When I step out on the porch the wood creaks, and I have this weird fear that the sudden noise will startle him and drive him away, will send him wheeling out to sea with the gulls. It doesn’t, of course, but when I set my mug down on the railing, I still do it lightly.”You want some coffee?”
He shakes his head, takes another drag from his cigarette. Everybody’s got different drugs, I guess, different things they can’t shake. I take a moment to look at him, to let my eyes wander up his calf, over his flank, drinking in his body in a way I have a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand fucking times before, except this time it’s different; this time it’s with permission.
"S’beautiful out here," he says.
"You’re welcome anytime. My parents never use it anymore."
"Great place to get away."
He just nods at that, too quickly, and his eyes are red, so I turn away to look out at the beach and at the sunrise as I sip my coffee. I try not to think—he’s doing enough thinking for both of us, probably, and I’ll have plenty to do later—and so I just enjoy the quiet, until a flicked cigarette butt arcs across the sky.
He’s standing up straight, his hands on his hips, and he looks so determined that I almost don’t notice that his pose makes his dick—still fluffed, even though it’s been a good hour since we finished—stand out from his body.
"Okay," he says, to me and to himself. "Okay. I’m gonna go call her."