Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Pablo Michaels Week 88: That Initial Attraction

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Pablo Michaels' Picture Choice: 1

Title: That Initial Attraction

Billie jolted from a nightmare in a shivering wet sweat next to Glenn, who slept peacefully. The images of tsunami waves towering on the sides of the causeway and the Grim Reaper flagman posing as Moses parting the Red Sea, still ebbed in his eyes.

He wandered out to the deck and sat in a chair, naked, in the late night air to dry his body. Watching the half-moon fade in the West and focusing on the diminishing glow of the brightest remaining star, Billie remembered the day before when Glenn surprised him on their second date, a time when Billie had closed his heart to love with another man. They barely ignited the torch of their passion after the fiasco of their first encounter, both scrambling sloppily to learn how to love again after lengthy, failed relationships.

They had met on a Friday Rite of Spring celebration, when the weather was advantageous for an early barbecue. Their eyes locked together like bears attracted to honey, setting agreeing to meet at Billie’s apartment for a late lunch the next day.

When Glenn had arrived on Saturday afternoon, Billie wasted no time. His fantasies pictured Glenn in a Speedo. “Why don’t we get better acquainted in the hot tub?”

“Yes, I’d like to check you out with fewer clothes.”

Billie laughed at Glenn’s response. “I’d like to see you that way too.”

After taking a dip and sharing more details of their past involvements with other men, they sat to eat Billie’s preparation of cantaloupe melon balled and blueberry salads in scalloped melon shells and orange roughy baked in a white peppered, dill sauce.

“Is there something wrong with my presentation?” Billie couldn’t help but notice the grimace on Glenn’s face when he served the fruit.

“Uh, Cantaloupe and me. We aren’t the best of friends. But I can pick out the blueberries. I like them.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked what you liked.”

The conversation tapered off until Billie removed the dishes and returned with the orange roughy.

“Oh, that smells good.” Glenn smelled the fragrance of the dill. After a couple of bites, his mouth puckered like he bit into a sour lemon.

“Is the sauce too bitter?”

“No, not at all.”

While Billie ate diligently, Glenn divided his fish into small pieces, dabbling with his fork and chattering.

Momentarily, Billie noticed Glenn was not eating. “Isn’t the fish done? I cooked it an hour.”

“I’m afraid I have an aversion to fish…, except halibut and grilled prawns.”

“Geez. I’m so sorry. After I clear the plates, we should change from our swimsuits.” Billie apologized, fearing Glenn would soon depart.

But as they began to remove their Speedos on Billie’s bed, Glenn placed his hands on Billie’s chest. “I like your hairy chest.”

“Be my guest. I like the touch of your fingers,” Billie responded to Glenn’s first seductive move. They kissed and rolled down on the bed.

They gratified their initial attraction fast but sloppily.

Billie didn’t expect to see him again, but Glenn was surprisingly, persistent. “Why don’t we go to the beach tomorrow?”

“That sounds like a good idea. It’s supposed to be warm again tomorrow.”

Early Sunday morning, they drove to the ocean.

When they arrived at the beach it was low tide, but the surf was treacherous. They took long walks along the shoreline, exploring the tide pools full of sea urchins and starfish. They marveled at the sea lion swimming offshore. They shared a cold bottle of Chardonnay while eating bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches and a rich potato salad, Glenn had prepared, silently, listening to the roar the ocean, and watching the waves tumble into white foam.

They departed in the late afternoon. The waves were large and high as they crossed over the causeway, the tide seeping onto the pavement, making it slick.

“If the water gets much higher, we may not make it back to your apartment.” Billie was concerned with the water and the congested traffic.

“No. I’ve seen it higher. We’ll make it. Why don’t you stay for the night?” Glenn asked.

“Why, of course, I will. It has been a romantic day. I love the ocean.” Billie anticipated the climax to the weekend, anxiously.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Do you like Chinese?”


“I’ll order take-out for dinner.”

Unlike Billie’s meal, they didn't leave a bit of food on their plates. The spices in the Gung Pau Chicken heightened their skills in bed that night, neither of them fumbling for expertise in experience.

Billie looked back at the moon and the star, both lower on the Western horizon, becoming fainter with the approaching light of dawn. The images of the causeway, Grim Reaper and the tsunami waves had disappeared.

“What are you doing out here naked?” Glenn whispered as he joined Billie on the deck.

“I had a nightmare and was wet with sweat.”

“Must have been the MSG in the Chinese food. I always have vivid dreams when I eat it too. My dreams are a bit more erotic, though.” Glenn sat in the chair next to Billie. His hand clasped Billie’s. “Tell me about your nightmare.”

“I’d rather here about your dreams. But we were driving across the causeway when…” Billie detailed his dream while they watched the sunrise from the East.


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Pablo Michaels writes LGBT fiction and has published with Naughty Nights Press, You can follow him at @bell2mike


1 comment:

  1. I have met these two men before, during the melon, I believe. The ending trailed, quite expertly, into a shadowed, foggy faded remembrance of my own. It is wonderful how you crafted that drifting together, including the reader, as if all on a life raft of tangent memories. Wonderful, artistic craftmanship, Pablo. ~ ☼ღஜ レo√乇 ¸.☆¨¯`*.✿.*˜"*°