging to my balls and dick for just a little longer.

Mats did the same. By the time I reached the fridge for more ice, my briefs still clinging awkwardly to my thighs, he had moved up behind me, resting an arm on my shoulder, just like before.

– Putting that woof into the drinks earlier seems like a very good idea now.

– Well, you know Erik is old Greek for foresight, don’t you?

– Now is it really? And here I was thinking that Erik and foreskin was the thing to remember.

I turned to him, offering him a somewhat chilled Cosmo. He accepted it with a wide grin.

– Well, judging by all those decorated plates and urns, foreskin does seem to be a huge deal for them. So… who knows? Maybe you’re on to something.

– Oh, I’m always on to something. Especially when it involves you and foreskin.

– Is that so? Well, just don’t leave out the Greeks. They might take it very personally. After all, stuff like that was their thing.

– Promise! By the way, is it OK to kiss the bartender?

– That is, funnily enough, yet another great Greek thing —throwing glass, kissing bartenders. Here, there, everywhere.

– Oh, those Greeks, he smiled, moving in closer, his lips almost brushing mine. Kissing bartenders and democracy… is there no end to what they came up with?

Our lips met again. Tenderly, carefully. Hands stroking each other’s bodies, moving gently through the mist of urgency and the almost burning energy from just minutes ago.

– I could get used to this, Mats murmured, rubbing his chin lightly against mine.

– Maybe you could. And maybe you should.

– Yeah… maybe I should.

He smiled softly and kissed me again. Then, as if shifting gears completely, he said, – Let’s balance these amazingly perfect Cosmos to the veranda, shall we? I believe there’s a hammock waiting for us out there.

– With or without briefs?

He stopped to think, briefly glancing down at the small crumpled cloth of yellow fabric on the floor.

– D’you think I should use more sunscreen?

I laughed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic.

– Yeah, you really should…

He turned towards the window, trying to catch his reflection in the glass.

– Really? Aren’t tan lines the shit these days?

– Not the same thing, Mats. You’ll get your tan lines if you stay in the sun for more than thirty seconds. Burned body? That’s where the sunscreen comes in. I mean, Mats, really…

I shook my head in disbelief, passing him with my Cosmo in one hand, pulling up my swim briefs with the other.

– You just enjoy watching yourself, with or without a tan line. Another thing you have in common with the old Greeks.

Mats mumbled something about the Greeks and how they really had their shit together.

The terrace stretched as wide as the house, broad enough to hold several sitting areas, all sheltered by an elegantly ornamented cast-iron structure.

Right outside the kitchen windows, the hammock waited alongside a few armchairs, their thick cushions resting against intricate, floral metal frames.

I sank into the hammock, setting my glass on the small table in front of it. The sound of the waves rolled in from the shore, steady, unhurried. Out here, the salty air felt stronger, as if it had seeped into the walls of the house itself.

Mats followed soon after, placing his drink next to mine before nudging me to the side so he could lie down, resting his head against my chest, with one arm leaning on my thighs.

He guided my arm so it rested across his chest, and I began stroking it, my fingers trailing softly through the patch of hair in the center.

The view was something else—the broad horizon of the Atlantic stretching endlessly beyond the dunes, and then, just to my right, Mats. His thick hair, his lean body. His bulge resting between those strong thighs, offering a glimpse of his pubes and the faint trail of hair leading up to his chest, rising and falling under my touch.

I leaned forward to pick up my glass, taking a short sip before Mats took it from my hand and drank as well.

– Have you ever thought about me like this? Us kissing and all?

I stayed silent for a moment, weighing my answer.

– Why do you ask?

– Just curious… I mean… it’s kinda a big thing. This. Us.

– Yeah, I guess… or… is it? Maybe that depends.

– Depends? Why? On what?

– Well… isn’t it just… Maybe… Maybe I don’t know what it is? Or it just is whatever we decide it is? Whatever we want it to be…

Mats rolled the glass between his fingertips before letting it rest on his thigh, close to that bulge. My mind drifted again.

– Yeah, maybe… He said. Not really much of an answer to my question, though.

I let out a short laugh.

– Sorry, yeah, I know—not much of an answer. It’s a Greek thing too.

Mats rolled his eyes at my reply.

– So, have you ever thought about me like this?

His fingers traced the rim of the glass, slow, deliberate.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course, I had. But I wasn’t about to give that away.

– Well, you know I’ve always said I think you’re handsome. Hot, even. So… in a way, maybe I have thought about you like that.

– Is that a lousy answer or what? C’mooon!

He set the glass down on the table and turned his upper body toward me.

– So, you’ve never thought about us kissing? About me kissing you? About us making out?

– Fuck, Mats, nooo—or… you know, maybe. But… not the way you seem to think of it. I’m sure of that.

Mats tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was challenged to solve. Then he leaned in and kissed my nipple.

– Not very eager to give anything away, are you?

I reached for the glass again, took a sip, then sighed.

– Why are you asking me this?

– Is it that strange? After what we just had?

He took the glass from my hand, bringing it to his lips.

– No, probably not. I just don’t know what to say. Maybe I don’t have an answer right this second.

– Because saying you’ve been fantasizing about me is too much to handle? Because admitting that us is… an actual thing in your life is too much to say to the other part of that us?

I took a deep breath and turned toward him. Those beautiful eyes, just centimeters away. His breath, warm, teasing, moving over my skin like ripples in water.

– Yeah, maybe so. Maybe that other part has been distant for so long that this part needs to understand what this really means before being able to give a proper answer.

He watched me again, thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing.

– You don’t trust me… yeah, that’s it. You don’t trust me.

– Whaaaat—no? Why?... Well…well, if I don’t, would that be so strange?

– Yes, it would.

He turned, settling back against my chest again, placing my hand where it had been, letting me play with the hair on his chest.

– Or… maybe not. Maybe…

I felt his breath beneath my fingertips, slow and steady as I traced my hand up and down his chest, following that faint trail of hair along his stomach. He seemed to like it.

– I’m not perfect, you know, he murmured, placing his hand over mine.

– Oh, I know, I said, trying to lighten the mood.

– No, you don’t.

His voice was quiet, but firm.

– You always look at me like I am. Like I’m on this pedestal. Always adored.

– Do I?

– Yeah, you do. And it’s not that I mind. Or maybe… But it does make me think… that you have thought about me. About us. In many ways. I’ve always thought you did.

– If so… how come you never said a word about it?

– Well, like I said before… I was afraid. I’m not brave like you. I’m a coward.

– Coward?

– Stop, Erik. You know what I mean.

His hand guided mine over his chest, absentmindedly, like it was habit.

– Yeah, I’ve always thought you loved me. In some way. That you wanted me. And I’m sure that’s been true, in… you know... whatever state of love or attraction that was. I always kind of knew that you loved me.

Suddenly, I was pulled back to that moment in the kitchen—when he played with himself in front of me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was playing with me as well.

I turned my eyes back to the dunes, studying them in even greater detail.

– That really scared me, he continued. I mean, that love… how could I match that?

He exhaled, voice quieter now.

– I just… kind of entered your world, and you… like, in seconds—yeah, that’s right, in seconds—I knew that you loved me. And I was so scared of that.

He hesitated, then let out a dry laugh.

– Of a guy falling for me. And of everyone knowing I had a friend who was in love with me. That I’d be… smitten with that. Somehow.

His skin was so warm under my touch.

– And here I am, after this afternoon with you… and yeah… I can see why you wouldn’t trust me. Yeah, I see that. But it hasn’t been easy, you know. Balancing everything… or at least trying to. Hoping to. Being afraid… you know, cowardly afraid. Ashamed.

– Ashamed?

I pulled back slightly, my chest tightening.

– Mats… OK, I probably can see what you mean… but what are you after? What? Yes—you’ve been ashamed of me. I know that. That’s been brutally clear. For me. For anyone who actually gave a damn.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers tensing against his skin.

– Really, I don’t know what you’re after right now. And honestly? I’m a bit stressed out about it. All of… this… it makes me uncomfortable.

His grip tightened around my hand—not aggressively, just firm.

– I never said you were the one to be ashamed, Erik.

– No, you never said it. But I was. OK? You think I didn’t notice that? And what makes it even worse is that I fucking accepted it.

I let out a sharp breath, my chest tightening.

– Ohhhh… I’ve been so fucking stupid in all of this. Such a weak, fucking idiot. I should have… I should have…

I clenched my jaw, my voice breaking slightly.

–What should you?

– I should have, you know... Just left.

His grip tightened even more and my eyes got foggy.

– I just want to point out that I didn’t mean to make you cry, Erik.

The bastard knows me too well.

– Well, and yet… here we are. You telling me you were ashamed of me. And me reacting to that. What a beautiful situation.

– No, really, Erik. I’m not playing you. I’m trying to be honest.

He lay still against my chest, his hand gripping mine. I felt the tension in his body, the way he was holding back.

– I just… why can’t we talk about it?

– Well, think for a second, would you? This isn’t some story where you’re the pathetic loser, hopelessly in love with someone. This isn’t about you being the friend to be ashamed of, just for thinking that someone might love him back…

– So you have been in love with me, then? He smiled.

– For fuck’s sake… really?

I tried to sit up, to pull away, but Mats shifted his weight, pressing his full upper body against mine, his grip firm around my hand. I pushed back, resisting—briefly—before the fight drained out of me.

I sighed, giving up, sinking back into the cushions.

Let it go, Erik. Just… let it go.

Mats didn’t say anything. I could feel his breath, steady, present. The sea stretched out before us, as magnificent as ever. The dunes were still just dunes, their shadows lengthening as the sun dipped. A slight, barely noticeable chill crept into the air.

The glasses sat waiting for us, still shimmering with translucent red, the last fragments of ice floating on the surface. But I didn’t feel like drinking. I didn’t feel like anything, really.

And I definitely didn’t feel like sitting here, pressed into the hammock with Mats anymore.

I didn’t want to feel the coarse tickle of his chest hair under my fingertips. The bulge between his thighs? Just cold meat under a yellow blanket. And those legs—those thighs—pale, hairy, just a pair of limbs. Nothing more.

Nothing at all.

Then there was a scream from the beach. A bright cry for heeelp! Immediate help. and NOW.

I recognized the voice.

–It’s the girls, I said. Sounds like Anna, she’s your duty, you’d better go check on her.

Mats got up with a sigh, turned a round giving me a quick glance, then stepped over to the stairs.

– Wowowow, Mats said, blinking. – What happened here?

– It’s nothing! a bright voice called out as a silhouette in a wide sunhat, dark sunglasses, and a light blue bikini approached. – It’s really nothing. But it’s also a catastrophe! A crazy goddamn catastrophe!

– Wowowow, Mats repeated. – What the hell happened?

– The sun happened, Mats. The bloody sun happened. All over my back. I’ve burned so badly I am this close to crying. This close.

– Jesus, I muttered, getting up and stepping closer to her. – That bad, huh?

– Oh, Erik, it’s so bad that bad is a bad word for it.

– Oh, that bad? I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. – Well, poor Mr. Dictionary seems to have deserted…

A sharp, fiery glance from Anna shut me up mid-sentence. I could feel the ice in her eyes, even through the dark lenses.

Not very good timing, I thought as I moved closer to check her back.

Anna was very blonde, which only made the bright red, pinkish hue of her burned skin on her back stand out even more.

– Woops, I said. – Yeah… I can see how this might be painful. Oh, poor you.

– Thanks, Erik. Yeah—poor me, stupid me, for falling asleep in the sun. But it was sooo nice, Erik. And so calm and quiet after you two left.

– Oh, sweetie, Mats said. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I just knew my presence would be an inconvenience to you. Leaving felt like the only thing to do.

He shot me a look—has she gone mad? I shrugged, signaling that I had no clue whatsoever.

– Did you put on sunscreen? I asked.

She sighed, letting her shoulders drop as she took off her hat.

– I probably could’ve used more. I was waiting for Mats to put it on, but he took so long, and then I just… forgot.

– Wow, I said. – You two make a great couple. You really deserve each other. I mean, the money you’re saving on sunscreen alone? That’s trust fund levels of resources right there. Genius. I wish I had a plan like that. Cheers to you. I really mean it.

– Ha. Ha. Ha., Erik. Anna rolled her eyes. – Don’t compare me to Mats. I never forget sunscreen. He always does. And yet—who gets burned? Mats? Nooo. It’s me. And that, Erik, is so unfair.

– Yeah, he does have a bit of a bulletproof quality to him, I said, trying to look neutral while definitely feeling Mats’ eyes on me. – But maybe that’s what’s so great about him? I shrugged — I wouldn’t know.

– Oh, he’ll get his share one day, I’m sure, Anna muttered.

–Well, there is always hope, I said. Then I suddenly remembered I had some cooling lotion in my backpack and went to grab it.

– Here, I said, handing it to Mats, who was casually leaning against the railing, watching the scene unfold. – Might come in handy.

– Thanks, Erik, Anna said, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. – You’re a daaaaarling.

We heard some new noises from the beach as Mats squeezed lotion onto Anna’s back.

– Oi there! Yo! Any valiant man up there ready to help a lady in distress?

I recognized my girlfriend’s voice, so I called back:

– There are men here, sure. Can’t see much of a lady, though.

– Get down here, asshole! I’m carrying a shitload, and it feels like I’m burning up.

– Just like Madonna, then.

– One more word, and I’ll kill you.

I hurried down the stairs to grab the bag she was holding, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

– No need to be upset, sweetie. I was busy rescuing Anna from what now looks like a classic “First day of vacay”disorder.

– You mean her back is burned, right? Well… take a look at mine.

She turned around, revealing an equally tragic sunburn.

– Wow, I said. Are you two really allowed to walk around without supervision?

– Fuck you, asshole.

– No, really. I mean this in the most caring way… but are you? Because it would be great to know if there are more wisely conducted activities coming up. Just in case I need to call the fire brigade. Or something.

She shot me a vicious look as she passed me on the wide staircase, shoving her sunhat into my hands.

– Thank you, sweetie. So happy to be of service.

I followed her up the staircase, where she grabbed the lotion from Mats’ hand and shoved it at me.

– Here, use it.

She turned toward the hammock, ready to be lotioned up, when she spotted the drinks on the table.

– You’ve got booze? Finally!

Without hesitation, she grabbed both glasses and downed them in two quick gulps.

– Boy, I needed that. What was it—Cosmos?

– Yup, I said, amused. – Glad to see that a sunburn won’t stop you from going full Viking.

– Cosmos ain’t Viking. Vodka is.

Mats watched her, raising an eyebrow.

– Well… one could argue that there actually was quite a lot of vodka in them. He paused. – Once.

– Mmm, I said, she’s not very fainthearted. That’s one thing we love about her. Descending from a long line of southern Swedish vodka lovers, that gal, and I’m sure they’re all very proud of her.

– Yes, I’m sure they are.

I started lotioning her back while the girls chatted between themselves. Not really interested, I let their voices blur into background noise and zoned out.

– So, I said after finishing, I guess some cold showers would be nice now, wouldn’t they? I stepped back to check the result of my work. I’ll go downstairs and prep them for you.

– You’d do that for us? That is so nice of you, Erik. You’ll get a gold star. A big one, Anna said.

– Thanks, Anna. Is that a promise? Would be fun to finally get one.

– You have plenty already, Erik. Loads of stars, Mats said. But I’ll gladly make one for you.

I met his gaze for a second, then looked away.

– Thanks, Mats. But a glass of wine would do for now.

I went down the stairs to the bottom floor, relieved to be alone for a while. The coolness from the thick stone walls and the deep shadows instantly settled over me, a welcome contrast to the heat outside.

Humming absently, I moved through the separate bedrooms, turning on the showers in the adjoining bathrooms. The steady sound of running water filled the quiet space. While at it, I also started the air conditioning, letting the chilled air spread through the rooms, cooling everything down.

Sussi, my girlfriend, had brought our suitcases into our rooms, so I sat down on the bed and unzipped mine, absentmindedly sorting through the things I’d packed. After a moment, I went to hang up a few clothes in the cupboard that stood, dark and massive, at the center of the wall.

Like fucking Narnia, I thought as I took in the big, oak monstrosity looming over me like some haunted relic.

I opened its doors slowly, half-expecting a faun or a goblin to leap out at me. But nothing unexpected happened—just the dry scent of cedar and dust rolling out, the kind these things always seem to hoard.

Perfect for the White Witch waiting upstairs, I muttered to myself, then immediately felt a twinge of guilt for the harsh words. He’s not a witch. He’s just… someone I’ve wasted way too much energy on. And that’s on me.

I changed into a t-shirt and shorts while hanging up my clothes, feeling the cool air from the AC spread through the room. It was refreshing, but not what I had come here for. I wanted warmth, sun, a breathtaking view, a chilled glass of wine in my hand.

More than anything, I just wanted to be happy.

Okidoki, Erik. Time to get back in the saddle.

I met the girls on their way downstairs, both still gushing about how much they appreciated the cold showers. Sussie kissed me in passing, somehow managing to say, "Nonono, don’t touch me, I’ll scream," before rushing into our room and carefully shutting the door behind her.

So, there I was. And when I stepped out onto the balcony, there was Mats.

– I’ll get some wine. You want some?

– Thanks, he said, but I feel more like a beer now.

– No prob, I’ll grab one for you.

During my absence, the girls had somehow managed to turn the place into a small disaster zone. An open bag of chips lay sprawled across one of the tables, crumbs everywhere. A bottle of white wine stood uncorked, a French version of Seven Up sitting next to it.

–Looks like someone had to have a blanco de Verano, then.

– It was impossible to stop them.

Mats’ voice came from straight behind me.

– Wise of you not to try. They’re lethal when they’re in that mood.

– They sure are.

He leaned against the same cupboard as before, watching me silently as I pulled out the wine and beer from the fridge. I poured his drink and handed it to him.

– Cheers, mate. May you live long and prosper.

He smirked a little and raised his glass in reply.

– Cheers.

We both sipped our glasses in silence, me staring out the windows.

– Maybe that hammock could use some company?

– Maybe it could. Would be a shame to leave it feeling neglected.

Mats followed me out onto the balcony, settling onto the hammock—this time on the other side. Careful. Measured. Making sure not to get too close. Not to touch me.

I took a deep sip of my wine.

– This view is magnificent, I said. Truly amazing. Worth every mile getting here.

– It sure is. This part of the coast is… just perfect.

– You think you’ll take your board out?

– I will. For sure. Today’s been too busy and… I… but… you know, maybe tomorrow.

– Yeah. Tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.

I started humming, soft at first. Tomorrow, tomorrow there’s always tomorrow…

I looked down at the wine swirling in my glass.

God, did I need it.

– What are your plans? Any ideas?

I hesitated. Everything I had thought of involved Mats and Anna, but now…

– Not sure... Maybe heading into La Rochelle. Jogging. Maybe there’s a gym nearby.

– A gym? Here? Are you insane? Sorry, I mean… but why? There’s the ocean, we can— I mean, you can swim… And you can borrow my board. If you want.

– Thanks, Mats. That’s nice of you. Well, let’s see, shall we. The girls probably have plans already.

– Yeah. Anna want to see the wine country, shop artisanal stuff from fat farmers… drink local wine… those things.

– Sounds fun to me. Anna knows her way.

– Yeah, she usually does… And Sussie?

– What about her?

– What’s her plans?

– Oh… don’t really know. She usually just tags along.

– So you make the plans, then?

– Yeah, well… usually. She’ll probably stick with Anna this time. Do girly stuff.

– So, getting tipsy, if I know my Anna correctly.

– Yes, and you probably know your Anna well enough to know.

He sighed and I could see that he wanted to say something, instead he took a sip of his beer in silence.

–About that dinner, you think the girls want to BBQ?

–Absolutely, I said, that’s a great idea.

–What if you take care of the food, and I’ll light the grill and set the table?

–Sounds great to me, perfect.

We both rose almost at the same time, Mats adjusting his swim briefs.

–I guess I better change into something more fitting the occasion.

I immediately thought of loads of comments, regarding the change… but I bit my tongue.

–Yes, it’ll probably be more comfortable for you with some clothes on. The evenings might be cooler here.

–Mmm, the day was hot enough, I guess.

–Yeah, I guess it was.

I went into the kitchen, making sure Mats knew I wasn’t watching him change clothes like before. That didn’t stop me from hearing him, though—moving chairs, dragging tables, getting the grill ready out on the balcony.

I linked my phone to the speaker waiting patiently by the fruit bowl, scrolling for something suitably French. Something classic.

– Oh hell yeah, I said as the first notes of La Mer filled the room. – Or wait… Oh la la la! Yes, mais oui. Oh la la la!

I poured more wine into my glass, swaying a little to the rhythm, and laid out the meat on the counter. Time to season.

– Oh là là, bien sûr! I said with a theatrical flourish. Le viande de la campagne!

Another sip—no, a giant gulp—followed, and suddenly I was seasoning like a Michelin-starred chef on opening night. A little too much salt, probably, but who cared? I was overflowing with joie de vivre, as the French would say.

After another gulp, I decided it was time to dive into the world of les légumes. I tore open the plastic bags from the Carrefour we’d stopped at, dumping them into the sink while letting the water run over them.

– Oh, mes petites légumes, I crooned in my most outrageously bad French accent. My darling little petites légumes. I weel cook joo with ze utmost caaare, mes petits amis.

I blew exaggerated kisses toward the carrots and tomatoes as if they were delicate Parisian socialites, still showering them with compliments for their beauty and undeniable Frenchness.

I hadn’t noticed Mats standing in the doorway, watching me quietly from the edge of the dining room. A careful smile hid behind his face, like he didn’t quite want to interrupt. Looking just a little bit like a puppy, waiting outdoors in the rain.

I froze mid-dance when I saw him, then—because why stop now?—I twirled around and poured him a glass of wine, offering it with a mock flourish.

– Voilà, monsieur! A leetle glass of ze wine, perhaps? Or are you still clinging to la petite bière?

Mats chuckled, shaking his head.

– I’d say it’s nearly impossibol to refuse wine after a performance like this.

I nodded appreciatively in agreement.

– Yeeez, ajj egreee, monsieur. À votre santé! Or chin chin—whatever suits you best.

– Aouw iz it goink widd ze baaahbique?

– Widd ze what?

– Widd ze bahhbeee… ah, sod it. The barbecue—going all right?

– Yup, the coals are heating up, the table’s set, and most of it’s ready—apart from what should actually be on the table, that is. I just came to grab the plates and stuff.

– Oh, so the table is very ready, then.

– Yeah, plates and stuff—that’s so bourgeoise, isn’t it?

– Very bourgeoise! Vive la révolution! We don’t need plates! We hate plates!

– Oh, do we? Do we really hate plates? Was that what it was all about?

– Yes, I’m pretty sure the revolution was all about plates. Plates, cutlery… and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit about those who ate from them. But hey, I could be wrong.

– It would explain the obsession with design afterward, though. Getting rid of all those plates must’ve sparked a massive need for… porcelain.

I grabbed the small bowl that had been waiting next to the speaker.

– Happy porcelain, nota bene, I said, tapping it gently on the side.

– Yes – to happy porcelain!

– Liberté, fraternité and le porcelain!

We clinked glasses and drank. It was such a relief not feeling that hard, painful knot in my chest. At least for now, I was happy seeing Mats smile.

He had a such a nice one.

The evening passed in what might be called a blur. The girls came up, still wincing from the pain of their sunburns—a bit of a downer for their participation. But that didn’t stop Anna from raising an eyebrow halfway through her fifth (or sixth - but who’s counting) glass of wine.

– What was it with you two earlier?

We both stopped mid-bite, forks hovering awkwardly over our plates.

– What was what? I tried to sound casually confused.

– You two, Anna gestured vaguely with her fork, waving it between us like a detective making a crucial point. There was… a weird energy. Tense. Like you’d had a fight or something.

Mats let out a dry little laugh, stressed.

– Weird energy? You’re imagining things, Anna.

– Am I? She tilted her head, studying us both like we were bugs under glass. Normally, you’re all giggles and inside jokes. Today? You’re… polite. Too polite. I mean, seriously, what gives?

I shoved a bite of grilled meat into my mouth, stalling for time. Polite. Yeah, that’s a word for it.

– Maybe we’re just tired, I offered, chewing slowly. Long day, long drive, long everything.

Anna didn’t look convinced. Her gaze flicked between me and Mats like she was waiting for one of us to give something away.

– Yeah, maybe, Mats mumbled, eyes fixed firmly on his plate.

She kept eating her salad, clearly deciding not to push the subject further.

– I didn’t notice anything, Sussie said, her mouth full of beans. You were the same unapologetically badly mannered men you’ve always been. As in, not helping a damsel in distress.

– Damsel? I looked around dramatically. Is there a damsel nearby?

She tilted her head, deadpan disbelief in her eyes.

– You’re really going that way?

– I’ll go any way where there’s a damsel in distress. I scanned the room slowly, making a point of my exaggerated search. But alas, none in sight. Looks like you’re stuck with me, darling.

– Another bad life choice, I guess.

– Could be worse, though.

– Could it really?

I nodded toward Mats, raising an eyebrow.

– Oh, really? Mats lowered his glass, looking mock-offended. You’re coming for me now?

– I’m coming for any easy target, you know that.

– So now I’m not just second-best, I’m easy too?

– Easy? Anna smirked. Oh, I assure you, Mats isn’t easy. Not even close.

– See? I spread my hands like I’d won a point in a debate. Validation from the jury.

Anna leaned in toward Mats, her voice dipping into a tipsy-sultry tone.

– I wish you were, though. Just a little easier. Flirty, fun, not so serious… You know, the way you are with Erik. A bit more carefree… and maybe dressed in mesh.

– Ohlala! I nearly spilled my wine. Now this is a conversation worth having. Mesh, you say?

– Yeah, I mean, you’re such a good-looking man, Mats. Why not push it a bit further?

Mats blinked, bewildered, staring straight at me as if I knew anything about this.

– You’ve been talking to Erik?

– No, why should I? But yes,… maybe I should. You’d probably listen more to him than to me, wouldn’t you?

Mats took a long, deliberate gulp of his wine, his eyes dropping to the table.

Anna turned toward me, her tipsiness softening her sharp tone, but not her honesty.

– You know, Erik, I think Mats would do anything for you. I really do. You should hear him talk about you—how clever you are, how brilliant your ideas are. If I didn’t agree with every word, I’d probably be jealous.

Now it was my turn to drain my glass.

– You have nothing to be jealous of, Anna. Believe me. Absolutely nothing. There’s only one sun in Mats’ universe, and it’s you.

Mats stayed quiet. I didn’t dare to look at him.

– Maybe so, she muttered, swaying slightly as she stood up, one hand bracing the table for balance. I should go to bed now—drown myself in paracetamol and bathe in that cooling lotion if I want any sleep tonight.

– You coming, Sussie?

Sussie got up quickly, like she’d been waiting for permission to leave.

– Yep. Pills and lotion—the key to every gal’s heart. Or back. Isn’t that right, boys?

– If you say so, I mumbled, trying to sound amused but feeling anything but.

The girls linked arms, a quiet solidarity between them, and as they turned toward the stairs, Anna looked back at us.

– I just want to say… it’s awful seeing you two like this. Angry. Distant.

– We’re not… I started.

– Hush, Erik. I know what I know. Whatever this is, fix it. There aren’t two men cuter together than you two. That’s the goddamn truth. Kisses and all that…

She waved her hand lazily, her tone too soft to be playful, and they disappeared down the stairs—two silhouettes leaning on each other like nothing in the world could break them.

I still couldn’t bring myself to look at Mats.

– No point in staring at the ocean now, is there? Mats leaned forward, lazily tracing the rim of his glass with a finger.

– I guess not… Maybe the moon will show, though.

Mats let out a soft laugh.

– The moon… Well, at least I’ve got one sun in my universe. Apparently.

I turned to him, unsure whether he was teasing or being sincere.

– You do. And isn’t that a good thing?

– God… I love you, but sometimes, Erik, you’re so clueless.

– Oh, so I’m—?

– Erik!... handsome. His eyes caught mine, warm, steady. Let’s not go there again. Please?

I nodded, a small breath of relief easing through me. Letting the heaviness fade.

Mats stretched his legs out, glancing toward the darkened beach.

– You know, the girls left half their junk down there… What do you say? We grab a bottle, head down, pick up the debris and enjoy the night for a bit?

– Sounds… great, I sighed.

– Wow, seems like miracles can still happen. He stood up, grabbed a bottle from the table offering me a hand. Come on Erik. Maybe things aren’t over between us just yet?

He waited for me by the staircase, and when I walked up to him, he took my hand. Just like that. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

All it took was that small touch, and there it was again—the image of him by the sea, shorts clinging to his thighs, wind tearing through his hair, waves crashing high. And that grin, wide and reckless, like nothing in the world could touch him.

We walked down the stairs slowly, hand in hand, balancing glasses and the wine between us. He didn’t look at me, but it was obvious how he matched his pace to mine. That quiet, deliberate consideration. The kind that should’ve put me at ease.

But it didn’t.

Yes, his gaze was sincere. Yes, his touch was careful, steady, warm. But it had been a long time since we’d held hands, and all that carefulness didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.

I wished it had. I wanted to scream—shake off this damn melancholy.

The sand was still warm, and when we reached the spot where the girls had left their things, Mats buried the bottle under the surface.

– Old surfing knowledge. As the evening gets chillier, the sand keeps the wine warm enough to bring some warmth later.

– Gosh, you do that? Drink wine, I mean. That you bury stuff in the sand goes without saying.

– Yup, we do. Crazy, isn’t it? Men with boards and sails and all… with wine?

– Knowing about wine—that’s the real surprise here. Aren’t you the healthy-smealthy kind of guys? Up at five, some granola and stuff, three liters of coffee, and off you go? Then, after hours upon hours in ice-cold waters, straight to an Irish pub for two Guinness before bed at nine?

Mats turned to look at me.

– That is actually quite an accurate description. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

He grinned at me. That wide smile that reached his ears and deep, deep into my heart.

– Well… does it, now? Does it really? I’d say you need some fun in that scrupulously nice and healthy gang of yours. Someone to buzz things up a bit. Stir the Guinness, as they say—yes, I know they don’t, but they should, OK? Get y’all out partying more. An Ibiza/Galway kind of guy.

– Someone like you, you mean?

– Nah, nope—not saying that. Just someone with a bit more pizzazz, to spice things up a little.

– Why would I need that in my surf gang when I already have it?

– Well… so that all of those travels won’t get so boring for you. So your memories won’t just be of that wave, and thisbeach, and that storm, and those sea rescuers pulling you out from drowning… I mean, just to add some je ne sais quoi, as we said before.

– Oh Erik, can’t you see? I go to those remote beaches, have those two beers, because of that… I mean, that guy you’re talking about? He’s already spicing up every second I spend with him at home. This just makes it the perfect balance.

– Besides, do you think I want to share that guy with my surfdudes? Nooo way, José. Nonono, he’s all mine.

– All the way, May?

– Erik, is there any moment in life when you don’t have a Madonna reference ready?

– Well, you’re the one who caught it. I’m just exercising my artistic liberty, no matter what the Pope says.

– And there you go again. Maaah God!

He grabbed my shoulders, pulled me in close, and buried his nose in my hair. His grip was firm, his breath warm against my skin. I shivered.

– You smell good. You know that?

I shook my head, not daring to hold him as tightly as he held me.

– Well, you do.

He inhaled deeply, like he wanted to keep something of me inside him. Then, his hands shifted, palms resting on either side of my face. I watched his eyes move, scanning every detail of my face, every line.

And then, he kissed me.

Okay, maybe the world didn’t tumble into a jigg, and maybe the stars didn’t rearrange themselves into a Nike swoosh before sashaying away across the velvet-blue sky in a bold and sassy way that would turn Ariana Grande into Ariana Pequeña.

But maybe—just maybe—they did. And that’s an alternative truth I’m willing to accept.

It would explain the dizziness in my head. The way the ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. The absolutely logicalreason why my arms needed to latch onto something—someone—very, very tightly. And for a very, very long time.

Yes, he kissed me. And boy, did I kiss him back.

No, scratch that—I inhaled him. Every ounce, every drop, every wicked little thought that had ever had danced in my head now suddenly sprung to life—and I claimed them all.

What started out all tinkly tankly—soft kisses, nose tips brushing, teasing smiles—slowly, inevitably, turned into something more. Mouths open, tongues wrestling, breath hitching.

At first, his hands held my face still, close, like he was memorizing every pore, every eyelash, every detail—as if he was seeing me for the first time. I might have stopped breathing, but his breath washed over me like waves – steady, warm, relentless.

He pulled me in, steering me closer, like a giant Star Destroyer locking onto that tiny, helpless Rebel ship. Those lips, so gentle at first, so deceptively kind. Then his skin—warm, rough in just the right places—brushing against mine like the flickering wings of a hummingbird.

He kissed me. I kissed him back.

He was the one to open his mouth first, the one to let his tongue tease, testing the edges of my lips, easing its way in—searching, playful.

My tongue met his at the border, standing at attention. Armed, saluting. And, well… salivating as hell.

One of his hands let go of my chin, sliding down—first grazing my neck, then lower, tracing the valley of my spine. Gentle, deliberate, determined to find more.

I pushed into him, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair—flowing like floating water lilies between my hands. My palms traced the sharp, smooth contours where his shoulders met his triceps, feeling the shift of muscle beneath my touch, the hunger in his movements as his tongue searched deeper.

It wasn’t until his hands grabbed my ass and pushed my groin towards his that I noticed that huge bulge of his. Rock hard.

All my mind could think of was: Hell yeah!

The kissing turned feverish after that. I locked my arms around him, holding tight as his fingers dug deep into my ass, dragging me towards him, steering me like I was fucking him.

Back and… no, not so much back actually, but a lot of forth. One hand moved up, holding my waist, looking for a way in, under my shirt.

Our kissing was so intense, it was borderline mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. We forced our hips to dance like serpents—cobras looking to play, wanting to sting.

Then his hand slid past my waistband, fingers pressing between my cheeks, claiming space.

I was dry fucking him now, and he wasn’t just letting it happen—he was pulling me into it, grinding back, his grip firm, his cock lined up perfectly with mine. Heat, friction, barely any fabric between us.

In my mind, his pubes were already teasing mine.

His cock throbbed against me, hard, desperate. His hands dragged me closer, forcing me into his rhythm, hips slamming into mine. My back arched instinctively, muscles tense, body wired. One hand stayed locked on my ass, the other slid under my shirt, palm hot against my back.

Then he pushed my shirt higher. I let him. Almost undressing me as we flushed together, skin burning, damp from heat and motion.

His lips left mine, trailing lower, breath rough against my neck. A slow lick. A sharp graze of teeth. Then a bite—harder this time, enough to make me jolt, to send a rush straight to my dick, to make me clutch at his back, his arms, him.

And then, just like that, he stopped. Smirking. Taking one step back. Then another, letting go of my hand.

— C’mon, catch me.

And then he ran.

Water splashed as his feet cut through the waves, his body moving fast, fluid.

I had never been more grateful for all those hours on the treadmill. I went after him.

Now, that boy had very long legs, and he knew how to use them. But me? Never underestimate a man who yearns.

Also, I think Mats had had way more wine than I had.

Not that it stopped him from teasing me—no, hell no. He ran backwards when he could, flashing that infuriating grin, turning just as I lunged for him. Laughing, reaching out, then pulling back.

I wasn’t laughing. I was too focused. There was a prize, and I would claim it.

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt as he ran, slow, deliberate, letting me catch glimpses of his chest, his stomach, muscles shifting under smooth skin.

— You want this?

He spun toward me, opening the shirt wide. Then, instead of running, he stopped, just long enough to drag a finger down the trail of hair leading below his waistband. Watching me.

I grunted in response, too busy longing for him to bother with words.

— C’mon, Erik, I thought you were good at this!

— If you’re looking for good, find a saint! I shouted back.

He laughed. Then he tossed his shirt at me, a challenge—his hands already on the drawstring of his shorts.

He laughed and threw his shirt at me, now focused on untying his shorts while still running.

We had passed one or two houses, all dark now, resting behind the dunes. The night had settled in, but that didn’t seem to bother Mats. And as long as I could see the outline of him, I was more than happy.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. Turned. Watched me as I halted just a meter away. Both panting for breath.

– Pheeew, that was a race, Erik. Fuck, you’re good.

I just saved my breath, watching him, holding his shirt in one hand.

– Wow, you got my shirt. Thanks. Then… I’m sure you’re happy to… catch this!

He dropped his shorts to the ground, kicking them over to me.

– Here you are, handsome.

He laughed, hands resting on his hips as he stretched after the run. I couldn’t see much, but I could see enough to get hard again. And so did Mats. Apparently.

His hand moved to his crotch, fingers wrapping around his dick, propelling it slowly, visible like a pale propeller against his dark pubes.

Now that was a semi about to launch if I’ve ever seen one.

– You like what you see? He asked.

– Can’t see much.

I took a step closer.

– Oh, age has gotten to your eyes, has it?

– Fuck you, asshole.

– Not just yet.

He grinned, leaned in, and kissed me—slow, long, teasing. His hand moved away from his dick just as I was about to reach for it, and instead, he grabbed something from the sand.

I hadn’t even noticed the floating device before he snatched it up. Some kind of long, tubelike thing, probably left behind by some kids earlier in the day.

Then, with a laugh, he turned and sprinted toward the water, waves crashing around his ankles.

– Come and geeeet me!

I loved this.

I dropped my clothes in no time and ran after him, making bigger splashes than the waves. Then, as it got deeper, I dived into the sea and crawled toward that pale lighthouse waiting for me.

Was it cold, you might wonder? I have absolutely no idea. Again – never underestimate a man that yearns.

Mats swam away as I reached him, not far, but far enough. I followed, not far, but far enough. He was short on breath, pacing himself, leaning on that ridiculous tube thing, never losing me from sight.

-Fuck you’re hot, Erik.

-No, you’re hot, Mats

No, you’re hotter.

And then we burst out laughing.

We swam closer, finally treading water, just inches apart.

-You’re a fucking hunk, Erik.

I stopped myself from answering. Didn’t want to lose this moment.

-You are. A stud.

-Yeah, I am. A fucking beefcake.

- Hell yeah, man. Give me that biceps.

I stretched an arm up, flexing it.

-Too bad with the lighting, but I’m sure it must have been hot, he said and laughed and swam backwards.

-Fuck you, asshole!

I threw myself at him, splashing water. He grabbed me, held me tight, our legs slowly moving against each other beneath the surface.

He leaned back, gripping the tube with one arm, panting slightly as our bodies drew closer. I grabbed onto it too, hands on either side of him, feet treading water to keep us steady. The waves nudged us toward the beach, slow and unbothered.

I had no problem balancing with the help of the tube. Mats’ grip around my waist kept us both stable, but that was when I felt it—his cock, hard, pressing against my thigh.

He must have felt it too.

Our eyes locked again, breathing almost in sync, so close we could have breathed into each other’s mouths. The only sound was the water clucking softly between us.

Then Mats smirked and began humming, somewhat unexpectedly:

-Oppa Gangnam style! He waved his arm under the water, making sounds from the soing, mimicking the dance. Then again, louder: Oppa Gangnam style!

I laughed, shaking my head, then leaned in, burying my face into the crook of his neck, my breath warm against his skin.

– You. Are. Insane. You know that?

Mats exhaled, his breath ruffling my hair.

– Am I? Well, you seem to like it.

I could hear the grin in his voice. Smug. Playful.

– And also, this moment needs a proper soundtrack.

I tilted my head just enough to meet his eyes.

– Does it? And Gangnam Style is it?

His hand slid lower on my back, fingers pressing lightly. Not demanding. Not quite. But enough to remind me of the little space between us.

I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. I just felt him. His warmth, his grip, his cock still pressing into me, the tension shifting, tilting into something heavier.

– Thought it was appropriate, he murmured, not moving away this time. – But it doesn’t seem like you agree.

I kissed him.

– No, it was very appropriate.

– Appropriate as in Perfect in every way?

His voice was teasing, but his legs were anything but. He let them spread open for me, then locked them around my thighs, drawing me in until our cocks met, slick from the water, pressing and shifting with the slow movement of the waves.

I adjusted my body, floating just above him, feeling every inch of him against me. Our dicks, hard and restless, rubbing with the motion of the tide. My breath hitched. So did his.

– Yeah, I sighed, pressing in just a little more. – Just like Mary Poppins. Perfect in every way.

I dragged myself an inch closer to his lips and kissed him again. Oh, it was so nice.

No talking, no Gangnam Style, no banter—just a slow, deliberate kiss that meant something.

We stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, feeling the softness of our lips, the slight roughness of unshaven cheeks. Nose tips brushing. Bodies floating in perfect sync. My hands gripping the tube on either side of Mats, his holding my waist, the other stroking my back—slow, deliberate. The waves rocked us gently, with the sea adding its own salty taste to everything.

So, we kissed again. And then again. And then once more.

And then... I remembered that our dicks were still rock hard, lazily grinding between our stomachs, slowly jerking off against each other with every movement.

That woke us up.

Mats tightened his grip around my thighs and started moving—slow, deliberate, grinding harder against me. That look was back, mischief laced with intent. He wanted more.

I held onto the tube, bracing myself as he moved against me, his hips rolling like the waves around us. And damn, those muscles. With nothing but the tube for support, he still managed to lift me slightly, shifting me exactly where he wanted.

His legs spread mine, his hand slipping between my cheeks again.

This time, his hand wasn’t there for the teasing strokes—not at all. His fingers had a mission. And to my surprise, my body moved to give him access… all the way.

As I shifted up, his breath landed warm against my chest. His grip on my waist adjusted lower, firmer, steadying me as his other hand went deeper, fingers slipping between my cheeks—now clearly focused on exploring my hole.

And to my further surprise? My body responded instantly. My back arched, instinct taking over, offering him full access. Just like that.

Surrendering like I was the French police at the German border.

How the fuck did he know how to do that?

Then he moved lower, gripping both my ass cheeks like he owned them. I had half a second to wonder what he was up to before I felt it—his tongue, teasing my cock, trailing along the length, then wrapping around the head.

Fuck. And he was doing this underwater.

If this is what all that wind surfing does to you – I’m a fan.

I had to drag the tube closer, locking my elbows over it, chest leaning forward to keep myself steady while Mats went at me like a dolphin on speed. His mouth worked my dick with shocking efficiency, moving back and forth, swallowing what felt like most of it, while one—or maybe two—of his fingers were very determined to work their way inside me.

I let more of my weight sink onto the tube, stabilizing him enough to keep working whatever magic he clearly excelled at.

His hand slid deeper, fingers pressing in, while his other trailed along my thigh. Meanwhile, his tongue—holy shit, that tongue—moved with the precision and pressure of a flying carpet. One of those good, tightly woven ones. Pure wool. None of that synthetic crap. One that Aladdin would have chosen, had he been a surfer.

My legs were spread so wide that one more inch would’ve made me a ballerina. Mats’ hands trailed along them as he let go of my dick, disappearing from sight—only to reappear between my thighs.

The waves had carried us closer to shore, giving him solid ground beneath his feet. Then he climbed onto me, dragging himself up along my back, his chest pressing against my spine, his cock sliding over my ass as he moved. His breath was hot against my ear.

Without a word, he placed his hands over mine, gripping them where they held onto the tube. He was in control now. Then his hips pushed forward, his cock settling between my ass cheeks, grinding into place.

Grunting heavily while spitting saltwater, he focused on finding the right angle and spot for his dick to move further. Me? My body was doing impro, letting Mats take the lead.

The sensation of Mats on top of me, his dick probing for my hole, was… probably the most surprisingly exhilarating one I’d had in a very long time. And my body wasn’t just accepting it—it offered itself up like this had been its lifelong goal.

I’m a slut, apparently. Who’d have known?

Mats moved with firm resolve, his grip tightening over my hands, his chest pressing down against my back. He adjusted his hips, lined himself up, and pushed.

Suddenly, I felt sand beneath my feet—we were right at the water’s edge now. And before I knew it, my hard dick brushed against it too.

The sensation jolted through me, pure instinct kicking in. My body knew exactly what to do, adjusting without hesitation to make it as easy as possible for Mats to push inside me. Arching like the Ponte Vecchio, I barely breathed, completely engulfed by what was happening between my thighs.

Mats, now steadied by the sand, rested his knees against it, using his new leverage to drive his hips forward, his dick pressing insistently against me, demanding to get in.

And there was no way I would stop him.

His steady breathing, the quiet focus—it was like listening to the interlude before the Imperial forces marched forward.

One hand pressed firmly on my ass, the other gripping his dick, steering it with precision.

I felt the head pushing, insistent, seawater the only lubricant. My knees dug into the sand, thighs spread wide, ready for whatever he had to give.

And boy, was he giving it to me.

Not once—not once—had I ever imagined I’d have anyone’s dick in my ass, let alone Mats’. For fuck’s sake, I’d never even fantasized about us having sex. And when it comes to fantasies… well, I’m usually the one doing the exploring. So what the actual fuck was going on? My brain spun, filling up with questions.

Then he got in.

And just like that, no more thinking.

His dick was inside and I could feel the excitement in his posture.

His dick was inside me, and I could feel it. Very well. I could also feel his excitement, the shift in his body, the careful tension in his muscles.

Wait. Wait. Wait! Was all I could think of saying.

And Mats, the unexpectedly gentle, considerate intruder he apparently was, waited. His hips moved just slightly—slow, patient—rotating his dick just enough, coaxing my body to accept him.

My shoulders arched away from it all, instinctively pulling back, while my ass—traitorous, eager—arched into it. My body adjusting, aligning, as if Mats’ firm grip on my hips was the only thing keeping me steady. He stayed put, attentively waiting for my ass to cool the fuck down.

And for the second time that evening, deep breaths was the phrase I told myself.

Then, I breathed and whispered:

– OK… cool… do it.

And Mats pushed deeper.

I felt it, inch by inch, stretching, filling, the pain slowly loosening its grip—giving way to something else. Something very different.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation, on the image in my mind: his big, thick dick, squeezed tight, the rim of his head teasing as it moved further inside me. That big dick inside of me. Mats lust channeled to that big dick inside of me.

I liked that image. It felt… good.

Mats pressed in further, leaning more over me, adjusting his angle, his breath hot against my back and shoulders. As he got deeper, one hand slid up to my shoulder, gripping it firm. Steadying me. Steadying us

And then, just as I felt his pubes press against my ass, he started to move.
He began fucking me.

I clung to that tube like it was a long-lost teddy bear, eyes shut, completely focused on the sensations spreading through my body as Mats’ dick moved inside me—slow at first, then with more confidence, identifying every nerve that could make me shiver.

It was like he was playing an instrument—some unholy combination of an organ (pun very much intended) and a washboard, every ridge inside me sending sparks as he slid in and out. My body responded instinctively, hips moving with him, feeding off the friction, the heat, the relentless, electrifying sensation of being filled.

My ass was so on board for whatever Mats wanted.

And so was I.

He leaned in, breath heavy, thrusts sharper now, more force behind them. His hand on my neck tightened, his grunts grew rougher. His hips set the rhythm, and I followed, adjusting, angling, doing whatever I could to intensify the fire his cock was lighting inside me. Arching, stretching, opening up as wide as I could take him.

I swear, I could feel the head of his dick pressing my navel into oblivion.

He’d told me once that he loved fucking doggy style. I told him I was more of a missionary man. But the image of him pounding into someone—anyone—had stuck with me.

And here I was, ass full of him, feeling his brute-force lust hammering inside me. No resistance. No hesitation. Just raw, desperate pleasure, and me, fucking him back with everything I had.

Yes, that tight ass of mine can move when it wants to.

The combination of Mats thrusting into me and the waves pushing us had landed us on the sand. The tube rested there firmly now, giving me better leverage to push back. I adjusted my stance, feeling the ground beneath me, and tested a slow roll of my hips. Fuck, that felt good.

– Try letting go, I said, and Mats loosened his grip on my neck, straightening onto his knees behind me. He hesitated for a second, hands hovering over my hips like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

Then I started moving. A slow, deliberate grind, working my ass back and forth along his dick, dragging him over every sensitive spot, teasing the thick head as it pressed deep. My body knew exactly what it wanted, and right now, it wanted everything Mats could give.

And believe you me, there wasn’t a single sensory cell in my ass that wasn’t standing at attention, practically saluting, ready to be set ablaze by the forces it unleashed.

But I wasn’t the only happy guy around.

– Oh Erik, he panted. Fuck, that’s nice. So nice.

His hands swept along my back, slow, reverent, only adding to the pleasure. And I was gone, completely absorbed by the way he was working inside me, the electric currents buzzing through every nerve.

But there was just this one thing.

I wanted to see Mats fucking me.

Yeah, he’s a doggy style kind of guy. But me? I’m a Missionary Man.

And also, the Atlantic was getting cold.

So, while I kept us very occupied by fucking him, I whispered,

– Come, let’s try the beach. I want to try a thing.

Mats leaned in, teasingly biting my earlobe.

– Oh? And what is it you wanna try?

– I’ll show you.

I felt him slowly drag his dick out of me, and we both—somewhat unsteadily—got to our feet, legs trembling like we’d just finished a goddamn triathlon.

Now it was my turn to take his hand.

I’d spotted the plaids the girls had left behind, so I led us there, still catching my breath. Then I turned, kissed him, and wrapped my fingers around that still very hard cock of his, stroking him slow, teasing.

– I want to see you fucking me. I want to kiss you while feeling you inside.

His grin was instant, his kiss just as eager.

– Hell yeah, I’ll fuck you any way you want.

We barely spoke after that, working fast, folding one of the plaids to the right height—our best estimate, at least—before I lay back on another. Mats knelt between my legs, sliding the makeshift cushion under my ass, his hands firm, steady.

Now, this was a sight to see.

The moonlight carved out every sharp detail of his body—those broad, sculpted shoulders, the messy hair catching the light like it had been dusted with pearls. And that grin, wide and unfiltered, teeth gleaming like he had just won the goddamn lottery.

But what really got me? That heavy, thick dick of his, resting on mine as he adjusted his stance, thighs spreading just enough to line himself up.

Yeah. Worth the wait.

I reached blindly for a bottle lying nearby—sunscreen, probably abandoned after the girls’ burn crisis earlier. I handed it to him, and he squeezed some into his palm, spreading it over his cock with deliberate strokes. I watched, spellbound, as he slicked himself up, every motion slow, controlled, fucking mesmerizing.

Then, his hand was between my legs, fingers working me open, spreading the lotion over my hole. I gripped my thighs, pulling my legs in closer, breath catching as he lined himself up.

And that was it. That was all I could ever ask for.

His thick cock pressed against me, and then, with one steady push, he was inside. Still rock-hard, still thick, still stretching me wide.

The scent of coconut filled the air, mixing with the salt of his skin. The contrast—the soft, sweet smell, the sheer force of his body, the way his grip tightened around my ankles—sent me somewhere far beyond reason.

He bottomed out, holding deep for a second, his pubes pressed against me, before pulling back and sliding in again. Then again. And then, with that smooth, easy rhythm he seemed to have mastered in every part of life, Mats began the fucking.

And this time, it was even better.

This time, I felt it all—his balls slapping against my ass with every deep thrust, the heat radiating from his skin, the flex of his muscles as he fucked me with focused, deliberate force. His breath, hot against my chest. His hands, gripping, claiming, owning the moment.

But it was my ass. And I wanted more of him.

I reached out, fingers tracing the ridges of his chest, brushing over his nipples, teasing the trail of hair between his pecs. His grunts told me exactly how much he liked that. My hands kept exploring, gliding up his neck, stroking the sharp edge of his jaw, before gently cupping his cheek.

Then, I pulled him down to me.

My legs spread wider, opening up for him, welcoming him in. His hips never lost their rhythm, rolling into me, sending waves of pleasure through my body—fireworks, champagne, the whole goddamn New Year’s Eve display.

His face hovered inches from mine, close enough for me to see it all.

Those eyes. Fuck. So focused, so intense, pupils blown wide, pleasure darkening them until they were nothing but raw, desperate want.

This boy wanted to fuck. He wanted to fuck me.

And he was fucking good.

I pulled him in the rest of the way, crushing our mouths together, kissing him deep, hungry. My hands locked behind his neck, keeping him right where I wanted him. No space, no hesitation, no fucking distance.

I wanted all of him. All of his body. All of his lust.

His passion.

And he gave it to me.

I’d had his dick in my mouth. Now, I had it inside my ass. And fuck, the boy delivered.

His kissing turned desperate, his breath hot and ragged, lips moving fast, greedy, needing. Saliva smeared across my cheek, down my chest—messy, wet, perfect.

As he leaned over me, I reached for my dick with a free hand and started jerking off, each thrust of his sending shockwaves through me.

The energy charging my ass shot straight up to my cock, standing there like a damn midsummer pole, ready for the dancing. The head was so swollen it felt like it could explode, and the second I touched it, I knew—the orgasm was gathering its disciples, lining up in my hips, my groin, my ass, my stomach, my spine.

And then Mats must have felt it too—because he unleashed hell all over again.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and wild, hips snapping forward like his life depended on it. He fucked me like a man on a mission, his dick tunneling deeper, harder, like it was carving a goddamn tight pathway to heaven.

And then he groaned. A deep, guttural sound that sent me spiraling. His whole body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring before he slammed forward one last time, so deep it lifted me off our makeshift cushion. His dick slid out of me just as his orgasm hit, shooting thick, glistening ropes of cum over my cock, my stomach, everywhere.

The moment I felt that first hot splash, my entire body seized—and then erupted.

I came like a fucking geyser, white-hot pleasure bursting through me, every pulse dragging another shiver from my spine, another moan from my throat. I grabbed the back of his neck like a lifeline, holding onto him as my cock emptied itself, load after load spilling between us.

Mats wasn’t done, not even close. His dick kept twitching, unloading onto me, his hips jerking in stuttering, helpless aftershocks, as if they were paralyzed by the force of what had just ripped through him.

His dick twitched, sending off final spurts in loads worthy of a goddamn whale. Mine—its proud brother—stood there, pumped and gleaming, like Schwarzenegger stepping onto a podium.

None of us had expected this. I knew I hadn’t.

My ass was still twitching with aftershocks, my body covered in our cum and Mats’ sweat. We both coughed, catching our breath. Mats wiped his mouth, suddenly aware of the spit dripping from his lips—the same spit already smeared across mine.

Then he collapsed on top of me, his head resting against my cheek. For the first time, I felt it—the full weight of every muscle that man had sculpted, pressed against me. Heavy. Solid. Mine—yeah, for now he was mine.

I let my arm drape around his neck, my fingers idly smearing through the cum cooling on my stomach, my cock still half-hard beneath it. As was Mats’. A dick that, until this morning, I’d never seen hard, or even semi—never in any context that would suggest this.

And yet. Here we were.

He let out a slow breath against my ear, then, in that lazy, satisfied drawl of his, whispered—

“Even you have to admit—that was proper sex.”

I heard the smirk in his voice before I saw it.

“Yeah,” I murmured, fingers absently stroking through his damp hair. “That was proper sex.”

I glanced up at him, grinning.

“Fucking good sex, for that matter.”

Mats propped himself up on his hands, looking down at me, sweat-damp curls falling into his eyes.

“It was fucking amazing, right?” He said it like it was a question, like he couldn’t really rely on himself for an answer.

“Fucking amazing sums it up… yeah.”

Mats sat back on his knees, my thighs resting on his, taking in the scene before him. Then, with that ever-present glint in his eye, he reached for my dick—still semi-hard, streaked with cum. He ran a slow thumb over the head, then bent down and licked it clean, his tongue dragging along the shaft, deliberate, teasing.

His gaze locked onto mine, that mischievous smile lingering.

–You taste good. Mah maaan.

He leaned forward, kissed me—slow, warm—then grabbed my hand to pull me up. We shifted, legs tangled together, settling into a loose embrace just as a chilly breeze rolled in from the sea.

–Fuck, haven’t thought about the weather for a while, he murmured into my ear.

–Well, if you had, I’d have to kill you. No self-esteem in the world'd survive a weather check after sex.

He chuckled, reaching for the blanket beside us.

-Erik, trust me—you should never, ever have a self-esteem issue. Not with me. Not with anyone. He shook his head. This was… fucking magic.

I huffed a small laugh, but before I could reply, my fingers brushed against something buried in the sand.

–Well, hey presto, look what the cat dragged in.

Mats grinned as I pulled out the bottle we’d left to hold its temp in the sand.

“Oh, I love that cat.”

We soon found the glasses, shifted around until comfortable, wrapped up in the plaid, and poured the wine.

— Cheers, mate, I said, raising my glass. — One can’t deny there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about really good sex.

— There certainly is, Mats said, smirking as he swirled his wine. — And as I said before, you can je ne sais quoi me anytime.

We took a sip—well, we downed the whole glass, to be honest. There had been way too little hydration in the last 24 hours.

— So, is this how the week’s gonna be? Mats asked, refilling his glass. — Us fucking like rabbits and never drinking water?

I shrugged.

— Yeah, why not? I heard there’s way too much chlorine in the water here anyway, so maybe we're just being very responsible.

Mats gave me a long look, then chuckled and lay back close to me, against the dune. Tightly wrapped in that plaid, we lay close - I felt Mats resting his head against my chest - watching the moon drifting lazily above the calm ocean.

— Two rabbits and a bottle of wine… he mused. — I think we made Beatrix Potter very proud tonight.

— Yeah, I think we did. We really did.

He smiled, leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, then pulled in the plaids, drained the last of his wine and tucked himself in like this was camping, and something he’d done all his life.

— This’ll keep us warm. Lean back so I can lean on your chest, will you?

I downed what was left in my glass, set it in the sand and shifted position so he could get comfortable. His head landed just below my collarbone, and those hairy legs of his tangled into mine without asking for permission.

Of course they fit.

The sand dune was surprisingly comfortable.
Or maybe it was just the company—maybe just about anywhere would’ve done.
But yeah, it was comfortable.
And hearing Mats’ breath slow down, not quite asleep but drifting, resting so close to me, well… I said to myself that some days really are impossible to forecast.

With the sound of his slow breath, the gentle roll of the waves as the tide of that enormous ocean drifted away—and the scent of his hair—even I, the selfless guardian of pale abs and redheads without sunscreen, drifted away too.

And just before sleep took me, I saw Peter Rabbit squeezing under Mr. McGregor’s garden gate again. His little blue jacket flapped behind him. He looked back at me, flashed that cheeky smile, and whispered:

— Don’t worry. I’ll bring you a carrot.

Then he vanished into the lettuce.

I wasn’t worried at all. I’d already found mine.

Falling asleep on the sand dunes had been really, really nice. Waking up, though? Well… not so much.

First, I felt this sharp pain in my stomach that a) shocked me, and b) sent me into a whimsy state of alert in no time.

I opened my eyes and saw the back of Mats’ head — and his broad back — as he tried to get up.

The pain? That came from his hand using me as a handle.

I could tell he was in a hurry. He almost stumbled up, mumbling:

— Fuuuuck… what time is it? He quickly looked all around. What is this? How the fuck can I explain this to Anna?

I rose, resting on my elbows, watching him stroke his hair rapidly, taking a few short steps around like he was trying to orient himself.

He was nude as hell, and watching his body from my angle wasn’t bad at all.

No sir.

I’ve heard that all the fashion shoots of hot bodies are done in the early morning, when the body’s at its tightest. And if I’d had a camera then, I’d have taken some seriously hot pictures of him.

His abs moved like waves under pale skin, rising and falling with each movement. His tight ass tensed and released as he stepped around, and those thighs… I hadn’t known there were that many muscles involved in just moving.

But hey, I’ve always been an eager learner.

And then his dick. That dingly-dangly masterpiece, bouncing with every step, gently framed by a tight patch of short, dark brown pubes.

This whimsy state of alert did have its benefits.

— What time is it?

I realized he was asking me, and after a few seconds of trying to figure out what he meant, I said:

— Ooooh...

I started searching for my phone, the one I’d left somewhere near the bottle of wine last night. Had to dig through the sand a bit, but after a few sweeps I felt the cold metal case next to the blanket I was still half-wrapped in.

— It’s not even six, Mats — there’s nooo way Anna is awake just yet.

— And where are the clothes? I have to find my clothes.

He started lifting the plaids, scanning the beach gear the girls had left for us to collect the day before.

— I can’t find them. Fuck!

— Mats, hey! Cool down. You dropped yours when you were running, remember? They’ll be there. Just... cool it.

— Cool it? How the fuck can I be cool it when I should be in bed next to Anna right now?

And right about then, he seemed to remember he was completely naked, because he quickly grabbed the plaid we’d used as a blanket and wrapped it around himself in one swift motion.

I figured I should at least try to be helpful, so I got up and walked over to him.

— Mats, seriously. Chill. Just head back to the house and get into bed. You’ll even get a couple more hours of sleep. And if Anna asks anything — which I doubt — just say we were out drinking on the beach and that you’re hungover. Not exactly a first, is it?

He turned his head and looked at me for the first time that morning — and he didn’t look happy.

— I’ll get your clothes, I said, trying to calm him down. — Sush. Sashay away. I can’t stand you being this stressed.

He gave me a wary look, then tightened the blanket around himself like it was armor.

— You’ll get my clothes?

— Yes, I’ll get your clothes. Now go. If you’re so stressed, just go.

— OK, he muttered, and started off towards the house in what could only be described as a slightly frantic sashay. A called after him:

— I’d raise the plaid a bit if I were you. Tight dresses aren’t ideal for moving fast, now are they?

He didn’t answer, but I saw him hitch it up just enough to pick up speed — over the last dune, along the narrow planked path, and up the stairs to the house like a man trying very hard not to think about the reasons for this walk of shame.

Now it was my turn to get a little weary, standing there stark naked among all the beach debris like a confused castaway. I started tracing patterns in the sand with my toe. A short gust of chilled breeze reminded me of my lack of clothing.

With the breeze came a shift in scent. Still ocean, sure, but now with a top note of sun-warmed seaweed. Some of it alive and kicking. Some of it very, very dead.

Nature’s own little reminder that the party was over.

I turned around and for the first time noticed the beach at low tide. Where there had been water just hours ago, there was now a stretch of rippled sand and flat, glistening rocks.

Naturally, my eyes started scanning the sand for the place where we’d fucked in the water—but there were no obvious marks. No gaping holes, no grooves in the sand after the weight of two young men being impressively carnal.

Nature, with all its talents for sculpting masterpieces, also seems to have a strange inability to recognize what truly deserves to be memorialized.

I was, I admit, a little disappointed.

The tube was still there next to me, though. Faithful as ever.
I sighed, picked it up.

— Guess I’d better get you back to your family. And get Mats’s stuff back as well.

I had to take a few steps along the old shoreline before I remembered the whole nude part.
I looked around for something to cover myself with, but there wasn’t much—just the thick blanket and two beach parasols.

A parasol would definitely bring some pazazz, no doubt. But the blanket had a slight edge in, well… coverage.

But, then again, did I really need to hide? I mean, honestly? There didn’t seem to be anyone around. And I could already spot a yellow dot not too far away—that had to be Mats’ shorts, so mine had to be somewhere close by.

And anyway, I was dead tired. The idea of crawling into a proper bed for an hour or two was really growing on me.

Yes, I noticed the pun. And apparently, so did my dick.

I stood there, stark naked, feeling myself get hard again.

My brain, helpful as always, began cueing up reruns from last night: Mats jerking off in front of me, his hard cock in my mouth, the feeling of him pushing inside me, his moans in my ear when we finally fucked...

Turns out I can get rock-hard in absolutely no time.

But losing the erection though? Not quite fast enough, as I soon realized.

— Bonjour Monsieur, c’est un bon matin, n’est-ce pas?

I heard a voice, but I couldn’t understand where it came from, until I turned and an elderly lady strolling along the beach towards me with an equally elderly man.

My grip around my dick shifted from a slow, and very nice jerk to full-blown damage control. My hands flew in, smashing my cock down between my thighs like I was trying to shove it out of existence.

— Oh… salut, Madame… et Monsieur... eeeh, Oui, c’est un très bon matin.

I nodded, grinning wide—somewhere between charming and mortified—hoping my smile would be enough to redirect their gaze north. Let’s just say that never before has the phrase “My eyes are up here” felt more desperately needed.

The pair stopped. Smiled. Clearly enjoying the situation far more than I did.

— J’ai cru que le temps était un peu trop froid, the woman said, eyes twinkling. Mais évidemment, vous avez une bonne vigueur… très dûr…

I stood there, frozen. Literally and figuratively. My French was just good enough to understand that she was complimenting my vigueur. Possibly all of it. (Should I be flattered?)
But, still – my dignity packed a tiny suitcase and started walking toward the horizon.

And, you know, adding French to a brain that was already exploding… well, that didn’t go great.

I started walking backward toward the plaid. Slowly. Carefully. Like my dignity depended on it, and…well, it did. And I swore to myself, if I made it there alive, I’d never complain or stress about anything ever again.

— Eee… oui… merci, I guess. Je ne fais pas… des choses comme ça, normalement… J’ai des vêtements… des clothes, usually. J’aime les bons matins… happy mornings on the beach… la plage… and ohlalala…

The smile I managed to pull off was, at least from the inside, a groundbreaking innovation in facial expression—somewhere between almost crying and almost screaming.

Happy porcelain has nothing on me.

Their smiles only widened.

— Avez-vous pêché pour les huîtres peut-être? C’est un bon temps pour ça maintenant.

I kept inching backward, step by awkward step. Oysters? Aaah—of course. This place must be filled with them. Why wouldn’t it be?

— Ah oui, les huîtres… I said, nodding like I’d just remembered my life’s passion. — Bien sûr. Beaucoup d’huîtres ici, right?

My toe frantically searched for the blanket behind me, hoping that a miracle would make me find it, so I could drag it forward without looking like I was doing exactly that.

The french are all about style, you know?

The friendly couple made no move to help. None. They just stood there, beaming like I was their favorite morning show.

— Mais oui, les huîtres d’ici sont les meilleures de toute la côte, she said, turning to the man. N’est-ce pas ?

He nodded solemnly, gaze lingering a little too long.

— Oui, les fruits de mer — délicieux. Et vous… vous avez la vigueur, la fermeté… le corps d’un vrai pêcheur.

Her glasses slid down her nose as she inspected me more thoroughly. There I was: hands frantically trying to cover my crotch (pretty sure my balls had retreated completely into hiding), and one foot dragging patterns in the sand like a confused stork. Or a ballerina halfway through Swan Lake.

She leaned in slightly, smiling.

— Oui… et peut-être aussi les bons outils…

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

— La raideur d’un grand pêcheur. C’est impressionant, ça.

Then they both laughed.

I was just about to share their laugh, saying something clever about the importance of having great tools—maybe throw in a nudge-nudge for good measure—when the wording hit me.

Oh fuck. They are talking about my dick.

I did let out a laugh. Not a confident, sexy laugh, mind you. No, this was full-on Bridget Jones realizing she'd just shouted "Frits Pervert!" across a quiet dinner party kind of laugh.

–Aaah, oui eh, les bons outils…hahaha – C’est very funny that… trés, très funny.

And then—praise be—I felt the edge of the plaid under my foot.

Without breaking eye contact, I bent down in what I hoped was a graceful motion, grabbed the corner of the plaid, and slowly pulled it up to my waist.

— Aha! I said, like I’d just solved world peace. Saved by the plaid.

I attempted what I hoped to be the most charming smile ever offered in post-nudity history while trying to drape the fabric around me with as much dignity as one can manage when still semi-erect in front of an audience.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t broadcasting the full outline of my genitals to strangers on a beach.

That’s progress.

I saw how the couple’s eyes followed the plaid’s movement upwards, clearly intrigued by my desperate attempt to get it around my waist while covering the front.

And I couldn’t help thinking—why hadn’t the girls brought a normal towel? This thick plaid was useless. Sure, I could hold it in front of me, but trying to secure it around my waist? No chance.

Which, I’m quite sure, the couple had already realized.

Because just when I thought I’d finally managed to wrap myself up with some decency, the man smiled and said:

— Jeune pêcheur, nous vous souhaitons une bonne journée.

Young fisherman. Right.

And with that, they both reached out to shake my hand. Very polite, very civilized. The only issue? I had to let go of the plaid for a moment—and yes, of course it slipped.

So there I was again. Still covering my dick, technically, but my thighs, my ass… all the rest was back on display for the world to enjoy.

And in that moment, I just thought: Fine. I surrender.
The world clearly wants me nude.

So, I smiled again, nodded politely, and shook their hands as they both gave me one last full-body inspection, top to bottom. And what could I do but stand there, being politely audited.

Then, with a final approving nod, they turned and began walking away down the beach.

In my head, I let out the biggest sigh of my life. Stress levels dropped like a rock in the ocean. Just seeing their backs was like passing my driving test—I wanted to cheer, cry and call my parents.

But of course, no ordinary French couple would leave without being extra polite.

The woman turned back, calling out from a few meters away:

— Et bien sûr, je souhaite ta fille aussi. J’espère qu’elle aime les fruits de mer.

Yes, if there had been a girl involved, I’m sure that seafood would have been her greatest love.

I wanted to say something general, something clever, but the words that came out…

— Ah, mais c’est pas une fille, c’est un garçon. All of this…

I added a very French gesture—wide, inclusive—the debris around me, the lack of clothing, the sea, the sky. All of it – is because of a guy.

— Tout cela dépend d’un garçon.

The couple looked at each other, surprised for a moment, then chuckled.

— Un garçon, hein?

I shrugged, and gave them a small nod.

— Oui. Un bon garçon. He’s a nice one.

They kept chuckling, eyes still on me, shrugging their shoulders as if some universal truth had just been confirmed.

— Toujours les garçons, toujours…

And then, just before turning away, the man gave me a little bow.

— Alors, nous souhaitons à ton garçon aussi… et bonne chance pêchant!

Luck with the fishing? I couldn’t help smiling – for real this time and gave myself a mental pat on the shoulder. Yeah, when it came to fishing – I’d had some.

— Merci, I said, trying to get my useless brain fluid in a totally absent French vocabulary. Et à vous… bonne… happy walking! Bonne marché!

They gave me a quick wave and I heard their giggles trailing behind them as they walked away.

Yeah. Wishing someone a nice marketplace probably is pretty funny.

So there I was, clutching the plaid like Leonardo DiCaprio on a sinking ship, watching the couple disappear into the morning mist.

The slightly chilly breeze brought me back to the world as we know it.

I needed to retrieve our clothes. The girl’s stuff had to be sorted, and also, the tube needed to be returned to somewhere vaguely near where it had come from. I had no idea where that was, of course, but I shrugged. What’s another hundred meters back or forth in the grand scheme of things?

And then there was the matter of my nakedness.

The blanket—let’s be honest—wasn’t made for walking. It worked fine on a bed, or to make a sand dune feel less like a sand dune. But as clothing? No way, José.

And honestly, what could possibly be more embarrassing than what I’d already been through? Not much. If I could sprint like a gazelle last night, I could damn well do it again.

So after one last careful glance down the empty coastline, I dropped the plaid and started running.

It had been a while since I was this focused. A nuclear explosion could’ve gone off and I wouldn’t have flinched.

All my brain could register was the tiny yellow dot in the distance and the chilled, hard sand under my feet.

Oh—and my dick, flapping around like it had its own mission. If I ever needed a solid reason to invent shorts, this was it.

Thankfully, the yellow dot was Mats’s shorts—and close by, I found the rest of our clothes scattered across the sand.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of joy putting on pants.

And after adjusting the precious packet so it could rest comfortably in its pouch, I could meet the world with confidence and pride. Well, maybe pride is pushing it. The memory of what just had happened still too strong to be neglected.

But I was dressed, and that in itself felt like a victory.

I jogged back and started gathering the stuff scattered across the beach. Thankfully, the girls had left a basket big enough to fit most of the smaller items. I rolled up the plaid with the parasols and slung it over my shoulder, balancing both the bundle and the basket as I made my way back to the house.

The veranda doors were wide open, the table still set, and the mess from crisps and drinks in the kitchen clearly untouched.

That’s when the lack of sleep hit me—like a sledgehammer. Apparently one can go from full on frantic to full on sleepy in no-time. But if we – which in this case ment I – wanted to avoid the girls asking too many questions about what Mats and I had been doing all night… then this had to be dealt with. Now.

Thankfully, the sun was up and up here on the balcony, the morning breeze had settled, letting the temperature climb to what felt like a perfect, blissful level.

Life—messy and nice all over the place.

So, with what I’d like to call admirable focus (again), I got to work. Bit by bit, I started sorting things out. Glasses, plates, random trinkets scattered around—I loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and cleaned up the battlefield.

All while enjoying the faint, floral scent of those overly exotic French detergents. La Douce France might not solve your problems, but it does know how to perfume them.

And when I was finally done, having looked around the place thinking yeah, I’ve actually done a really good job, I finally could let the tiredness sink in properly.

A bed. A clean blanket. The soft hum of the AC working quietly in the corner. That would be my reward for everything I’d been through. Or as Milla Jovovich put it: Parce que je le vaux bien. I am so fucking worth it.

A quick glance at the ocean, then bed. Or so I thought.

That was when a voice cut through the silence.

— Erik! Are you also a morning person? That is so nice! I love this. You want some coffee… or tea? Mats is sleeping like a rock downstairs. Woke me up with his snoring—God, that is one of the most annoying things ever. Anyways, so nice that you’re up.

Anna came bouncing over and greeted me with a big hug—full of energy, full of joy. She grabbed my shoulders and gave me a good once-over. (What is it with all these women auditing me today??)

— Have you been out jogging already? Excercising? That is so impressive. And seriously—you’ve become so fit! I don’t know how you do it. I honestly don’t know how anyone does it. I’m way too much of a wine-’em and dine-’em kind of girl—you know what I mean?

She beamed at me, absolutely radiant.

— I just know this will be a great day.

I smiled back and whished I could’ve agreed with her.

–Yeah, it probably will… I ran my fingers through my hair and gave the place a once-over. It probably will…

Anna took my hand and led me to the hammock, where she put me at one end, adjusting the cushions around me to be fluffy and comfortable.

—Wait here and I’ll bring you the tea, because it is tea, right?

From the kitchen, I heard her rummaging around. The kettle started humming, seagulls squawked somewhere above, and the air, now a few degrees warmer, began mixing the ocean’s salt with softer, sweeter scents.

The pillows must’ve been freshly washed—there was that unmistakable white-lilies-and-softener thing going on.

I won’t fall asleep if I just close my eyes for a second. Just a little.

I mean, I am a young man of principle.

I heard the seagulls, the clinking of porcelain and—and then something had happened to my face.

The first thing I noticed was the blur. My vision was gone—replaced by this swirling red-orange haze, like I was inside a fire.

My back ached.

And the heat… I was damp. Sweaty.

It felt like a hangover, but that couldn’t be right. No way.

I reached up to touch my face—but to my horror it was dry, pointy, unrecognizable. I couldn’t feel my skin, like it had turned into some grotesque mask.

For fuck’s sake.

I tried to sit up, but the world tilted, and I nearly toppled over. The movement cleared the haze for a second—then the light hit. Brutal, sharp, everywhere. Everything around me was swaying like a fever dream. And to top it off, a cold breeze snuck into every damp seam of my clothes.

—Don’t fall over, dear. It’ll be messy.

—What?

I blinked, blinded by the sudden light, grabbing onto the cool, sharp edges of whatever was in front of me.

I knew the voice, but… the red-orange haze had shifted into a blinding white glare. Slowly, outlines began to form around me.

—Have you tried water? Might do you some good right now.

Something cool and cylindrical was pressed into my hand. As my eyes adjusted, I began piecing together this new world I’d apparently been dropped into.

It felt like a glass of water. It behaved like a glass of water—especially when I misjudged where my mouth was and drooled it down my cheek. But that was due to the world swinging, of course.

So yes, it was a glass of water. A scientific mindset never fails.

The sharp shape in front of me started to look more and more like the coffee table. My legs were still with me—which is always reassuring—and they looked mostly as expected. The rocking eased as soon as I stopped shifting around on whatever I was sitting on. Which, more and more, began to resemble a hammock.

And there, beside me: a bright pink sun hat.

The world is full of surprises.

Yeah. Water would probably help. And I downed it as if a life depended on it.

My life.

The voice next to me came from a body on a sun chair. She turned and looked at me over her sunglasses.

—So, you and Mats drank all night while Anna and I were trying to cope with pain?

I looked around but there was no-one else there, so she must be talking to me (it was a she voice and I began to recognice it).

—Drinking? Us? No way, José.

Sussi lowered her sunglasses, giving me a long, stern look.

—It wasn’t, I told her. How could it be, after you and Anna had your crisp-frenzy in the kitchen?

Her look didn’t shange.

—So, it was us drinking all the wine, was it?

—Look, I’m not judging, you needed the drugs… I get it. Rough childhood and all that.

—For fuck’s sake, Erik.

I sighed and took a deep breath. Boy did I need more water.

—I was just trying to be funny. And no, there wasn’t any more wine—just that bottle still on the table after you two left.

—So what did you do all night? Talk?

—I guess so. Would that be so strange?

She gave me a disapproving look, then opened the magazine resting in her lap.

—If you say so. Would’ve been a first, wouldn’t it?

I drained the last sip in my glass.

—What, us talking?

—No, not you. We all know you talk. I meant Mats. If there is one more boring man alive, I don’t know who that could be.

—I don’t know if boring is the right word.

—What is then… dull?

I slowly rose to my feet, trying balance as if it was for the first time.

—Naah, dull isn’t really there either.

—There’s water in the kitchen if you want more. And just so you know: Anna and Mats are in La Rochelle. We can meet them there if we want to.

I passed her, getting more and more comfortable with walking.

—And… do we?

—Well, waiting for you to resurrect hasn’t exactly been thrilling, so yeah. A trip to the city might just save the day.

—Even if it means hanging out with boring old Mats?

She sighed and flipped another page.

—Anna’s fun. As for Mats—you can do whatever you want with him.

Well, I thought, while pouring myself some of that blessed water, we might just see about that.

After a couple of litres of that cold, sparkling miracle, my body seemed to reboot and even my brain kicked back in. Yeah, I probably could make it through another day.

—So, when are we leaving?

—I’d suggest right after you take a shower. Wash off that lovely layer of day-old booze and do something about your face.

I caught my reflection in the kitchen window and had to admit that she had a point. This was not the Erik who’d been sprinting over sand dunes chasing Mats. A shave and a cold shower sounded like the best things since aspirin. Also, getting the last of the sand out of my butt crack might not be the worst idea either.

…

—So, this is La Rochelle, I said, looking out over a small harbour tucked beside a picturesque old tower.

The ocean was ever-present, but this time its vast, unbroken horizon was framed by sailboats and timeworn buildings. The air carried that familiar saltiness, laced now with the sting of diesel and the warmth of sunbaked asphalt.

—Mmm, looks like it.

Sussi was busy looking for something in her backpack.

—Not what I had expected.

—Isn’t it? Why?

—Well, I know this’ll sound stupid, but I read all these war stories when I was young. There was so much about La Rochelle—Nazis building massive concrete bunkers, hiding submarines and… being all secretive and stuff.

I waved vaguely toward the quaint tower and the harbour, with its small houses clustered around it—windows brimming with geraniums, ground floors turned into picturesque shops and restaurants.

—All this looks… so very French.

Sussi turned to me with the expression of someone trying make sense out of nonsense.

—La Rochelle was your idea, you know that, right?

—Yeah, but…

—And you built this thing with us going here on nothing more than… childhood memories from war novels?

—Action novels. And there was literary value there. Sort of.

She gave me a long look.

—Says the guy who knows Vogue by heart.

—Hey—Vogue is art!

She sighed and pulled out her phone to check the map.

—Yeah, right. And the seven dwarfs were just friends.

She scrolled, humming to herself.

—OK, just got a message from Anna. They’ve found a nice place to eat near the town’s food hall... Looks like a ten-minute walk, tops.

I scratched my neck, silently wondering why we couldn’t just find something closer to the harbour.

—Come on, It’s not like you don’t get a sea view at the house, right?

—I know, but… seems like a bit of a waste not to get the full-on ocean experience, now that we’re actually next to one.

—Well, some might say it’s a bit of a waste not to get the full-on “quaint little seaside town” experience, now that we’re actually in one.

—I guess you have a point there.

—And also, I’d like to do some shopping while we’re here. It’s fun to see what they’re offering in this place.

—Really? What on earth do you think you’d want to buy here?

—I don’t know. Maybe a quaint little sun hat. Or some quaint little sunglasses. Or… a quaint little summer dress. Who knows? That’s the point. The adventure. And French fashion.

—Yeah, right… I’m sure you’ll find loads of French fashion here. You just have to dig past the t-shirts and inflatable dolphins.

She turned to give me a stern look. Again.

—Oh, don’t worry about me, I said, all reassurance. It’ll be quaint. I’m sure.

The walk made me think of the theory of relativity, which I decided to mention.

—You know, Sussi, isn’t it funny how a ten-minute walk can suddenly turn into a thirty-minute one? Just like that? It’s like time decided to just quit and leave saying “fuck this shit”. Or, like the Doppler effect—you know, when the sound changes as something passes by really fast? Like, this time - imagine a car driving past us really slowly. So slowly, in fact, that the sound doesn’t shift at all. Not even a little.

We’d stopped outside a small shop with racks of “summer wear” spilling onto the pavement. Sussi was inspecting each flowery item of clothing with forensic focus.

—And do you know why the sound wouldn’t shift? Well, that would be because the car is barely moving. Just like us. My guess – or analysis if you want to call it that—is that in fact, it is because of the sound having no speed at all. Absolutely no speed —just like us. And that would kill it—out of sadness mabye. Going all buuurn buurn, but so slow that no one would hear it, and that would make it die, fall to the ground, never to be heard of again. Possibly just like us if this keeps on going much longer.

—Somehow, I think you managed to misunderstand both Einstein and Doppler in one sweeping monologue, Erik. That’s some kind of achievement, I guess.

She held up a pink-orange floral blouse with puff sleeves.

—Now hush. What do you think—charming or tragic?

I wanted to show disinterest, just to get going, but the blouse was, in fact, quite nice.

—Hmm, I said with a bit of surprice, It looks quite good, actually. I have to admit that.

She held it out in front of her, examining it again.

—You mean you like it?

—Yeah, I do. It’s got that “let’s-have-drinks-on-a-veranda-overlooking-the-ocean” kind of vibe.

She gave me a disapproving look, then glanced back at the blouse.

—Come on, Sussi. Are you going to put it back just because I liked it?

—Well, Erik… It’s not like I can trust you on these things, is it?

—You can’t trust me? I gave out a laugh of disbelief. I mean, if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s me. I am Mr Trusty. You know that.

—Yeah, like that time you brought me that black dress with plastic flowers on the sleeves?

—That was fashion sweetie. And it was super cool.

—Super cool as dressing up in candy, you mean?

—I don’t see how that comparison is relevant in any way. But compared to most of what we’ve seen today, at least candy is likeable.

—So… she held the blouse like a question mark, you think I should take this one, then?

—Yes. Please do. Not just because I’m starving, but because it’s actually nice. You’ll look good in it. It’ll look good on you. You’ll make such a nice couple. And so on. Bladibladi blah.

—OK, she said and brought it to a small counter tucked between the street stands. I heard her discussing the price with the attendant.

—Wait, I said, walking up and whispering in her ear. Are you haggling the price?

—Hush. Of course. That’s what you do here.

—Sweetie, that’s what you do in Tehran. Not France. This is a shop, not a flea market.

—You’re such a coward, Erik. C’mon… it’ll be fun.

—Fun, you say? Well… I gave the attendant a stiff smile and whispered back, you’re on your own with this one.

I slowly turned away, showing a sudden interested in ladies’ underwear, while I couldn’t help overhearing the rest.

—Madame (I couldn’t help smiling at that), zis iz ze price. I am not ze owner.

—I’m sure you can give me a discount. This is clearly overpriced.

—Madame, if you want ze blouse, vous must pay ze price. It is very simpol.

—But Monsieur, I’m sure a good man like you can offer me a much better price. I’ll be a returning customer.

—Madame, you are a visitor, no? So, vous will not be a returning customer.

Sussi sighed, scanning for fresh arguments—then spotted a rack of baby sunglasses next to the counter.

—OK, I’ll take it if you throw these in.

She picked up a pair with bright red, heart-shaped frames. The man stared at her, puzzled.

—Vous want zese?

—Yes. That is correct. I want them. And if you add them, I’ll take the blouse.

Even with my back turned, I could feel her determination radiating outward. I could also sense the man’s growing frustration.

—But… zese are for children?

—I happen to like them. And you happen to sell overpriced clothing. We both know ziss. So, add the sunglasses and we’re even.

He blinked, watching her wave the tiny heart-shaped glasses in the air like a trophy.

—Zose cost one euro, Madame… not more.

—Great. Then I’m sure there’s no problem adding them.

He raised both hands like he was shielding himself from whatever was unfolding on the other side of the counter. Then, surprisingly, he called out to me.

—Monsieur, can you help? Ze madame has no money to pay for ze blouse.

—I’m sorry, monsieur, I can’t help you with ze madame. I’m just paid to keep her from killing people. This is actually much nicer than she usually is.

I shrugged and tried to look innocent.

—Mon dieu, he muttered, turning the card reader toward Sussi. Take ze damn glasses.

Sussi beamed as she tapped her card with flair.

The man stuffed the blouse into a paper bag with a dramatic sigh, while Sussi leaned over the counter, holding the glasses aloft.

—No need for a bag for zese, monsieur. I can take them as they are.

—Good, madame. We don’t have special bags for one-euro glasses for ze children.

—Well, maybe you should Monsieur. Cood customer service is important.

And with that, I gave him an apologetic smile, grabbed her hand, and dragged her back out onto the street.

—Was that really necessary?

—C’mon Erik, don’t be such a killjoy. It was fun! And—she waved the glasses triumphantly—we got these!

—We? Sussi, no. No, no, no. There is absolutely no we in this. This was you, you, you. All you.

—Aaah, don’t be such a bore...

She paused by a shop window, using the reflection to slide the heart-shaped glasses into her hair.

—Look, I’ve got a new tiara.

—And the plastic flowers were too much?

She shrugged as she walked past me.

—You planning to stand there all day? I thought we had a lunch to catch.

The original time schedule proved accurate—we reached the restaurant in almost no time. I could see why Lotta had chosen this place. The building looked medieval, but the large windows facing the street gave it a modern, open feel. The lush outdoor seating area was decked out with parasols and white furniture that looked like it had been hijacked straight from St. Tropez.

We heard Lotta’s voice from a distance, waving wildly as soon as we entered.

—Yohoo! We’re over here—we’ve got seats for you!

I waved back, smiling. She had the same vibrant energy as this morning, as if nothing could dim her enthusiasm.

—Come, sit here! And look—nice view, right? This place is fabulous. You have to try their spritz—it’s rhubarb or raspberry or something, but it’s delicious. Isn’t it, Mats?

I had almost missed Mats sitting next to her, hunched over the menu like he took care of the bells of Notre Dame.

—Yeah. It’s nice. You should try it.

—“Nice”? Mats, you said you loved it.

She turned to us, mouthing “someone didn’t sleep well” and made a subtle pointing gesture towards him.

Sussi mouthed back “someone can’t hold their liqueur”—and made no attempt to hide that she was pointing directly at me.

—And still, you’re the one wearing baby sunglasses..

—Shush babe, she said, waving me off. It’s fashion. Now let’s sit and have some of that lovely bubbly, shall we?

She slid into the seat across from Anna, which placed me opposite Mats, who was still hovering over the menu like he had a job ringing the bells of Notre Dame.

Anna raised her glass with flair.

The waiter—who must’ve been waiting for his cue—appeared immediately and filled our glasses with practiced ease.

—So, daaahlings, let’s have our first proper toast of this gorgeous trip.

She beamed at all of us, then turned to me.

—And a special toast to you, Erik, for making this all happen!

I looked at her, caught off guard, unsure if she was being serious.

—Wow... I said, blinking. Gosh—thank you, Anna.

—Thank you! From all of us.

She held up her glass, inviting us all to join the toast.

Sussi rolled her eyes.

—Yeah, yeah, she muttered, but clinked her glass anyway.

Mats joined in last, lifting his glass with a quiet nod.

We had a sip, eyes meeting, small nods exchanged across the table.

Sussi gave me one with a nonchalant smirk, eyebrows raised.

Mats didn’t look at me at all—his gaze was fixed on Anna.

When we sat down again, Mats leaned in and rested his arm along the back of Anna’s chair while gently stroking her shoulder, eyes focused on something on her neck.

—So, any plans for the week? Anything we should put on a list? Anna asked. What about you Sussi?

Sussi shrugged.

—Nothing special, really. I mean, some beach time is always nice, but that’ll get boring if we don’t mix in some small adventures.

—True that, and you, Erik? Anything you’ve been longing to do?

—Well… honestly, just being this close to the Atlantic—that was the dream for me. I love the scent of the sea here, the breeze...

I glanced around the group.

—And, as I told my loving girlfriend, there are supposedly lots of majestic old Nazi bunkers I’d love to see.

A few eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

—And then again… the markets are probably amazing too, so… I’d love to do some cooking. That’d be fun, don’t you think?

I turned to Mats.

—You said Anna wanted to visit some vineyards, right?

—Oh, I’d love that! Anna made a little seated happy dance in her chair. I’ve never been to a proper one, and wouldn’t it be fun to bring back some small-farm wine?

—That would be so nice! —Sussi mimicked Anna’s little chair dance and took another sip from her glass. —So what’s the thing in this area—bubbly or white? Red?

—I think it’s mostly whites and lighter reds around here —I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. —I don’t think La Rochelle is exactly famous for its wine, but hey—it doesn’t take the fun out of trying them, right?

—It sure doesn’t! —Anna raised her glass with a grin and took a generous sip.

Then she turned to Mats.

—And you? What are your dreams for the week?

—Nothing much… Like you said, some wine could be fun. And if there’s a chance to surf, that would be awesome. The waves are supposed to be magic around here.

—Well, there’s definitely wind for it, Anna said. —I think that’s what burned us yesterday—the wind takes the edge off the heat, so you forget the sun’s still brutal.

Sussi cut in before I could say anything.

—See? It wasn’t the lack of sun screen. It was the wind.

—Yeeeright… the wind. Speaking of that, I said. —How’s your back today? Any better? Anna?

—Much better, thankfully. God, yesterday was awful. But thanks to paracetamol and soothing lotion I slept through the worst of it. How’s yours, Sussi?

—Getting there. I’m still a bit careful with leaning back, but it’s way better than yesterday. And no thanks to you, Erik, who showed zero concern for your girlfriend’s well-being.

—But Sussi… yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t exactly been running at full capacity today. And no —I cut her off before she could say it——it’s not because of too much wine.

—Hmm. If you say so, —Sussi said, unconvinced.

—Then what’s the problem? —Anna asked, her voice laced with concern.

—I guess I just didn’t sleep well. Woke up way too early. I always have trouble sleeping the first night in a new place.

—Well, Mats didn’t sleep that well either, did you, Mats?

Mats looked up from the neck watching, taken slightly off guard.

—I slept alright… didn’t I? Was there a problem?

—No, no, nothing major, Anna said, waving it off a bit too quickly. —It’s just… you were snoring like crazy, which you almost never do. And I don’t know… you’ve just felt a bit off today.

—I'm alright. Slept through the night, as far as I remember.

I couldn’t help watching him as he spoke, trying to read what was going on behind that calm surface.

This wasn’t the upright, flirty, cocky Mats who’d pressed against me just yesterday. This was someone else entirely—closed off, folded neatly back into himself.

More like his usual, introverted self.

—Well, I’m glad you slept well, Mats. That’s what matters most, I said.

He glanced at me but didn’t offer anything back. No confirmation, no warmth. Just a quiet nod.

—Thanks, Erik. Yeah... I guess I just need some rest.

—Maybe a few hours on a board would do you good, I offered.

—Yeah, it probably would. Some alone time.

Anna raised an eyebrow and set down her glass.

—Alone time? Seriously, Mats? Now that we’ve finally made it here? Are you for real?

She sighed.

—Fine, hop on that board of yours if you want to. Sussi and I will go on some wine adventures by ourselves—if we have to.

—We sure will!

The two girls clinked their glasses and waved at the waiter for a refill. The same waiter as before returned, topped up our glasses and asked:

—Are you ready to order?

Anna scanned the table.

—Are we? Any suggestions, Erik? You know French the best.

—Oh, well... I haven’t read the menu yet. But Mats, you’ve been looking at it for a while, maybe you can tell us?

He raised his head and looked around like he’d just been pulled out of a dream.

—Sorry, I was thinking about something else.

He didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Anna on the cheek.

—Ooookay, I said and turned to the girls. Well… why not start with some oysters? From what I’ve heard, this area has the best seafood on the coast.

—Really? Sussi sounded skeptical. Where did you hear that?

—An old lady told me. This morning.

—An old lady? This morning? She looked confused.

—Yeah, Anna jumped in. He went out jogging early. You’re such a champ, Erik—was that when you met her?

—Well… I was kind of jogging, at least. But yeah, that’s when I met her. She was taking a morning stroll along the beach with a male friend. They were… very friendly.

—Wow, making new acquaintances already? That must be some kind of record, Sussi said, taking another sip of her wine. —All the things you do instead of caring for your girlfriend. And why are you blushing?

—You were sleeping, Sussi. What kind of care did you need then? And I’m not blushing.

—A little tenderness wouldn’t have killed you. And yes, you are. Maybe you had a quickie with the lady, huh?

She leaned over towards Anna.

—I’d always suspected he’d go for them older ladies.

I rolled my eyes.

—Sussi, really? Well, I shrugged, that would explain our relationship, I guess.

—I’m not older!

—Really? Yeah, right sorry about that—must be only your looks then.

—Fuck you too, Erik.

—Well, anything to get a fuck around here. Wouldn’t you say Mats?

He looked up, startled, still resting against Anna.

—What?

—The conversations seems to have veered into the ”fucking older women” territory. Anything you’d like to contribute?

Anna laughed.

—You wouldn’t dare, Mats! Thread very lightly here.

Even Mats smiled for a second. And yes, there was definitely a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

—You really think I’m stupid enough to walk into that trap? Oh no. I can spot a sinking ship, and I have no intention of jumping on board.

—Ah, come on, Mats. Don’t be such a wuss, Anna said, rolling her eyes. Spill the dirt on those older ladies you’ve satisfied.

Mats tilted his head, mock offended.

—Darling, you know you’re the only one for me. Always have been. Always will.

—Aaaaah, cutie pie, Anna said, leaning into him. I know that’s a lie, but it’s adorable.

They shared a quick kiss. Then Anna turned to me.

—But you, Erik—come on, spill. Sussi, I know that you’re a good girl, but Erik—what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done?

—The dirtiest… to a girl? Hmm... let me think...

I couldn’t help glancing at Mats, who met my eyes for not more than a second.

—Whooooa! So… not only girls, huh?

—Anna, you need to be specific. I thought you amied broader. I mean, we had cats…

Anna burst out laughing, and Mats smiled with clear relief.

—Oh, that poor cat of yours. This explains so much.

—Well, to be fair, it was Sussi who brought the cat. That’s all I’m saying.

—Here we go again. Now I’m the sick one?

—Darling, you are always the sick one.

Anna raised her glass.

—And that’s why we love you. Chin chin!

The waiter stood by, gently clearing his throat.

—Oh, pardon, monsieur… I said, a bit flustered. Je pense que… nous voudrions des huîtres, merci. And since I can never resist trying to be at least a little funny, I added: Parce qu’elles sont les meilleures de toute la côte, n’est-ce pas ?

The waiter gave me a professional smile.

—Mais oui, monsieur. Vous connaissez les huîtres.

Trying my best Michael Palin impression—confident as a lumberjack—I replied in a terrible mock French-American accent:

—Aaah oui, je les connais bien, nudge nudge.

No one laughed—either because they didn’t get the reference, or worse, because they did. Just an awkward shuffle and a few concerned glances. So, I had to reclaim some dignity.

—Okaaay… How many do we want? Five each?

They all nodded.

—Alors, vingt huîtres et une bouteille de Sancerre, merci.

The waiter poured the last of the bottle we’d been working on and disappeared.

Sussi threw up her hands, radiating pure non-comprehension.

—What was that?

—Okay, it didn’t exactly fly, I said. But I was just trying to be funny, sweetie. You know, add some charm.

—And how do you think that went?

I sighed.

—It wasn’t Oscar material. I’ll give you that, but… I turned to the others, raised my glass and added: but hey—we’ll get our oysters. And we all know what they are, right?

—The best in France!

I turned to Anna, meeting her cheer with a big smile. She gleamed with happiness—like a child at a birthday party, all joy and sparkle, the effortless center of attention. I truly appreciated how she tried to have my back, how she did everything she could to make her delight contagious.

But despite all that light pouring out of her… it was a challenge to ignore Mats, sitting right beside her in silence.

It was impossible not to watch him.

The way his hair shifted when he turned his head. The sudden explosion of stars in his eyes when he smiled—and the jolt it sent through my chest every single time.

How could I possibly not constantly think of having the weight of his body on top of mine—holding me so tight, the power in his hips as he so determinedly thrust his dick deep inside me... and that godforsaken, almost overwhelmingly intense joy I felt when he finally kissed me?

What if she knew that?

Yeah, what if.

And the worst part? We were in another country and I was the one with the car… I couldn’t even get drunk.

Normally, that would’ve been my fix—getting absolutely wasted. Pour enough wine into myself to blur the lines, shift the mood, crack a few jokes, flirt just enough, and steer the spotlight away from me.

Just a couple of weeks ago, someone showed me a few videos from a night out. That was me, all over the place.

I’d never seen myself like that before.

But that guy—dancing his way through the night—I suddenly knew exactly what he was up to. That was a young man who’d do anything to keep anyone from catching even a glimpse of what was actually going on.

It explained so much. The energy, the effort, the focus… the endless stream of words and actions, getting more and more stupid by the hour.

But all that hard work of hiding didn’t help. It never eased the pain in my stomach. The one that came from constantly blocking every feeling that I felt was truly mine. From trying to control every move, every turn, smile and comment just to make sure that no-one, absolutely no-one, would ever really know me.

And it never silenced that growing sense of loss.

The feeling that I was quietly dying, wasting my life, watching it spiral down the drain with every word I said and every bottle I emptied.

But that’s’ life, eh? And that was then. This is now.

Here I was, having the time of my life with my best friend’s radiant gem of friendly charm-girlfriend across the table, my perpetually semi-annoyed girlfriend to my right, and… him, doing everything he could not to let me in on whatever was playing out behind those eyes.

Because it fucking was him. It was, I knew that now.

I hated how clear it was. I hated having him so close, hated how deliberately he avoided every chance of interaction.

Why the fuck did this have to happen? Why the fuck was he so beautiful, and charming, and playful, and boring, and introverted, and funny, and sexy, and wise, and witty, and muscular, and dressed, and naked, and…

…and why had he acted like he wanted me? Why the fucking why?

I wish I’d known about this sooner. Then none of this would’ve happened.

Well, you can only play the cards you’re dealt. And if I couldn’t drink myself into oblivion, I sure as hell could make them do it for me.

So, I summoned that party boy I’d perfected over the years and surprised myself with how easily the smile came, even in a moment like this.

—Ladies and gentleman, isn’t this the perfect moment to raise a toast—for what must, in all probability, be considered the best trip ever? We’ve travelled 240 kilometers to get here. We’ve stayed at a, let’s call it “picturesque”, Gasthaus in Hamburg—jaaa?—had crêpes in, dare I say it, gay Paris, and after all that hard work, we’re now breathing in the Atlantic, hearing its magnificent waves roll onto mile-long beaches, and very soon we’ll be tasting oysters that are…

—The best in France!

They all joined in. And I took that deep breath—the one I didn’t think I’d be capable of, just seconds ago.

—Yes! I echoed. The best in France—with the best in France!

Four glasses met across the table. Four glasses, each filled with a slightly different mix of anxiety, excitement, quiet irritation, and pain.

I gave my car keys a little shake as the others went back to sipping their wine.

—To avoid any further debate about how we’re getting back to the house—and my apparent inability to hold liquor—may I present your driver for the evening? According to some, he is stubborn, inattentive, and a genuine bore. But—and this is an important but—he will stay sober and he knows the way home.

Anna beamed at me. Sussi rolled her eyes. Mats looked down at his glass. But he smiled.

—Cheers to the driver, Anna said.

And honestly, I could only agree. Cheers to the driver.

The oysters arrived almost immediately after that—along with the next bottle of wine. I took it upon myself to pour for the others, while quietly mixing my water with a few drops of it—just to have a taste of the party.

—Seriously, these are good oysters. Erik—you’ve done it again.

—Don’t thank me Anna, thank the old ladies sashaying along the beach in the mornings. Don’t know what we’d do without them.

Even Sussi raised her glass now.

—To them ladies!

We all clinked glasses and enjoyed another round of the salty, nutty, creamy-strange taste hidden in nature’s own jello.

Anna interrupted the slurping.

—I agree, these oysters are yummy, but seriously, Erik—why were you out jogging? You can’t have had much sleep.

—You know I’m a bad sleeper. And the first night in any new place sucks. I’m used to it.

I gave a small shrug.

—And also, it’s the feeling of the Atlantic. I’ve been longing for it for so long. I don’t want to miss a minute of it while we’re here.

—You’ve got such stamina, Anna said, sounding genuinely impressed. And Mats, you must’ve longed for the ocean too? Is that why you’re so grumpy today—because you haven’t had the chance to surf yet?

—Naaah, sweetie, it’s OK. I’ve just had… a lot on my mind. And I didn’t sleep well. Maybe I’m turning into Erik?

He smiled faintly without looking at me.

—The surfing’s cool—I’ll get plenty of that later. And besides, all of this is… an adventure, like you said. Then he sighed… —One big adventure.

—It is, isn’t it? Anna looked at us with wide eyes. —Imagine, all of us here… who would’ve thought, back when we sat freezing in January?

—This is sooo much better than January, Sussi said and reached for another oyster while taking a generous sip of her wine.

—So much better. I love it. The house is gorgeous, the food is amazing… in two weeks I’ll be back studying, but for now… yaii!

—Oh yeah—poor you. Uni never ends, does it.

—It fucking never does, Anna. It never does. I should’ve picked something fun instead of law.

—Well, sweetie, HR wasn’t exactly a dream either, I can tell you that.

Anna leaned in slightly.

—But you know—you just take it day by day, and suddenly, Sussi, you’re free! You’ve got a nice job, buying nice clothes, kissing your hot boyfriend…

Sussi turned her head, mock-looking around in excitement.

—Hot boyfriend? Where?

Anna laughed and rolled her eyes at me.

—She takes patience, right?

I glanced at my girlfriend.

—Oh yes, she does. And a lot of it.

—Oh, shush, Erik. I’m fun—and that’s why you love me.

—Yeah, you’re fun. I’ll give you that.

We leaned in and kissed. And… it felt nice.

Her lips were nice. Soft, with that subtle taste expensive lipsticks always seem to have.

—Aaah, you two are so funny—let’s drink to that!

We raised our glasses again, and for the first time, I noticed Mats watching me.

It wasn’t for long, and he didn’t smile.

But he watched me.

And his eyes… they’re amazing, even when there’s nothing but a hollow darkness in them.

—Cheers, mate, I said, raising my glass toward him. I hope your week here will be amazing—filled with stuff that’ll make you happy.

He slowly raised his glass.

—Cheers. Yeah, I hope so.

—So, what will it be? Alone with the waves tomorrow morning? Becoming one with the ocean’s soul?

—Yeah, maybe. I didn’t think about the tide when I pictured this, though. Thought the sea would be accessible all the time.

—There’s a tide? Sussi turned to us, eyes still wide open.

—Yeah, Mats said, the ocean was all gone this morning.

—This morning? You were up this morning?

Anna’s question seemed to catch him off guard, so I jumped in.

—Naah, he wasn’t. But the tide went out while we sat on the beach.

I smirked.

—And he’s a surfer—so, you know, lean and strong, sure… but timing’s never really been his thing.

I tried to shift their focus.

—After all, aren’t we all just happy, and slightly surprised, he manages to keep his job?

Anna gave me a wide, loving smile, then turned to Mats.

—Yeah, that’s right. You’re really bad at keeping appointments, but I love you anyway.

Anna leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, while his eyes stayed locked on the plate in front of him.

I was getting so tired of that plate.

— Well, we have to be nice to people with disabilities, right?

—We sure do.

After that, Anna turned her focus back to me.

—So, you decided—after what… two hours of not sleeping?—to go back to the beach for a jog?

—Eeh, well, it might’ve been something like that.

—That’s so strange. I mean, no one would ever get me out like that. Even without the sunburn and all that wine.

—I think you two actually had way more wine than we did. At least I did. Mats, well… he can pour it down when he wants to, can’t he?

—Oh, Mats, I can’t remember the last time I saw you tipsy. Not even New Year’s. Sussi, you should be happy to have a man who enjoys the occasional party.

—Occasional? You gotta be kidding me. Erik would party every day if the world would allow it. And despite the manic hangovers, he always drinks himself into oblivion.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

—Oblivion is pushing it, don’t you think?

—Well, wasted then. Absolutely wasted.

—Just drowning my sorrows, sweetie. Maybe you should try it? And then, maybe, we’d do rehab together?

—Well, I’d come visit you, Anna said reassuringly, then added in a whisper:—I’d bring you some wine. I have this idea that rehab is the best party place. The best!

—It probably is, Anna. It probably is. And I, for one, can’t wait to see you explain this line of thinking to your kid’s teachers, when you have them.

I turned to Mats.

—So, what about you and your surfer crew? You never really talk about partying. What’s up with that?

—Uh… yeah. There really isn’t much of that.

Mats shifted in his seat.

—Takes too much time. Finding a spot to park, rinsing off the boards, dealing with gear... kinda kills the mood.

—Wait, seriously?

Sussi leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

—Four guys in their twenties, tanned, fit, walking around in barely-there wetsuits, stuck together for days—and no parties? Come on.

—Maybe they party with each other, Anna said with a grin, like she’d just lobbed a grenade into the conversation.

We all sighed.

—No but seriously, hear me out!

She looked around, eyes shining.

—What if Mats and his buddies are totally partying. Just… you know, together. Wouldn’t that explain everything?

—It definitely explains how your brain works, I said smiling.

—It does, doesn’t it? I just can’t believe four guys spend 24/7 together and there’s no sexual tension, Anna said, half-laughing, half-serious.

—Whoa, Mats interrupted —So we’re going straight from partying to sex now?

Mats tried to smile, while shifting in his seat, his jaw tightening.

Now Sussi joined in.

—That is the obvious line of thought. Now come on, Mats—spill the beans. Four hot guys in one van… when do you hook up? And who’s the hottest?

I cut in, trying to sound casual.

—Oh, come on, Sussi. What kind of question is that? Why not let the man finish his oysters before you dive into his sex life? And besides, how come you’re never that intrigued about what I do with my friends?

Sussi smirked.

—That’s because I know your friends, and I don’t want to see them in wetsuits. But Mats’s friends, on the other hand…

—Oh my God, Sussi—are you for real?

I shook my head in disbelief, while Anna was laughing like crazy, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out the wine.

I turned to Mats with an apologetic look.

—Sorry about this. Someone’s clearly lost it completely.

He gave me a faint smile and said:

—You mention wetsuits and this is what you get.

—Yeah, well, considering how this is going, I said, looking at Sussi, I might need one to save this relationship.

—But you already have one, remember? Mats said, his tone quiet but direct.

—I do?

I had no idea what he was talking about.

—Yeah. At the boat house. Back home. You brought it ages ago.

Then it hit me.

—Oh... that one. Yeah, I remember now. That was forever ago. Is it still there?

—Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

—Well, I haven’t used it in years. I figured... it would’ve gotten lost. Or, you know, worn out.

Mats frowned slightly.

—Why would it get lost? I’ve looked after it.

—You have? That’s... nice. Why?

He shrugged, looking almost a little annoyed at the question.

—It’s yours. Why wouldn’t I?

He hesitated for a second, then added,

—You might come back to use it someday, and… I wanted it to be ready for you if you did.

—Wait, wait, wait...

Anna jumped in, sounding scandalised in the most cheerful way.

—Erik has a wetsuit at the boat house? How come you never told me that?

—Yeah. He does.

Mats turned back to me, eyes steady.

—It hangs to the right when you enter. It’s always hung there. Still does.

—So… you kept it. For me?

There was a pause. Just a breath.

—Of course I did, he said quietly. I hoped you’d come back.

I was a little taken aback by the sudden seriousness.

—Jesus... Well, why didn’t you say anything? Or ask me? You know I loved hanging out with you there.

I turned to the girls.

—Even back then, the skill gap between us was painfully obvious.

I laughed.

—I was clumsy like a goat in a canoe.

I glanced at Mats.

—And you… you just slid away, following the waves and the wind like it was the easiest thing in the world. Just totally carefree, focused… and happy.

—Oh, it sounds so nice when you put it like that, Anna said. Not at all like the endless hours of waiting on a windy beach, or on a small jetty with only a thermos as company.

—Naaah, poor you, Sussi said, reaching across the table to give Anna’s hand a quick, warm squeeze. Then she added, with a grin:

—But back to the important stuff: four young men in a van, and the sex.

Mats rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

—I’ve told you, that’s the thing—there is no sex. There have never been, and there will never be. Just four, sweaty guys, usually quite tired, quite cold, packing gear in and out.

Sussi tilted her head in disbelief.

—And you’re happy with that?

Mats watched her for a second before he replied.

—Yes, when it comes to surfing with my friends, I am happy with that.

Now it was time for Anna to join in.

—You know, Mats, I’d let you.

She looked at Sussi and me as if we would disaprove.

—Yes, I would! Hey, a man should experiment. At least once.

She leaned in on her boyfriend.

—Because I know you love me. And you are the most proper, well-behaved, caring, wonderful… and absolutely terrible at keeping appointments kind of boyfriend I could have. A little adventure would do you good.

And they kissed again, with closed eyes, like they ment it.

Which, at least, gave me the chance to finally grab the menu.

—Okaaay, I said, scanning the offerings. They’ve got the usual: moules frites—always nice—salmon, a few steaks, goose breasts… hamburgers…

—Oh, not hamburgers, Anna said, spreading her hands. Not when we’re in la France, right?

—Absolutely, said Sussi. Not a hamburger within ten miles of this table. Hamburgers are for sissies.

—Love your decisiveness, Sussi, I said. Now, why don’t you repeat that just a little louder, so the couple next to us—who are having burgers—can benefit from your wisdom.

Sussi turned hear head, looked at their plates and smiled apologetically.

—But yours look super! Cheers!

Then turned back to us with wide eyes, and whispered:

—That was close. But I think I handled it well, didn’t I?

—Social skills are so overrated, I said. Wel, at least no-one got killed. I think that is the most reasonable benchmark.

I went back to ogling the menu.

—Anywas, any thoughts besides no hamburgers?

—You can decide for me, Anna said. You know your food.

I searched for Mats’ respons

—Me too, he said, while gently stroking Anna’s arm. It’ll be good whatever.

—And you, Sussi?

—Okay.. you decide. If that’s what the world wants…

—Okidoki…. Personally, I love duck… They’ve got some duck confit with, you know, jummy potato thingies and a saucy little creamy sauce thingy… what do you think about that?

—Oh, I’ve never heard of anything better, Anna cheered. Creamy thingies—that is exactly what I’ve always dreamt of!

I couldn’t help but smile.

—Isn’t it? World peace, and creamy thingies…

It was like Anna red my mind, as she rasied her glass (again)

—For the creamy thingies!

We all joined in and the few drops of wine I had in my water felt almost festive.

—Anna, you’ve got to see what I found. It was this teeny-weeny shop by…

She waved a hand in the air.

—Somewhere.

She rummaged through the bag and finally pulled out the blouse, presenting it to Anna, who took a deep breath.

—Now, Sussi, that is stunning! Where did you find it, you said?

Sussi waved her hand again, like a small propeller without direction.

—Over there, somewhere… one of the streets. It wasn’t especially fancy…

—It sold clothes on racks on the street, I told Anna. That’s the level of fanciness.

Sussi, turned to me with a grim look.

—That’s what I said. Now hush, let the ladies discuss this.

And that they did.

Which left me to my own devices—watching Mats glance everywhere but at me. His fingers moved against the tablecloth like piano keys playing a Chopin étude.

—What do you think of the wine? I asked.

—What, the Sancerre?

I nodded. He lifted his glass, like he was seeing it for the first time.

—Nice, I guess. I mean… white is white. But sure, it’s a nice wine.

—Nice? Mats, you used to love this. I mean, it’s not the same brand we had back home, but… You don’t like Sancerre anymore?

—Of course I like it. I told you—it’s a good wine.

He let the wine swirl in his hand.

—What does it say to you?

—Say? What do you mean?

—Well, the French say that good wine speaks to you. So, since this is a good French wine, I wondered… now that we’re on its home turf—does it say anything to you?

Mats gave me a puzzled look.

—Not really… more like: Hey, drink me. I’m white and nice.

—Okay, white, you say… Going a bit racist, are we?

He sighed and shook his head, muttering something like I can’t believe this.

I looked over my shoulder as if to check if we were followed, and then leaned in slightly.

—You should thank the Lord there isn’t a wine of colour around, giving him a serious look. I’m not sure I could protect you here. You know… with all the baguettes and oh là làs going on.

That made him smile. Slightly.

—Erik, I’m pretty sure this wine would say nothing more than that it loves everyone who sees wine, not colour and wants to drink it. Which I do. Cheers.

I raised my glass.

—Cheers mate!

We had our gulps, then Mats asked me.

—And... does it say anything to you?

—Hmm, good question…

Now it was my turn to swirl the wine.

—I think this is a tricky wine—mostly because mine is mostly water. But besides that minor obstacle… I’m wondering.

OK, here goes…

—As this is an old favourite, a proper favourite, that has been with us for a long time, maybe this wine worries… that it has fallen out of favour… I wonder (and now I fake smelled the bouquet)… Is it a wine that thinks being in France is a fantastic adventure—one that sees and appreciates the joy, care, and… you know, genuine love… it gets from some of the other wines it hangs with?

Or … is it a wine that feels the world’s become messier than it used to be? A wine that’s no longer happy with its crowd… and maybe, instead, is more embarrassed of it? Maybe even ashamed of some of its fellow wines—wishing it had chosen another shelf… in the cellar?

His dark eyes lingered on me.

—It seems like you drink a very complicated wine.

—Maybe… or maybe not. Maybe the wine isn’t so complicated… maybe it is the cutlery that needs rearranging. Or something.

—You mean the porcelain?

And just like that, tears welled up that I could barely hide. Fuck this shit!

—Maybe… yeah, the happy porcelain.

I forced a smile.

We both fell silent.

He stretched, yawned like he was trying to shake something off, then looked up at the blue sky above us. He rubbed his eyes, as if something had got stuck in them, then glanced wearily around before he continued.

—Maybe the wine says… that sometimes, porcelain can be a real burden, the words left his mouth slowly, thoughtfully. Maybe the wine knows for sure it’s a glass kind of wine. And the wine has built its world around being that kind of wine. And the wine knows this—specifically.

And porcelain… maybe it feels that porcelain can be messy, demanding—a genuine hassle to deal with. Porcelain can overthink. Worry too much. Create havoc, when all the wine wants is peace.

I shrugged.

—Yeah, porcelain… what a mess, right? Better off without it, I’d say.

He, leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table with his hands tied in a knot.

—Yes… but… no. Not at all. The thing is, maybe the porcelain isn’t the problem. Sometimes it’s the wine that’s the problem. Because… as a matter of fact, the porcelain is pretty amazing.

Maybe the wine thinks that porcelain can be the best thing ever. The. Best. Thing. Ever.
Maybe the wine knows that—and maybe it’s known it for a long time… somewhere deep down.

Maybe…

Mats raised his head and looked at me.

—…maybe the wine thinks that porcelain—well, not all porcelain, but this specific piece—is absolutely wonderful. That this piece of porcelain is pure magic, in ways the wine has never known before. Maybe porcelain makes the wine very, very… I don’t know.. makes the heart go crazy.

Maybe… it’s the wine that’s completely lost.

I almost didn’t dare to listen. I was so prepared to be dismissed—maybe even ridiculed—that it took a moment before the words actually sank in.

I looked at him, frowning, still not getting it.

—What? he said, clearly thrown.

—Nothing… it’s just that… I don’t understand.

He rolled the wine glass slowly between his palms, not looking at me.

—What’s there to understand? It’s just a wine… that maybe really likes this particular piece of porcelain.

I was still confused, and he saw it. His shoulders stiffened.

—But Erik—for God’s sake… do we really have to do this here?

—What?

Anna broke in.

—Are you two having a fight again?

She turned to Sussi.

—I don’t know what’s going on with them. It was the same yesterday.

—What do you mean?

—This weird energy. You don’t feel it?

She looked back at us with concern.

—Whatever it is, you guys need to kiss and make up. You can’t spend the whole trip like this. And Erik—she tilted her head at me. —you look like someone just poured out your favourite wine.

I forced a grin.

—Naah, nothing gets to me, Anna. You know that.

Mats broke in, his voice calm but thoughtful.

—I don’t think Erik has anything to be sad about.

He paused.

—Well… I hope he doesn’t, anyway.

Then it dawned on me.

—Wait, wait, wait… you’re saying the wine loves—likes porcelain?

—Yeah… I did.

He swirled his glass again, but this time he looked straight at me.

—Not all porcelain maybe, but… you know.

He gave a small shrug.

—How can that come as a surprise? Considering.

—Come on, what are you talking about?

Anna sounded genuinely perplexed. Mats turned to her and kissed her on the cheek.

—Nothing much. Just wine and porcelain.

—Wine and porcelain?

Anna raised an eyebrow.

—That’s a weird combo. Wine loves glass—everybody knows that.

She looked to Sussi for backup.

—Who even wants wine in porcelain?

Sussi shrugged, looking like she had absolutely no idea what was going on.

—No one?

—Exactly. No one.

Mats raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass slightly toward me.

—Well… maybe this wine does.

His voice was calm, but his eyes smiled. And I got goosebumps.

I was confused. And happy. Smiling, yet wondering. What was that, even?

I gazed into his eyes, trying to find some kind of explanation for what he’d said. A background. A foundation.

Because as my heart began beating like my life depended on it, the realization hit me—I knew that I knew it, because it was so obvious, so clear. And it all came back to me: Yes, Mats was him.

The reason for my borderless loyalty.

The reason I couldn’t help smiling when he smiled.

The reason my whole body jolted when we touched.

The spin in my chest whenever he looked at me… I mean, it didn’t take more than that to send my heart flying.

And It never had.

Was this… love?

Did I love Mats?

Like… really love him?

Not like. Not enjoy. Not agree with. Not… find pleasing. But… love?

My eyes followed a dark strand of hair trailing down his forehead in the soft breeze. I traced the contours of his eyebrows, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the freckles scattered across his sharp cheekbones, the way his ears sat tight against his head—not wide and wobbly like I’ve always felt mine were.

The way the outline of his chest appeared under the fabric of his shirt as he leaned back in his chair. How his biceps moved beneath the skin as he gently touched the back of Anna’s neck.

How I knew the taste of his nipples, how they stiffened when my tongue played with them. The way the hair in the crease between his pecs led downward—thicker where it centered at the base of his shaved cock.

How his thighs tightened as he pushed deeper into my mouth. The coarse hair shifting beneath my hands as I held him, guiding his rhythm as he entered me.

The saltiness of his mouth when he kissed me.

The feel of his cock’s head as it found its way deep inside me.

His pubes tickling my skin as he went all the way in.

The weight of his body. The shine in his eyes.

My heart made wild loops. I was out of breath yet fully breathing—dizzy, losing eyesight, yet seeing every detail of him as if through a microscope.

I raised my glass to his, hoping my shaky hands went unnoticed.

Caressed by his arms. Strong arms. It had felt so right. So natural. Self-clear, even.

His head resting on my chest. His gentle strokes. Fingertips playing with the hair on my legs.

Our glasses clinked.

—To porcelain, he said.

—To wine, I replied.

The fizzy water danced in my mouth, tiny needles acupuncturing me from the inside.

His dick had been there—in this very mouth—just hours earlier. Just hours. And I’d fucking blown him.

I fucking had.

I’d felt its ridge along my tongue, the head pushing deep—to the very end of it, in fact.

I know the scent of his groin. The taste of his precum. The way his ass moves when he runs.

I’d made a fool of myself.
I’d made him hard.

His tongue licking my neck, moving upward—gentle, sensual against my earlobe.
That playful smile as he watched me watching him, pulling out his dick for me to see.

The way his briefs had to be peeled down over his thick, muscular thighs—the elastic stretched tight, almost too tight to slide over them.

The tanline of his shorts.

How he loved being watched. How he loved me watching him. Watching his body.

He played me—and I followed.
Oh yes, I’d followed.

Reluctant… but wanting.

Yeah, fuck, how I wanted him.
And how I had wanted him.
All this time, I’d needed him.
Longed for him.

Calling it friendship.
Best friend.

I shook my head. Tried to focus.

The girls were talking.

The shadows of the old church had shifted across the restaurant, now resting over the table beside ours.

People were talking.
Someone laughed.

I shrugged. Was there a blanket around? Some kind of chill had gotten to me.

Now he leaned over, gently kissing Anna’s neck.
Had he unbuttoned his shirt some more? The roundness of his pecs was showing.

I downed my glass and poured some more water into it.
It was a local brand. The bottle was heavy—probably some kind of artisanal quality signal.

The sky was still blue, towering above us, framed by plastered facades and glistening windows. Not a cloud in sight.

I felt Sussi’s hand on my arm.

—Are you alright?

She actually seemed concerned.

I stretched a smile and took another gulp.

—Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?

She still looked concerned.

—Just a little dizziness, I said. We’ll have food soon.

—Okay, if you say so. Maybe we should head back to the house soon.

—Yeah, maybe. But let’s enjoy the food first.

She nodded, let go of me, and turned back to Anna to continue whatever they’d been talking about.

Mats tilted his head, still watching.

He must have unbuttoned his shirt. Maybe even folded the sleeves higher.

His biceps were more visible now. So were his triceps, flexing like a breathing fish as he moved.

Those eyes of his.

Yeah.

That first meeting—he’d just rounded a corner, saw me, and smiled.
That broad smile that fills the room.

Was that when?

His first sleepover. How I reluctantly—eagerly—followed him undressing.
Still remembering the first glimpse of the bulge.

His white underwear, tightly trimmed against his body, and that bulge…

Then tanning together.

Watching the muscles on his back as he reached into the freezer bag. How the sun rested on his skin, outlining every contour, every shape.

Then he had leaned back, resting on the sand next to me, not caring if his hand touched mine. Me, resting on my elbows, scanning the horizon—but always ending up staring at that bulge.

Following the trail of hair inward, beneath the lining. Hoping he’d need to adjust something—because when he did, I’d catch a glimpse of his pubes. And that dick. His big dick, resting, centered on his tight balls. Carelessly knowing it was being watched.

And if we turned over to lie on our stomachs, reading, talking, discussing…

How I leaned in, energized by every second our shoulders touched.

How I whispered—just to get his head close enough, so my lips could brush against his skin.

His ears were always cool.

And he bowed his head when I made him laugh.

His whole body moved when I made him laugh.

Yeah.

Best friends, we said.

Yeeright.

The waiter interrupted with our plates. He changed the cutlery, and within seconds, there were four steaming dishes in front of us. A strong scent of pepper, sweetness, and salty butter spread across the red-and-white, gingham-patterned tablecloth.

Ohlala for the French, I thought.

I pulled my hair back and sat up straight, resting my hands on either side of the plate, lifting the knife just to play with it.

Anna ordered some red wine somewhere in the background.

Cheers, she said after the glasses had been filled.

—Cheers, I said, lifting mine toward the blurry figures surrounding me. Not knowing what else to do.

Mats handed me his glass, asking if I wanted to try the wine.

I nodded and let the ruby liquid play against the tip of my tongue.

Strange, I thought, how it smells of Mats.

I gave it back with a slight nod, our fingers resting against each other for a second as they met.

I felt my pulse rise.

Am I gay??

I needed to throw up. Deep breaths.

I felt another version of me leaning back in the chair, hands behind his head, saying—
—Duuuh, bro!

Of course I am. That’s what he told me. Of course.

But, I’m not gay!? How can I be? I’m Erik. I’m here.

Yeah, right, the figure said, tilting his head to watch the sky.

I can’t be! I’m… I’m… just not gay. That’s it. That’s right. That’s how it should be.

It felt calming to know that.

Sussi radiated her presence next to me. Her blurred outline, sipping wine while explaining something with her other hand gesturing in the air.

Of course I am. That’s my girlfriend.

Either I trust myself—or I don’t.

But that man on the other side of the table… that boy… I mean, How can I love a man? A boy?

He’s just nice. That’s all. Nothing more.

I can live without him. Of course—it’d be sad if he weren’t here. But I’d survive.

That’s not love. That’s… something else.

I mean, I’m not Cate Blanchett and he is not Leonardo DiCaprio, haha.

The laugh helped me breathe, but the blurry faces around me suddenly seemed mildly concerned.

I heard Anna’s voice:

—Something wrong with the food?

—What? Her question surprised me. —What do you mean?

—Well, you gave off this strange… sound. And you seem off somehow. I just… well, we just wondered if something’s wrong.

—Oh no! All good here, I said, and quickly cut into the confit to take a bite.

—This is lovely, isn’t it?

I smiled and turned to meet their gaze, offering a flash of reassurance to each and every one of them.

The girls continued their conversation.
Mats stayed silent.

I’ll have to face my parents, I thought, feeling the chill grow colder.

Sitting on the sofa in the living room. Meeting their concerned faces. Seeing how their eyes would meet in quiet understanding. Hearing they agreeing that this ”explains things.“

How they'd pat me on the shoulder, saying they still love me, that ”this doesn’t change anything.“

But it would.

Their gay son.

Dropping expectations. Thinking I’d join the theater. Doing “gay” things. Kindly asking if I’d want them to walk with me in the Pride parade.

Filling the kitchen with rainbow teacups, just to make sure I felt included. Hoping for a cute boyfriend who can join them for shopping—but he won’t be able to help with the house or the garden.

Their gay son.

The bullies from school, laughing the second they hear of it: So the poof is gay. Knew it all along. Reassuringly patting each other on the shoulder, certain they’d been right from the beginning.

Saying hi if we pass on the street— lifting their now limp wrists into the air, taking a few exaggerated steps, as if they were on a catwalk.

But I think Sussi is beautiful. I love her amazing green eyes. And I laugh at her jokes.
I like kissing her. Yeah—that’s right. I like kissing her.

And the sex… yeah… Cumming in her is amazing. No condoms. Feeling her nipples get hard when I play with them.How my dick just fits inside her. Fills her. No barriers. Just pure sex. A man and a woman.

My woman. As it should be.

I’ll be even more alone than I’ve ever been.

The headache was fundamental. I took a deep gulp of the water and turned to Sussi.

—Do you have any pills for a headache?

—Yeah, probably…

She grabbed her bag and started searching through it, still continuing her conversation with Anna. After some rummaging, she presented a white box with paracetamol written all over it.

—Here you are. Gosh, you look really pale, Erik.

She moved her chair slightly away.

—Sorry, but if you’ve caught something… I don’t want to ruin my vacation.

I gave her a faint smile.

—Don’t worry, you know I slept badly.

—Yeah, that’s right, she said, but didn’t sound convinced.

—You know what, Anna’s voice was reassuringly steady. We’ve all had our food now, and Erik, you really don’t look well. I think it’s time for us to head back to the house so you can get some rest.

She turned to the others for approval.

I heard Mats’s voice in the distance.

—Yes, a nap would be great.

OK, I agreed, reluctantly and turned toward the closest figure in white and asked for the receipt. He nodded and went to the cashier at the bar to get it.

—You know what? We can stop at the Carrefour and get stuff to make some fizz to bring to the beach, Sussi said.

—Oh yes, I like your thinking, sistah!

Anna swayed her hand in the air as if dancing.

—This day is getting even better.

—Sounds great, I said. I’ll come down and join you sooner than you think.

—We’ll be waiting for you. No one can party like you, Erik.

There she did it again—Anna, always rooting for me. She’s the best. How could I ever have thought about Mats the way I just did? Just crazy.

I shook my head in disbelief.

Mats turned and smiled at her.

—No one can party like you, darling.

They kissed and smiled at each other.

Then I felt his leg gently touch mine. The coarse hair brushing against my skin, moving slightly up and down against it. And then he let it stay there—resting against mine under the table.

I got hard. Rock hard.

The waiter stood by the bar, waiting for the bill to be ready for us.

—I’ll take care of it, I said as I rose to leave the table. No worries.

I turned to adjust my shorts, not to give anything away. Took a deep breath, pushed my shoulders back to straighten my posture. Deep breaths. Manly steps. Walking toward the bar.

Anything to get away.
Anything to be straight.

The waiter stood by the bar, presenting the bill on a small plate he handed me.

He had dark brown eyes, almost black hair with neatly shaped curls that framed his face. Broad shoulders, about my height. There was something melancholic in his smile—like he knew something I would never understand.

Would he want to kiss me?

He was beautiful, after all.

And so was the girl at the cashier.

Short hair. Big—almost anime-shaped—eyes. Unpainted, soft pink lips.

Would she want to kiss me?

I tried to act casual as I searched for my card in one of the front pockets. The outline of my dick was pressing against the fabric—ready to get out and play.

I didn’t dare look at the waiter. Maybe he’d understand something?

After I had OK:ed the sum, adding a generous amount of tip, he took the card and tapped it against the machine, giving me a gentle smile as we waited for the transaction to go through.

He really did have beautiful eyes.

Suddenly, I wanted to make him smile.

—The food was excellent, you know. Please tell the chef.

He looked genuinely pleased.

—Well, merci, monsieur, I’ll certainly let her know.

—And the service… it was great. Really… great.

He handed me the card, holding on to it when I reached for it.

—That makes me very happy to hear. It’s been a pleasure having you with us.

He paused for a second before adding:

—As well as your friends.

We both held the card now. He looked almost shy.

—Well, we’ve totally enjoyed everything. From the huîtres to the confit de canard.

—Then I hope we’ll have the pleasure of seeing you here again.

—I hope so too, I said, unable to break my gaze.

—Are you all family… or friends?

—Oh…I turned and pointed at them.

—The two on the other side are my best friends, and the girl sitting next to me… or where I sat—sorry—she’s my girlfriend.

—Your girlfriend? Well, elle a eu de la chance, monsieur.

He let go of the card, and I slid it back into my pocket. It felt like my brain stood still, so I had no idea what he said, but hey—I’m all for winging it.

—Well, yes, we’ll definitely come back if we get la chance. Merci, monsieur.

I smiled at him and took a few steps backward before I turned. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just missed something.

As we gathered our things, we left the dining area and stepped out onto the street.
I made a short stop just before we exited, turning in the hope of catching one last glimpse of him.

He was still by the counter, straightening a stack of menus. He looked up, as if searching for something, and then saw me and smiled.

Before I knew it, I gave him a quick wave, just like a shy schoolboy.

And you know what? He waved back.

Any — and I mean any (which is kind of sad) — French grocery store is like a little piece of heaven for me. I can’t explain exactly why, but if there’s toilet paper with French wording on the packaging, my take is that it’s the most interesting toilet paper in the world.

And if you think it’s a bit bizarre to have that kind of relationship to everyday items like toilet paper, well… you’d probably walk straight out of the building if you heard me when I reach the dairy section.

I mean… love, attraction — those words might be too small to grasp my feelings.

And judging by the ooohs and aahs from the girls as they moved through the liquor section, I was in good company.

I rounded a corner and handed them my arms full of butter, a wide assortment of cheese, and sweet yogurts I wouldn’t even consider buying back in Sweden.

This body wasn’t made with sugar, but after all, French sugar is probably good for you.

Sussi gave me a quick glance and sighed.

—Butter, Erik… really?

—Come on, Sussi, this butter is the Gucci of butters. Cleopatra would have died for this butter.

—Cleopatra would have died from that amount of it, so… yeah, you’re probably right.

Then she turned to Anna, holding up two thin, peach-colored bottles.

—But these… these peachy thingies… we need them, don’t we?

—What are they? Anna asked.

Sussi took a closer look at the labels, making inquiring noises as she turned them around, trying to make sense of the text.

—Well… they are… peachy thingies… ah, look — 25% alcohol… with crème, so I guess creamy peach thingies! With alcohol!

—Yaii! Anna said with a big smile. Then we absolutely need them! I sense that bubbly stuff with that creamy stuff is exactly what the beach has been longing for.

—Absolutely! And speaking of that…

Sussi proudly showed two bottles of Absolut Vodka in the carrier, her eyes twinkling.

—Here is… liquid home!

—Aaaaw, darling, that is so sweet, Anna said.—Yes, we need that, we really do—we don’t want to lose that tiny part of Sweden still within us after… what? Thirty hours here?

Mats appeared, carrying big bags of potato crisps and a couple of six-packs of beer.

—Here you go, girls, he said as he dropped the bags in the carrier. You’ll need something to destroy the kitchen with—and I need beer.

But the girls barely noticed; they had found the surprisingly wide assortment of mixers in all colours, which took all their attention.

So there we were, Mats standing next to me, arms crossed over his chest. I was fidgeting with stuff in my pockets, feeling the contour of my still semi-hard dick. Trying to hide a yawn with a hand.

—Didn’t get much sleep, did you?

—Nope, not much at all. A bit surprised I’ve managed this far, to be honest.

—Well, now you’ve got some butter to look forward to, at least.

He knew how to make me smile.

—Yeah, I’ve never been happier, actually.

—Never? Is that so?

He stepped a little closer, standing just near enough so we were both watching the girls hunt through the shelves, our elbows barely touching. My dick rose like a sailor spotting land.

—Not happier… on the beach?

—Why? With the old lady, you mean?

—No… Didn’t I hear that there was a young man there, too?

His forehead crinkled, trying to look as if he was solving some kind of tricky riddle.

—A young man? Nope, the man she had with her was far from young. But… the man’s eyes had some kind of youthful… energy, I guess. At least a clear interest in youth, you could say.

—Oh, is that so.

The girls let out more happy ooohs and aahs as they brought over a bunch of multicoloured bottles and dropped them into the carrier.

Mats cleared his throat.

—I got the impression you had some happy moments there.

—Did you? I couldn’t hide this next yawn.

—Yeah, I got a clear impression of that.

—Well… I suddenly felt an almost unstoppable urge to get back to the house and dive into a bed with AC-chilled sheets… Well, I got the impression you were happy there too.

When he didn’t answer, I grabbed the carrier’s handle and began steering towards the cashier desks. Then I heard him from behind:

—I was. I told you so.

I kept pushing the carrier away.

—Mats, you can be so… very… I don’t know. Can’t we just get back to the house? I really need a bed. And yo! Girls! Haven’t we got enough booze now? I mean, look at this — they’ll think we’re Finns. Do we even have any proper food here?

—I put a steak down there somewhere, Mats said.

—Great — steak and Dubonnet it is then, I said, pushing the carrier forward.

I didn’t care to wait for the girls, so I paid while Mats began to pack what amounted to a silly number of small, clearly useless bags filled with our groceries.

—The French, he said, without looking at me. Gotta love ’em, isn’t that what you say?

I nodded and started lifting them back into the carrier.

—And zat is whai zizz izz amaaazink.

I turned to holler at the girls, who had stopped by the stand with beauty products.

—If you buy any of that perfume, you’re doomed to sleep on the veranda for the rest of our stay!

Sussi didn’t answer, but called to me, waving a small white bottle.

—Look, Erik, they have Old Spice! If you use this, you might get laid!

—Then maybe you should try it, darling!

I could hear Anna laughing as I stepped out toward the parking lot.

Never had life in a monastery seemed more appetizing.
At least there, you could sleep.

---

When we’d finally gathered back in the car, Mats took the seat next to me, leaning his elbow on the armrest between us, which made it nearly impossible for us not to touch.

The girls gathered in the back seat, chatting and comparing the various types of ultra-cheap makeup they’d found. Words like “oh, that is a nice Russian style for ya” and “no one wants to look like an expensive slut, it’s the cheap slut I’m after”drifted through the sound of the latest hits from Sky Radio.

We passed through the typical coastal landscape, with small plastered houses scattered among clusters of low Pin maritime pines and fields prepared for the second harvest. I tried to settle into a comfortable posture but found it nearly impossible.

—God, I’m weary, I said, more to keep my thoughts going, not really inviting conversation.

Mats sat silent, leaned back in his seat, probably enjoying the landscape as much as I did. His fingers gently played with the hair on my thigh, like it was the most natural thing in the world, which had exactly the effect he probably was after.

I was thankful I’d adjusted my dick so it was centered above my balls; otherwise, my reaction would have been all too obvious for my comfort. But even like this, I could feel it — the slow, stubborn pulse under my shorts, the heat spreading through my stomach, the skin on my arms tightening with every light graze of his fingers.

Even though I tried not to, my eyes couldn’t help wandering down to Mats’s legs and crotch, my hand resting on the gear stick next to his thighs. I held it firm, like it was the cock of the car. The stark sunlight made his skin gleam, causing the front thigh muscles to pop. His coarse hair created a mist-like illusion over his skin, the bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts, even more poignant with his right hand resting casually beside it.

I tried to focus on the road, I really did, but the traffic was slow, giving my brain plenty of time to replay all the scenes I was trying to avoid: Mats undressing in front of me, kissing his crotch with his pubes and cock all over my face, his body glistening in the moonlight as he adjusted himself before fucking me, his ever-present scent (having him next to me wasn’t helping), and his shame-ridden avoidance all through today.

And yet… he said he liked porcelain.
And… he touched me to get us aroused.
He isn’t a fool.
He must know what he’s doing.
He must.

I lowered the window, hoping the warm French summer wind would bring some sense to it all.

---

Afterwards, I couldn’t even recall entering the house. I must have helped carry the food into the kitchen (because I always do, as Agnetha Fältskog would have put it). And I must have helped sort it all, but the next thing I remember is standing in the shower, letting the cold water splash all over my body, attempting to rinse out the weariness.

I let my head drop forward, feeling the pressure of the water spread across my shoulders — like a gentle massage laced with tiny ice needles, pricking my skin. Eyes closed, breath steady, all that remained was the sensation of skin awakening under the stream.

The water gathered, sliding down the valley of my spine, slipping between my buttocks — two giant whales, standing guard at the gates of Atlantis. It continued along my thighs, softly brushing against my balls as it cascaded downward.

The semi was still there. My cock stood out, hard and unwavering, splitting the stream of water. I pressed my forehead against the cool tiled wall as my hand began to stroke, not out of hunger, but almost mechanical — like something my body had to do, even when my mind was too tired to follow.

I’d brought a razor, figuring I might as well use the moment to tidy myself up—also it prolonged the moment and fealing of finally being by myself. The lathered skin waited, and I spread my legs, making all parts of me accessible for the blade.

While spreading the lather across my body, I felt my nipples harden as my hands moved over my chest. My waist arched slightly when I reached the bare softness around my hole, where the blade had passed. It was as if my body had switched into some kind of auto mode, taking every chance it got to prepare for release.

The scent of the chlorine water mingled with the flowery, cedar-like perfume of the shower gel — almost Mediterranean. With eyes closed, I could be anywhere from Alexandria to Cadiz.

After that — cotton bed sheets.

Just like Ariana, I decided it was time to defy gravity and collapsed onto the bed, letting the silent chill from the AC dry the last drops off my body. The cool fabric was like a summer breeze against my skin — a soft anesthetic, silencing every nerve. Even my boner decided to relax, at least for a while.

But, just like Kylie, I was spinning around. Scenes and emotions from the last 24 hours blurred into one giant haze. All the things with Mats, the surprises, his strange behavior, his magical behavior… His lips when we kissed, the feeling of touching his skin, fiddling with the hair on his chest, sensing his disdain, his guilt, the guy at the restaurant — I didn’t even get his name. But he was beautiful, or was he? I couldn’t even recall what he looked like… oh, there he was… yes, he was beautiful — what a smile, but then, just like a mirage, he was gone again.

I stretched out, grabbed a pillow to lean my head on.

The girl came back more vividly. She smiled at me, a nice, warm, uncomplicated smile. So uncomplicated… and then who… was… nothing.

Finally… oblivion.

That’s until a gentle knock broke into it.

All the faces still swirled under my eyelids — Mats, the boy, the girl… and then the sun… the waves, as the ocean slowly took hold of the beach.

Then there was another.

—Erik, you awake?

A creak from some door, slowly opening. Then a happy giggle.

—Boy, am I the lucky one. Erik, awake or what? You’ve been gone for hours.

It was Mats. It must be Mats, at least. I stretched my back and shoulders, wincing at a sudden pain in my neck — yeah, my head had been lying at a strange angle.

I felt him taking the few step towards me, saying:

—Who needs a blanket when there is an AC working its magic, right?

I had no clue what he was talking about, until… oh, yes… I streched again, realizing that I lay nude on my stomach. Legs spread wide apart.

He sat down next to me on the bed, making the mattress tilt gently toward him. Then I felt his warm, dry fingertips slowly stroke my skin, tracing the curve of my ass cheek.

—Managed to get any sleep, did you?

I couldn’t even bring myself to open my eyes, so I just gave a small, lazy nod into the pillow.

His hand was still gently stroking me, tracing its way along the ridge of my back, up to the center of my shoulders, then slowly back again.

—That’s good. You must have been crazy tired.

He returned to my ass, now following the crack, eventually letting his fingertips find their way deeper down, slowly stroking the skin between my thighs.

—Do you always sleep in the nude?

I sighed softly and gave a small shrug.

—It will be difficult to forget this sight.

His fingers moved back along my ass crack before he continued, his voice lower:

—It is a sight to behold.

He moved up to my shoulders again, letting his fingertips follow a flowing pattern, then downward again. When his fingers returned between my thighs, I felt him shift on the mattress, leaning over me, then gently kissing the small of my back.

What was he up to?

His fingers searched further, deeper, finding my cock, resting eagerly against the soft cotton. The fingertips played lightly over the head as I once more felt his lips brush against my skin.

Then his hand wrapped around my cock, slowly jerking it with small movements that worked within the tight space, his warm breath spreading like a fountain of feathers over the small of my back.

I was still in my dozing haze, his movements adding a soft rhythm to the ever-changing imagery taking shape behind my closed eyelids.

It was as if my mind was making a list of all the feelings and moments I’d gone through — like a visual diary. I stretched my shoulders and realized I’d simply dived into whatever was offered, letting myself be engulfed in every passing sensation, taking charge of situations I had never faced — nor even allowed myself to dream of, placing myself at the center of an emotional kaleidoscope.

A 24-hour roller coaster.

His touch was so comforting.
My feelings were not.

His lips kissed their way up my spine, sending shivers through me like a Tesla at a MAGA rally. His hand firmly placed between my thighs, warming the skin while his thumb played with my hole.

—You smell so nice, he murmured against my back. —So soft and clean.

I didn’t answer. My brain was busy throwing flashbacks at me like an angry divorcee.

Mats was strong. I felt his hand lift my crotch to get a better grip, and my body followed, arching my ass upwards, opening for his kisses.

But that didn’t stop my brain from overloading.

I stood halfway into the ocean, the waves flooding me with memories, feelings, touches… The saltiness flowered on my lips, followed by the soft sweetness of Mats’s, the sharp juiciness of the wine on the beach, the brittle crunch of crisps scattered across the kitchen bench… The strength when he carried me, the way he turned away when I wanted to be near him… Sussi’s distant slander…

—Now turn, Erik. I want to see all of you.

His hands grabbed me, and my body followed until I was on my back. He continued kissing my stomach, licking my nipples, while taking a firm grip around my cock. His thumb traced the ridge of its head.

—Fuck Erik, you’re hot.

His fingers moved like a hummingbird over my body, a soft tension radiating from his hands as they worked my foreskin. I had to cover my eyes with an elbow, just to stop them from showing the tears welling up from nowhere.

I gasped. He must have taken that as a yes, because immediately I felt his warm lips kiss, then swallow the head. His saliva slowly caoting its shaved shaft, making it shine like lacquer on a Japanese doll.

But that didn’t stop the flashbacks.

I was running along the waterfront, chased by the waves closing in on the beach. The man’s eyes lingering on my body. Scrutinizing every detail. Mats’s tongue playing with my earlobe in ways no one ever had before. Opening his most private parts for my pleasure.

Sussi saying I’m inattentive.
Anna’s blushing smile when Mats kissed her at the restaurant.

—Erik, this dick is… amazing. I mean it… it’s beautiful.

He leaned over it, adjusting his position as he slowly devoured it, inch by inch, until his nose nearly touched the lean, shaved skin.

I heard him gag slightly as the head touched his inner throat. Then I felt a finger follow the trail of saliva between my cheeks, lubed enough to slip inside me, despite my tense muscles.

Why the shame?
Why the need for my adoration?
Why the… if it didn’t mean anything?

And why am I even blaming him? I’m the one losing my religion.

We both are.

But, jiiizuz, this was so good. His hand, drenched in saliva, working in joint force with those soft lips and that warm, moist mouth. His admiration and lust… how I wanted them… I wanted them to fill me, I wanted him to fill me. And I knew that. Damn—all this… it was like coming home… I mean… I knew it allready, I guess I always had—he is him.

And — oh, fuck — now he touched me deep inside, massaging while playing the head with the tip of his tongue.

I just had to watch this.

His tongueplay shattered the moments of reverie that had engulfed me, like a mind master snapping his fingers — there, the kaleidoscope was gone. Elvis had left the building.

All that was left was my best friend giving me the blowjob of my life.

I dried my tears quickly, with the back of my hand.

Mats turned to me, smiling, saliva dripping from his lips.

—Hell yeah, Erik. This is amazing… I mean, your dick… yumm!

He kissed his fingertips like an Italian chef.

I couldn’t help smiling back. In fact, I grinned.

Fucking auto-mode.

He let one hand play with a nipple as he continued licking my shaft and head. My legs were spread wide so he could move freely, following his own inspiration, playing with my hole.

I moved a hand to his back, slipping under his T-shirt, then sliding down to grab his ass, trying to get between his legs through the fabric of his shorts.

He stopped me with a firm grip.

—This is about you…

Then he pushed my hand away, and swallowed me down to the groin, tears flowing as he gagged.

After that, he was all about control. Steering me with his lips, barely brushing the head, teasing the foreskin against them, then lowering… quicker and quicker.

His finger inside me dug deep, pressing in, then up — what was he up to? Trying to squeeze my balls from the inside? Whatever the plan — tickling the prostate created fire. Real fire.

He kept stroking my stomach while his mouth worked its magic. His hand moved as lightly as a butterfly along the outlines of my muscles, creating ripples that multiplied as they travelled over, inside, and around me. Treated my abs like precious stones in a Japanese garden.

The shave made my skin shimmer and shine, making every move glide. And his mouth… those lips, those gentle caresses, while his dark eyes watched my descent into heaven.

I couldn’t stop myself from pressing my groin against his face, forcing my dick deeper…
But he restrained me. He used his weight and sheer force, controlling my movements down to the smallest detail.

And he enjoyed the power he had.
He smiled — even with his mouth full of me.

Every light bite turned my skin into a dynamo, generating beams of energy that charged the string between my balls, growing tighter, heavier — more and more ready to blow.

I had never enjoyed the sight of my thighs more than now — how the muscles moved in perfect coordination, like a bagpipe parade, with Mats’s body centered over them like a giant figure balloon floating through a St. Patrick’s parade. His dark hair tangled in sweat as his strength worked to match mine.

He backed off for a second, still focused on every detail of jerking my foreskin.
—I want you to shoot now. I think you’re ready.

And then he leaned in again, mouth open, aiming my dick straight into it.
And who was I to disobey a direct order?

He let another finger join inside, and it made my ass explode. The pure pressure shattered any restraint I might have had — I could almost hear the click when my dick unlocked. His lips glistened in the soft light, his mouth open for whatever load I was ready to release.

And I shot.

My thighs, tensed to the max for what felt like a lifetime, imploded as the thunderbolt of orgasm crashed through me. All the brute force I had built within them came together, driving out what was many erect hours of sperm into my man’s mouth.

I shot. And he swallowed.

Load after load fountained into him, steering my cock like it was a water hose, and he took it all. His tongue swept up any stray drops that missed their mark, claiming the debris like a dragon after burning King’s Landing.

And I arched like the vaults of the Sistine Chapel, while he held its spire. He was the Pope, and he had just given me Holy Communion.

My Pope.

He rose, stretched his shoulders, never taking his eyes off my dick, which now rested heavy against my thigh after he’d let it go. His tongue swept the last traces of sperm from his hand and cheek. I heard a soft chuckle.

—Wow, that was… a blow.

He turned to watch me — a rather unimpressive sight, draped in sweat and exhaustion.

—And here I was, thinking you had stamina.

I raised a middle finger at him.

—Oh, Mr. Dictionary seems to have left us again, has he?

I managed to whisper:

—Quoting Ab Fab is my thing. Get off it.

—It seems to me that you’re the one getting off.

I heard the grin in his voice as I pushed myself up to rest on my elbows. The sweet scent of my sperm mingled with the cedar and citrus of the shower gel.

—You know what, asshole? I said. I have absolutely no energy to match that right now. I’ll get back to you, I promise. But right now…

I shook my head, too wasted to respond properly, and fell back onto the mattress.
—I have nothing.

He took another careful lick off the skin of his hand, doing it slowly so I could follow every detail.

—Well, that’s because I have it all. All your little babies took shelter inside of me for a while.

—Exodus, I murmured and fell back, letting my arms cover my face.

—Sexodus, and a lot of it, if you keep looking like that.

I think we both cringed a little at the comparison.

He tilted his head, taking in the whole view.

—You know I’ll have to fuck you if you keep being this hot.

I shook my head slightly in response.

—Aha, and… uhm… what’s stopping you now?

—Dinner, baby. The grill’s glowing and the girls are drinking. They need another man at their side.

He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

—And so do I.

He got up and backed to the door, never leaving his eyes on me before the door closed behind him.

The soft breeze from the AC was feathering my skin with gentle pushes of chilled breezes that made me think of a Nordic summer. And while my brain tried to slow down, the same question that kept returning, surprisingly often lately:

What the fuck just happened?

I mean, really?

Mats waking me, admiring me—then giving me a blowjob?

Admittedly one of the best I’ve ever had — which in itself raised a few questions. Like... how the hell did he know how to do that? I mean, where does a straight guy learn how to blow someone like that?

Sure, I’d blown him but— yeah, fuck yes, I’d definitely blown him — and he seemed more than happy with that. And so was I.

But, that also set fire to so many questions inside me.

How could I have done that? I mean, sure—I’d been eager to get hime nude and hard for years. And having his dick in my mouth? Well, I’d never admitted to it, but… it did feel so natural when it happened.

Is it in our DNA? Do guys just instinctively know how to handle a dick? Well, I guess all those instruction videos on PornHub might have added some know-how.

But, also, honestly, I’ve never, ever been audited like this — scrutinized, admired, objectified. And, although it had offered some very uncomfortable and uneasy moments—I loved it. I really did — despite all the discomfort that came with it.

I stretched out on the bed, felt the cool sheets against my skin, Mats’s saliva mixed with my sperm drying on my cock, making it shiver when the air chilled it... I had to get up on my elbows just to see what all the fuss was about.

When I did, my eyes wandered to the shrinking peace of meat resting on my groin. I watched the shaft — pointing slightly to the right — then went on examening the head, slowly disappearing under the foreskin again.

The freshly shaved skin, leaving a smooth soft surface where the pubes used to be.

My balls, slowly letting go of all that built-up tension.

Is that a nice dick?

I didn’t know.

What kind of criteria would I even use on others? Size? Not the biggest — but certainly not the smallest either. And I’d never really wished for a bigger one, anyway. I’ve had a lot of fun with it, the way it is, that’s for sure. And… well, it filled my grip nicely.

But... that doesn’t add any magic to it, does it?
It’s just a dick.

The body’s okay, I guess.

Abs finally showing. That well-defined V-line people mentioned so often — yeah, that’s there too. And I’d worked hard on those thighs, finally balancing the shoulders and chest...

But who even cares about that?

The skin, slowly darkening now from the sun— except where the crotch had kept its warm, natural paleness, hidden behind shorts and speedos. And that tan line apparently making my dick and ass the natural targets for a thirsty eye.

But, that doesn’t make me someone to desire. Not like Mats — who only has to walk into a room for hearts to race and dicks to rise.

No one gets hard when I walk by. Not when I undress. Not when I wander the beach.

But Mats had.
Yeah, he had — for me.
Because of me.

He enjoyed watching me, touching me, feeling me...

My body warmed at the thought. And I noticed I was smiling. Smiling big.

Yeah. He wanted me. And I wanted him. So much.

I always had.

My man.
My man.
My man?

Now, if he’s mine, then what if I’m not his? Why should I be—after all these years? And what would Anna say if she knew? Would she make a scene? Would she hate me? Would she say I’d ruined her life?

And what would Mats do?

Would he stand next to me, hand in hand, proudly announcing: “I love Erik. I love him with all my heart”?

Would he?

Would he come home from work, call my name while unzipping his pants in the hallway — walking up to me with his wide smile and big, hard dick leading the way?

Would he kiss me, hold me, undress me, whispering that he’d dreamt about this all day — dreamt about me all day?

Would he?

We wouldn’t even wait for the bedroom. No. I’d undress him right there and then, so I could enjoy all of that hot man he is — all of it. Just watching his body appear in front of me. Every muscle, every exciting part of it.

I’d drop down on him like a waterfall after a drought. I’d feel the heaviness of his dick against my tongue. The sharpness of his nipples against my lips. The scent of his skin filling every part of me.

I’d make his body shiver with excitement.
And I would shiver too.

But would he?

I got up, sitting on the side of the bed, watching the big cupboard waiting for me like a slow, gentle bulldog. Like me, I thought, waiting for him. Ready whenever he wanted.
The joy in his passion was thrilling. His passion was thrilling. And accepting that thrill was… well, thrilling — for lack of a better word. (My head still hazy from the post-cum bliss.)

And yet, there was this rather big part of me that wasn’t thrilled. Not more than during those singular moments of divine magicness.

The door stood waiting for me—now I suddenly could see it. It had “love” written all over it. And behind it? A road paved with bliss, and joy, and care, and the smile in his beautiful eyes, the strength of his hands holding mine, the scent of his skin covering mine. And the buzz I felt when he smiled at me, touched me, kissed me… fucked me.

Could I open that door and walk down that road?

How could I, and how could I not?

I wanted to stretch, feel my body click back into place, muscle by muscle. Tilt my neck. Stand tall. Loud and proud.

I wanted to rise, take some deep breaths, get dressed and join them upstairs with confidence and joy. Get dressed in his attraction.

But I didn’t. Instead I sat hunched at the edge of the bed. Elbows resting on my knees, hands clasped over the back of my head. The AC still stroking my skin like a gentle cloud on a sway.

How could I, and how could I not?

I’d allready passed through that door too many years ago, hadn’t I? So many years ago. He had me at hello. And the road? That’s the one I’ve been walking ever since.

I just hadn’t realized it until now.

Yeah, it had taken a while, but now I knew—I loved him. I must. Why the buzz, the thrill, the tension, the action, the mad accepting every single invitation he threw my way, if it wasn’t?

I truly. Madly. Deeply. Love him. (Christ, I hate that song.)

I’d hoped that would make me happy. Or at least happier. But this… well, I couldn’t say I was smiling. Not now. The grin went sooner than expected. Sooner than I wanted.

I’d walked that road every day for as long as I can remember. Without him kissing me, without him fucking me. Without knowing anything about his feelings.

So far, it’d been a lonely road. Very lonely.

All this excitment frightened me. I don’t want to be lonely.

I don’t want to be sad. And I don’t want to hide.

I have to open my eyes, but I don’t want to.

I guess one can rise with one’s eyes closed—one must. So I did. Because I’m a man, not a mouse, or something equally laughable. But when you’ve gotten up, and when you’re standing, the world looks slightly different.

So I got up, and walked over to that bulldog of a wardrobe, looking for something to wear. Something that felt like me.

I went through the piles of clothing that Sussi had ordered. There was a white pair among the shorts—reasonably tight, reasonably short. My ass would show, but not scream. My thighs would reveal themselves, but not boast.

And then there was the shirt—dark, almost see-through. Not quite, but enough to let a gaze imagine what’s underneath. One could glimpse the outlines of my nipples forming a sort of geometry across my chest. The eye would follow the line between my pecs down to the buttons. And maybe it would stay there. Or not.

The fabric clung to my biceps and invited a peek at the triceps when I moved.

Maybe the eye would slid down to the waistband of the shorts, and raise questions. Do I shave? Or was I born this smooth? And if I shave… then how much?

The thought made me smile. Yeah, now I could breathe.
And I did.

I stretched my shoulders, straightened my back, buttoned the shirt, tightened the drawstrings of the shorts and said to myself: Is this love?

Yes. Or maybe. Or not. I’m sure it is, but I don’t know.What I do know — is that this is me. And however frustratingly contradictory they are, they’re my feelings, and I’m stuck with them.

And furthermore: It is what it is.

I sprayed on some Noir Extreme, and let it mingle with the scent of sperm and shower gel. A scent can take you thousand miles away. And this did. To endless nights of flirting, drinking, laughing… hiding. Yeah, hiding. But not only. A lot of other stuff too. And if I’m going to hide, at least I want to do it in the spotlight.

Who said I was here to behave?

I smiled at the mirror and gave it a wave, like a cheeky schoolboy.

And you know what? It waved back.

---

The music was on — some soft Ibiza chill volume 2 859 or something, simmering from the speaker. The vodka was waiting in the kitchen, along with an impressive lineup of mixers.

“Water? What is it?”
“It’s a mixer, daaaahling. (pause) We have it with whiskey.”

I smiled at the memory as I poured what must be considered as a generous amount of booze into a glass packed with ice and some minty lemon thingy.

I let the glass swirl in my hand, opened my phone, and tapped into the playlist. I scrolled to SexyBack, and when the bass dropped, I took a deep sip of my “cocktail” and walked out onto the veranda, swaying toward my friends.

—There he is, our man!

Anna’s voice oozed happiness. She moved toward me, hips swaying in a mock-seductive dance, and grabbed my glass for a sip.

Then she coughed like she was drowning, laughing hard.

—What is this? Damn… this is… (another cough) strong.

She handed it back with eyes wide like she’d just seen a ghost. A happy ghost.

—What? Didn’t like it?

—I can’t say, she said with a husky voice. I’m too busy giving my tongue CPR. I might never regain a functional taste system.

—You’ll thank me next time Mats cooks.

Mats came up to me, shaking his head in smiling disbelief.

—What? You’ve been here for, what, five seconds? And you still find time to mock me?

—Time is precious, dahling, I replied. One has to make the most of it.

I turned toward Sussi.

—Cheers, daahling! You look the dream.

We leaned in and kissed each other’s cheeks like a Jane Seymour fantasy.

—Oh, daahling, so happy to see you, she answered in her best mock Oxford English. It’s simply divine!

I filled my mouth with another burning burst of booze and lemon, feeling the alcohol seep into my system like a Les Mills instructor on fire.

The bass flowed through my hips as I moved among my friends, dancing beside me. The Atlantic rumbled gently behind the dunes, sending up faint sprays of salt and seaweed that mingled with our perfumes.

”I’m brining sexy back. Them other boys don’t know how to act”

I swirled among them like a serpent dancing to a piper, one hand resting on the waistline—thumb hooked just inside the lining, brushing the freshly shaved skin. The other balanced the glass over our heads, ice crackling with every beat as it emptied sip by sip.

I let the music guide me, each note steering my movements.

”You see these chackles babe? I’m your slave.”

I let my ass brush—accidentally, deliberately—against Mats’s, our hips rotating in rhythm. I stroked the back of his head as we synced, breath and beat aligned. My hand slid down to his shoulder, gripping it firmly as we moved together—dancing as if we were one body, one pulse. While letting him know who was in command.

Then I turned to slide behind Sussi, close enough for her to sense me before she saw me. I kissed the nape of her neck and let her melt into me—her head on my shoulder, her hips leaning gently into mine.

“I’ll let you whip me if I missbehave.”

I raised my arms again and locked them behind my head, stretching out my body behind hers, letting my hips take control. My crotch moved in a gentle rhythm against Sussi’s ass—maybe she’d notice the bulge growing there.

My asscheeks moved with the beat, sometimes in sync, sometimes not—as if they knew something my brain didn’t. They were in contact with everything, radiating every wavelength of the music to my shoulders, my hips, thighs… chest. Even my hands, gliding through the air like Thai dancers, seemed to be in on it.

The moment I felt Sussi react—pressing her ass tighter against me, teasing the bulge—I turned and caught Anna’s smile.

I raised a shoulder, gave her a half-lidded glance and a grin, then slid sideways toward her, channeling Liza Minnelli, declaring that “Money makes the world go round.”

We danced close without touching, our upper bodies swaying in subtle motion—echoes of a graceful kabuki, poised and precise, yet playful but still with my thumb locked inside the waistline of my shorts. Then I signaled with a pair of pointed fingers—my exit toward the kitchen. I’m sure Martha Graham couldn’t have made a better move. My glass was empty, and I was far too sober for my liking.

I knew how to dance. I knew how to drink. Those two talents had gotten me through life before, and I was sure they’d save me again.

After a generous refill — and an even more generous sip — I turned round, to watch the action on the veranda through the kitchen windows.

What I saw was not just three of my closest friends, but one living organism shifting shape with every beat. Fluid, chaotic, whole.

I trusted one of them to the moon and back. Felt a deep, almost familial care for another. And then there was the one who made my heart jolt, my brain smirk, and my dick hard — despite his near robotic, staccato dance moves.

I took another sip. The vodka bruised its way down to the center of me.
God, this boy needed to get drunk.

The smoke curling up from the grill created an almost theatrical effect, as the dancing bodies cast shadows that drifted through it like dragons gliding through air. The table beside it was dressed in a dark ruby tablecloth, and the porcelain—rimmed with broad bands of golden yellow—stood ready.The wine waited patiently, and the glasses lined up like columns in a Greek temple.

Tonight, the veranda was a stage — and I had to decide which script to follow. Or make my own.

Well, there is a time to follow, and a time to lead. So I grabbed the bottle of vodka and began a sultry walk/dance up to them, using my glass as a cowbell against it, clinging my friends to gather.

Well, there’s a time to follow, and a time to lead. So I grabbed the bottle of vodka and began a sultry walk-dance up to them, using my glass like a cowbell against it—calling my friends to gather.

—Dear friends… I said, once I had their attention—girlfriends and boyfriend alike.

They stopped dancing and gathered in a half-circle in front of me.

—Beside being overwhelmed by your kindness in letting me… recover, (I couldn’t help meeting Mat’s eyes when I said it) while you fixed all of this, I must also pick up where Anna so generously left off at lunch—the subject of being crazy grateful for having you here this week.

I mean, just that you took the time to join the dream of spending a few days by the Atlantic coast with me—sure, it’s only 300 kilometres from home. Easy peasy, I hear you say. But I assure you, that decision made you either mad… or stupid… or both.

(They laughed and nodded in subtle agreement.)

—Or… it makes you the kindest and most fun people I could possibly call friends.

(All of them smiled now, broadly.)

I paused, letting my eyes take them in, one by one, before continuing:

—And the verdict is… you are, honestly, very, very stupid. I mean—you know the disasters that I’ve made you deal with before. And still. Still, you said yes.

I sighed.

—And I suppose that if I had any responsible bone in this tiny body, I should be concerned about what kind of DNA that means you’ll be passing on to the next generation of mankind—if this is the best you can do. I mean, truly...

I shook my head in resigned amazement, and raised my glass:

—But, and this is a big but… no, I don’t mean yours, Sussi…

(Yes, there was laughter and a mock grumpy noice from Sussi)

—The big but is… this probably means I’ll end up feeling emotionally responsible for you when you grow old. And that’s bad news for me. It means I’ll have to tag along to doctor’s appointments, help you pick out wigs when cancer hits you, design clever wheelchairs so our park outings will be at least marginally less humiliating…for me. I’ll maybe even have to cover for you when your marriages are threatened by that hot nurse in their late fifties/sixties — yes, I’m being gender neutral here—because a lot can happen by then.

But, and listen carefully, I will say this only once —I’ll do it gladly. Because… it’s you. Because of now. Because of yesterday — all those many yesterdays we’ve shared. And maybe, just maybe, because of tomorrow.

(I saw their eyes go all watery… and, well, mine did too.)

Yes, lI’ll stop at maybe tomorrow. Because right now… We’ve got massive amounts of vodka, and whatever’s on the BBQ is probably just about to be perfectly done — which means we have absolutely no time to waste on being sober.

I raised the bottle in the air, cheering: I love you so much — now let’s dooo this!

We all cheered and raised our glasses in salute. One round of refills was enough to finish the bottle, yes I was very geneorus— and it didn’t take much longer to empty the glasses either.

And I felt such comfort in this. The world was still spinning, just a little less absurdly now — which is how tipsiness tends to manifest in my head. Sometimes I need to get drunk to see things as they are.

The warmth spread through my body, coating me in a kind of soothing heaviness that slowed everything down — thoughts, limbs, intentions.

It also meant I could finally look at Mats without mentally undressing him every other second — which was a huge plus. Instead, I decided to let him wonder about me.

The girls headed into the kitchen for final dinner preps, leaving me and Mats in charge of the grilled stuff. There was the steak Mats had picked up, but also a plate of big shrimps waiting for the fire.

I walked up next to him just as he was turning the meat and let my hand rest on his shoulder, lightly stroking it.

–You’re so good at this, I said. So very good.

(I kept stroking.)

–How did you get so good at… this?

–You mean… cooking? he said, glancing at the shrimp.

–Yes, cooking is the word I was after. Such a great word. Such a great… cock.

–Cook, you mean?

–No, I shrugged, I meant cock. Because, you know… you have a great one.

He chuckled and turned the steak again. Not looking at the shrimp this time.

–This won’t make me a great cook, and you know it.

–What won’t?

–This, he said, leaning his head gently against my hand. This thing you’re doing with your hand.

–Oh, the gentle caressing? Showing the affection straight men aren’t allowed to show each other?

–Mmm. Yeah. Something like that.

–Well, I said, moving my hand up into the short hair at his neck. Sometimes you have to choose.

–Between… being a great cook?

–And a great cock.

I let my hand drift down his spine, while watching the meat sizzle.

–Then, he said, I’d say it’s a choice between having dinner or not.

–And why’s that?

–Because a great cock steals the cook’s focus.

–Now that’s a great baby rhyme, if I’ve ever heard one.

My hand slipped down to the waistband of his shorts, fingertips searching under the hem of his shirt — wanting skin. It waited for me, warm and dry.

He took a step back, which made it my turn.

–What?

He didn’t answer. Just nodded toward the kitchen.

–What?

–Just… cool it a bit, Erik. The girls are right there.

–And?

I let my hand drift lower, fingers brushing the bare skin just above the curve of his back.
He shivered. I knew how he’d react if I went further, touching his ass.

–Stop it.

–Don’t you like it? Isn’t it… nice?

He stepped away again, suddenly examening the shrimps as if they were made of gold.

I raised a glass of whine, waiting on the table and decided this was an excellent moment to consume a transformative amount of it.

The bustle from the kitchen grew louder — then brighter — as Anna stepped out through the veranda doors.

–Hohooo, she said, placing a huge bowl of salad on the table. Here comes the green stuff that we have to eat to make the wine OK.

–Now that’s logic I understand, I said. But, still, do explain.

–Veggies are healthy, right?

–That’s what they say, I replied, trying to sound ominous.

–Exactly! And they’re packed with antioxidants and... stuff, right?

–Well, you’re the scientist here.

–Exactly! she said, grinning. So this is all about balance. Life-balance. In this case health/wine balance.This salad is so absurdly healthy it basically cancels out… what, five bottles of wine?

–Seven, I said.

–YES. Seven! That’s what was missing. Seven bottles of wine. Without the wine, the salad would probably kill us. And it’s not just me saying this, there are experts on TikTok backing me.

–Now that’s mah gal, I said, and went up to give her a high five. This is science, people. Real-time science! And you know what else is about balance?

–No! she gasped. Tell me. Tell me now!

–The skin-to-fabric ratio. That’s what we really should worry about.

–Oh absolutely, she said, eyes widening. But please — elaborate.

I turned to Mats and motioned him over.

–Now. Observe this young, handsome man.

He approached us with deliberately slow feet.

–Isn’t he almost a perfect specimen of youthful, athletic manhood?

–Oh, definitely, Anna purred.

–But — and this is the key point in my research — does he show it? Does he? Is he proud of it?

Anna tilted her head, trying to catch on.

–No, he… doesn’t?

–Exactly!

—Yes, now I see it. How could I have missed it? Of course he doesn’t!

I stepped up to Mats and gently tugged at his shirt.

–Look at all this fabric. Sure, you could say it’s a nice shirt. But what it really is… is manhood camouflage.

–Manhood what? Mats said, somewhere between confused and trying not to laugh.

–Yes. Let me break it down. This fabric — this shirt — is not just textile. No. It is a strategic concealment device, used by young men who haven’t yet come to terms with their full masculine expression.

–Oh no… Anna whispered, covering her mouth. Is it really?

Mats rolled his eyes, clearly itching to return to the grill, but I wasn’t done.

–What you see here, Anna, is a hunk in hiding. A man that science refers to as… a closeted hunk.

–Oh no, she said, that can’t be good.

–It isn’t. And science agrees. Because this —(I grabbed the shirt with exaggerated purpose) –This shirt is nothing less than the young man’s invisibility cloak.

Anna gasped again — very appropriately, I might add. She deserved full marks for that.

–Yes. You heard me. And while you might think “but isn’t that Harry Potter’s thingy?” — let me assure you: nothing could be further from the truth. Brightly coloured shirts are the modern-day invisibility cloaks of our young men. Men too afraid to face their rising masculinity. Men hiding the fire within, afraid of the fire it may cause.

I locked my eyes on hers, adding with a voice dripping of sincerity:

—Closet hunks, Anna. That’s what science calls them.

—Oh, Erik… I think I’m going to cry.

—Anna, I completely understand. And this… condition needs attention. If left untreated, young men like Mats might end up as… auditors. Yes Anna, you heard me right. And not only that. They end up at a small countryside branches, auditing egg farms and school boards. Yes, Anna, that is what we’re dealing with.

—Oh God, Erik… Tell me… is it fixable?

Mats let out a loud sigh and began edging backward, but I caught him — one hand, steady at his waist.

—Anna, my dear, don’t worry. It’s adjustable. And if you just pour me a little more wine, I’ll show you. And Mats — don’t move. What I’m about to do might save your future.

Anna quickly topped up my glass. After a generous sip, I turned back to Mats.

—Mats, what I’m about to do won’t cause any physical harm, but it may change the way you see yourself from now on.

—Really, Erik? You don’t say? Wow. I’m impressed. Now, just let me—

—Nonono. You see, Anna? Denial is strong in this one. So rough I have to get, I said in my best Yoda voice. Now… you see these sleeves?

—I do, said Anna.

—They’re far too long. In order to extract the man within, the sleeves must go shorter.

And fittingly, Anna gave out another short gasp.

I began folding the fabric back, exposing more of Mats’s upper arms.

—What you’re seeing now, Anna, is what men in the gymnastic sciences refer to as a biceps. Soon to be joined by a triceps. Look. Can you see it?

—Oh, you’re right, Erik. There’s definitely something there!

I moved on to the other sleeve while Mats tilted his head toward her.

—And you’re just letting this happen to your boyfriend?

—You’re a closet hunk, Mats, she replied. And this… this is an intervention. Backed by science.

Once both sleeves were adjusted, I stepped back to admire my work.

—Now, Anna, would you say the level of visible manhood has increased by… at least 236 percent?

—At least 236 percent!

—Now we must address the buttoning. You see, closet hunks are known to button their shirts all the way up. But the key to releasing manhood is… yes, you guessed it — unbuttoning. Or déboutonner la chemise, as the French say.

I reached for the top button and stepped closer, close enough that he could feel my breath against his skin.

—This, Anna, is the critical step. And I need your help. How many buttons must go?

—Hmm… not an easy call, she said, studying him carefully. He does seem very closeted, doesn’t he?

—Oh, indeed, I said and looked him in the eyes. Deeply.

She touched her chin in mock-contemplation.

—I was going to say three… maybe five. But then a voice inside me whispered: why not all of them?

Mats rolled his eyes, but didn’t move.

—Cheezus. What even is this?

—It’s science, Mats. That’s why you’ve never heard of it. Now hush. Let the doctor work.

—Yes, Mats, Anna said sternly. Let Erik do his magic.

She stepped up beside me, watching with unfiltered delight as I unbuttoned his shirt.

—You see, Anna, with every button undone, the level of manhood rises. It may look complicated, but really, it’s quite simple — well, if you have the talent at least. As well as the know-how. Now—Look at him! You can see it in his eyes. You can see it in his smile… Hello! Is it me you’re looking for?

I spread the shirt wide, revealing his chest, nipples, abs, and even the upper edges of his v-lines with that gorgeous hair trailing its way downwards.

—At last, that body can finally face daylight!

—Hoooray! Anna cried, raising her glass. Hooray for science! Hooray for manhood!

—Hooray for leaving the closet! I said, clinking my glass against hers.

Mats sighed and stomped his foot like a bored teenager.

—Okay. You’ve had your fun. Is the male free to go?

—A man is always free to go, I said. Just don’t forget to take your medication.

—And what’s that? Undressing?

—Déshabiller, Mats. We’re in France, remember?

​To be continued...